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This was originally titled an Ode to Oscar, but this isn’t really an ode. It’s more a paean, but without the lyrical quality. I looked up odes, but they’re very complicated with three varieties, some in verse, and I don’t have lyre to accompany this anyway. I could’ve waited, I guess, and gone with Paean to Oscar tomorrow, but I’m still toying around with the idea of Penis, or Pulp Fiction, so Oscar it is.
Oscar, as you can see from the photo to the left, is our Boxer – the best and smelliest Boxer in the World.
What’s the “D” stand for, you might ask? Well, it varies, depending. At various times and in no particular order: doofus, dumbass, dingleberry, dandy, dipshit, dummy, danger, damn dog, dickhead, dickweed, dynamite, delightful, donger, dingbat, dork, dashing, deranged, douchebag, douche nozzle, dick, dickwad, dickweed, dumbfuck, dumbshit, dapper, dimwit, devilish, dillhole, ding-dong, doolaly, dude, and most likely others made up on the spot.
The “D” does stand for Doofus a lot.
George and I decided to get a dog just about 5 years ago now. And quickly decided on a Boxer because her Stepfather, Alec, had always spoken highly of them. So, being novices and not really knowing any better, we searched on a website and picked him from a photo. We paid for him and met someone in Harrisburg, in a park, to make the exchange.
It felt like a drug deal.
So we rode him with this scrawny, tiny little thing and tried to think up names on the way home. And he had fleas. By the time we got home, George was a bit itchy and we had decided on Oscar. The fleas were quickly washed away. And, Oscar came home.
Louie wasn’t all that interested. Chicory more so, with this new toy that we had brought him. [See Kitties in the AtoZchallenge for more on them.] We used to pen him into the kitchen/dining room with our ottoman so we could play with him and potty train him. Chicory would sit on top of the Ottoman and smack at him as he tried to climb over. I swear he’s still smaller than Chicory in his head – it took him a good month before he was taller than Chicory. For a week he was too small to walk up the step into our house when we took him out to pee. (And, good lord, did it take forever to potty train this animal – and it didn’t help that was when George was stuck in England and it was really cold that winter. I slipped in his pee one time and twisted my knee, which hurt for weeks afterward. The hazards of pets. He also peed – and pooped – on Skype on Christmas day in Louisiana as we were having a Skype family Christmas with George in England.)
Other than that, potty training was awesome. Not.
Anyway.
He is the sweetest, most spastic and most chill dog I think I’ve ever met. He is very much a bouncy boxer at times. That’s been great as we’ve been losing weight, finally, this year. He needs walks. We do to. It’s a good match. When I got whacked from my job, he was a good companion for long walks in the woods – which is what I was doing when I got a call out of the blue that turned into the opportunity I have now at Prospect Builder.
He’s our constant companion, with no social skills at all – we’ve not always been the best at training him. No social skills other than being ecstatic to see you when you get home and wanting to say hello to everyone he meets. Because it’s OBVIOUS that if someone is looking at him then that person wants to be petting him.
He’s a fantastic auxiliary food vacuum cleaner when cooking – especially if cheese is involved. He’s my popcorn-eating companion late in the evenings. He loves a walk in the woods. Hates when anyone yells. Loves to scratch his back on the downstairs carpet – and his chin on anyone he can find. Half-thinks he’s a cat. Is beloved by Sasha – though the feeling is not returned to the extent it’s given. Will chase his jolly ball until he’s so tired he can barely stand if we let him. Refuses to walk on wet grass when it’s at all possible to avoid – he gets prancy little paws. Is always up for a ride in the Explorer – and has to get out when possible or he turns sulky. He pouts. He likes to sleep in our bed – it’s amazing to watch George contort herself to make room for him, and one or two of the cats. He is the king of snuggles and the floor is something to be trod upon, not fit for a dog to lie on.
He is one persnickety little bugger.
And he’s a wonderful little bastard.
The end.
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