While We were Living in the Great Southern Swamp We owned a French and an English Bulldog Both of Which Were Rehomes. Wally the Male English Bulldog’s Original Family realized while They Loved Him They simply Didn’t have Enough Time to Care for Him. The French Bulldog was a Recently Retired Show Dog and Champion, and Her Mom (who breed French Bulldogs in Addition to The Dog Show Shit) was getting Out of the French Bulldog Breeding Game to go Back to Breeding Boxers.
These Two Bulldogs just so Happened to be Two of the Coolest Dogs We have had the Pleasure of Sharing Our Lives With. I fucking Hate People who say “Owned” when it comes to an Animal because its fucking Demeaning. It’s a fucking Living Creature it is Not the Equivalent of a TV or some shit. The Situation behind Pet classification is fucking Stupid as Pets are in the Eyes of the Law Property exactly like a Sofa or Video Game System. That is Absolutely and Totally fucking Ridiculous on Every Level.
One Night in Particular I was Home Alone Drinking One Too Many Beers, and Bullshitting with Some Buddies on the Phone. When My Wife got Home from Work (around 10:30 pm or so) She had Missed Dinner, and I had been so Wrapped Up in Fucking Around I hadn’t Eaten Either. So My Wife went Out to Score Some Fast Food Bullshit for Us God Bless her because I would have been Pissed if I was Her. I mean She got off work Late after something like a 14 Hour Shift only to Find Her Husband Drunk, Giddy, and with Nothing whatsoever for Dinner. Not exactly the thing Anyone would be thrilled to come Home to After a Brutally Long Day on the Job. While My Wife was Out retrieving Our Dinner I finished My Last beer, and Decided to Roll Up a Joint for After Diner. I rolled up the Joint and Placed it Next to My Pack of Cigarettes (Yes I was a Smoker, Key Word being Was since I quite Several Years Ago) on Our Coffee Table and Played with the Dogs Until My Wife Returned.
Now I had a Bad Habit as a Pet Owner of Sharing Any French Fries I had with the Bulldogs Who Thought it was a Fabulous Thing for Me to Do. Also When I had Been Drinking (which I honestly did way too much of at that Point in My Life) I tended to Throw the French Fries on the Floor in Front of the Dogs. I opted for this Method because it was Much Easier to Throw the Fries on the Floor Rather than Handing The Dogs Every Single fucking Fry. I would tend to Get Overly Enthusiastic during what I referred to a Fry Feeding Frenzies and Would Toss Several Frys at one Time. That Night was No Acceptation by any means as I Happily Threw Virtual Handfuls of Frys to the Dogs. As the Fry Count diminished I resorted to Tossing a Single Fry each time to the Dogs instead of Blanketing the Entire Living Room Floor with a Bounty of Frys.
Once We had Finished Dinner My Wife went to take a Shower to Relax and Unwind after a Tough Day at Work. I threw the Fast Food Trash away and strolled back into the Living Room with a Full Stomach and an Alcohol Drenched Liver. I plopped Down on the Couch in My Usual Spot, Stretched, Sighed, and decided to Watch The Canadian Television Show Trailer Park Boys on Netflix (Heres a Tip: Watching The Trailer Park Boys Intoxicated is a fucking Fun Time if I ever had One). A Few Moments into the Show I remembered that I had Prepared a Joint for an After Dinner at which Point I was Very Happy with Myself. That was Until I went to get the Joint and Realized it Wasn’t Were I Left It. Now having racked up an Insane Amount of Hours Intoxication I had learned along the Way to Expect shit like this to Happen. I then began My search for the Wayward Weed by first Looking to See if I put in My Cigarette Pack to Keep it Safe during Dinner. Unfortunately for Me it wasn’t, But I knew that in these cases Whatever I may be trying to Locate it won’t be in the First Spot I look.
I then Proceeded to See if it had Rolled around and was Lost in the Chaotic Chaos of the Coffee Table. I sifted through Beer Caps, Ashtrays, Magazines, Game Controllers, and Other Debris that had Collected upon the Table during the Events of the Day. Still the Joint Eluded Me at Every Turn. I then I scanned the Floor Around where I was Sitting to See if it had just Rolled Off the Table onto the Floor. After assessing the Joint had not Rolled off the Table onto the Floor where I could have Spotted it with Ease I moved on to the Next Portion of My Search for the Missing Sativa. I got down on all Fours (Ironically like a Dog) on the Floor and ran My Hand Under the Edge of the Large L Shaped Couch. Again I came up Empty Handed as it was apparent that the Joint had not Rolled onto the Floor and then Under the Couch.
I then took a Moment to Collect My Scattered Thoughts and Again Scanned the Immediate Area trying to Figure Out where the Damned Joint had gotten off to. As I sat there I noticed That Wally was sitting on the floor directly to My left and Dozy Directly to My Right. The Gears of My Muddled Mind began to Turn as I started to Put the Pieces of the Puzzle Together at Last. All of a Sudden I had a Moment of Clarity and Instantly it became Crystal fucking Clear to Me what Had Transpired. In the Hectic Hubbub of Dinner I had Mistakenly Picked Up the Joint Thinking at the Time it was Just Another French Fry in the Mix. It had become Painfully Obvious that the Case of Mistaken Identity had Resulted in Me Tossing the Joint instead of a The Standard French Fry. I searched Everywhere once again to make Sure beyond a Reason of a Doubt that’s What I had Did, and thats Exactly what I had Done.
I wasn’t Upset about Losing the Joint, but I also wasn’t sure what Effect it might have on whichever Dog ate it. Once My Wife was out of the Shower and Dressed She returned to the Living Room, and Upon seeing the look on My Face (One of Guilt mixed with Drunken Disorientation) asked What Happened. I immediately launched into a Diatribe about the Mistaken Fry Deal which Ended up with Me Babbling in Circles like a Drunk Dog Chasing its Tail. My Wife didn’t freak out which I took as a Very fucking good Sign so I stopped Holding My Breath and Waited to Her what She had to Say on the Subject at Hand. My Wife Wasn’t Worried or Too Concerned, But Erring on the Side of Caution and Believing in Safety First instructed Me that We needed to Keep an Eye on the Dogs just in Case. Since My Wife and I were both Vet Tech for Over 10 Years Apiece We were Confident We could Handle this Mishap without Further Complication.
Now while this seems as Simple a Task as They Come there Certain Traits in Bulldogs that made it Impossible to Discern Who ate The Joint. First Off They are by Nature Lazy as Fuck to the Point People Joke that They tend to Look Stoned Normally. So Acting Slow and Dopey is just the way Your Average Bulldog’s Behaves in General. Secondly Bulldogs are Natural Born Gluttons so Using the Munchie Factor as an Indicator was also Null and Void. Bulldogs Think with Their Bellies, and Would Actually Eat Themselves to Death if given the Chance. The Bottomline here is there was No Accurate Way of Telling Who ate the Joint because Bulldogs Naturally Exhibit the Symptoms Associated with being Stoned. In the End the Dogs were Fine as if Nothing had Happened, and I made sure as Shit to Insure Nothing like that Happened Ever Again.
Thanks For Reading,
By Les Sober 
(Pt1234am)
