My snout caught whiff of something sketchy the minute she came through the door — I could smell dog on her half way across the room. When she got closer, I could identify the distinct smell of female Doberman on her jeans.
What the woof?
My tail hangs down but wags haphazardly as she kneels down to my level and rubs my ears and neck — I’m torn between enjoying the sensation of the affection and completing further investigation on her scents. When she opens the suitcase, I know it.
I can smell that same dog’s scent all over her belongings — I even find a coarse piece of brown hair that certainly wasn’t mine. That dog was all over her — with a smell like that on her shirt, I knew she’d been cuddling.
Let’s not forget that I am the little guy and the only dog in her life — I’m supposed to be her one and only “puppy”. I am the little spoon. No other dog has any business rubbing up on my human the way that dog did.
It gets worse: I found photos. While my human was in Los Angeles, she clearly spent a week with that Doberman giving her all my beagle love and I found a picture of her holding some French bulldog. But the worst photo yet is one of her touching another beagle. It was like she went to the west coast and loved up any dog who looked her way.
What’s that dog got that I don’t? Sure, maybe Gypsy is obedient, docile and cute — but I can be all those things. It’s just not in my personality to do things without a cookie.
My human knows she’s in the doghouse now as I turn my muzzle away from her as she tries to get her cuddle on. I’m sleeping on the chair for a few nights until I feel the lesson has been learned. She was with another dog and that’s not okay.
Trying to get over it,