Quondam

May 2013
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God is licked

“Alright, Mother. I need you to stay out of the dining room, because I will be training in there.”

“Training for what?”

“Mother, don’t be ridiculous. Why would I train for anything in the dining room? Think before you speak, Mother. You have to think before you say these things.” She turns, “Alright, I am off to train.”

“Where?”

“In the dining room, Mother.”

“You are off to train in the dining room?”

“Are you having a stroke, Mother?”

“Maj, sometimes you make no sense at all.”

“Alright, Mother . . . I will speak slowly so that you will understand . . . Please stay out of the dining room, because I will be training in there.

“Training for what?”

“Mother, why would I train for anything in the dining room? You make no sense at all, Mother. Listen to the words you are speaking, Mother. You are all gibberish.”

“Maj, stop talking to me.”

“OK, but stay out of the dining room.”

“Because of the training.”

“Exactly, Mother.”

“Whatever.”

“And don’t talk to me . . . I need minimal distractions.”

“Because of the training.”

“Exactly, Mother.”

“Whatever.”

“Alright, so give me the dog.”

“Oh! You mean you’re going to train the dog!”

“That’s what I said, Mother.” She leans to scoop him from my lap, where he is sleeping, “It’s time this dog learns his place in this family.” Jack the adorable smaller badly behaved dog growls sleepily as he is tumbled, and as he comes more fully awake, he whirls to glare at Maj and bare his teeth, growling ferociously.

Maj swings him up high in the air and then flips him onto his back so that he is cradled in her arms, “Don’t you growl at me, young man. I will smack you right on the head.”

Jack turns to look at me, his terrier face filled with alarm, his expression beseeching. I shrug, “Sorry, Jack. Apparently, it’s time for you to be trained.”

Maj carries the dog a few steps, “The first thing you need to learn, Jack, is how to be submissive. I am the boss of you, and you are the lesser of me. You will submit.”

“Maj, be careful. Jack is not a cooperative sort of dog.”

“Mother, that is entirely the point. I am going to train some goodness into him. Alright, now . . . no more talking, Mother.”

“OK, good luck.”

“I said no talking! I gave you a direct order, Mother! You are setting a bad example for the dog!”

“I’ll just sit here quietly. Is it alright if I listen?”

Jack is struggling and kicking in Maj’s arms, and she squeezes him tightly as she carries him away and into the dining room, “Listen all you want, Mother. Maybe you will learn a thing or two. And you . . .,” she directs her words to the dog, “You need to listen as well, terrier boy — I will squish the bones in your body to mush before I allow you to kick free. Submit or die a jelly-bone death, dog. Your call.”

Jack apparently goes limp in her embrace, because after a few seconds, Maj exhales, “Good boy. Alright, I am going to put you on the floor and then I am going to train you. Prepare yourself, dog.”

There is silence as the dog prepares himself.

I listen.

“Alright, dog. There are two escape routes from this room, and I am only one Maj. Watch as I use my magic to turn one of those passageways into . . . additional wall. See that, Jack? I closed the door. I am like a god to you.”

“Alright, that leaves us with one open passageway, and if I stand in front of it, there is no way for you to escape. I am a god-barrier, and you are not to cross me. Do you understand?”

“The training happens in this room, and so you need to stay in this room.”

“Did you just growl at me, young man? Alright, so perhaps the first thing we’ll be talking about today is tone of voice. You are allowed to speak to me, but you must speak to me in a pleasant tone.”

“Yes, well . . . I’m not going to speak to you about toys you might like to play with until you apologize for your harsh tone.”

“No.”

“No, you may not leave this room to get your toys. You are being disciplined, young man. No toys.”

“Yes, well . . . I don’t care what you want until you care what I want – that’s how this family works.”

“You call it holding a grudge, but I call it parenting.”

“Don’t you sass me, young man.”

“I will just sit in this doorway until you feel as though you can offer a sincere apology.”

I hear the thud of a small dog body brought down hard, and then, “DID YOU JUST TRY TO VAULT OVER ME, YOUNG MAN?”

“Jack, I am taking off my sweater. This is serious business, young man. See this? I am sweaterless and I mean business. You are not leaving this room.”

There is growling.

“If you think I am going to allow you to speak to me that way, you are very much mistaken, young man.”

There is again the sound of a small dog body brought down hard, “STOP TRYING TO VAULT OVER ME!”

“There will be no eluding! You will obey me and there will be love!”

There is more growling.

“Did you just threaten me with violence, young man? I know you did not just threaten me with violence.”

“Alright, forget about the apology for now. Let’s practice sitting. SIT.”

“SIT.”

“SIT.”

“SIT.”

“I see the hatred behind your casual disobedient saunter. Don’t think I don’t see you. I see you.”

“SIT.”

“I SAID SIT.”

“Get back here!”

“Alright, you are not in the mood to sit. Roll over!”

“ROLL OVER!”

“ROLL OVER!”

“I’m pretty sure you have been brain-damaged in some way. ROLL OVER!”

“Alright, watch. Roll over. Like this. See what I did there? I rolled over. Now you try.”

“Roll over!”

“Roll over!”

“Hold on, let me show you again . . . like this . . . OH MY GOD I AM COVERED IN DOG FUR NOW! I ROLLED ON DOG FUR! THIS IS LIKE A NIGHTMARE OF DOG FUR AFTER I ROLLED ON IT IN A DREAM!”

“OK, fine . . . pretend I said Sit . . . good dog.”

“Hmmm . . . maybe you would listen better if I had one of your toys. Look Jack, here is your squeak-duck. No, you cannot have it. I am going to sit on squeak-duck. You can have squeak-duck after you perform a few simple tricks on my command.”

“DID YOU JUST TRY TO BITE MY BOOTY?”

“YOU CANNOT EAT THROUGH ME TO GET TO SQUEAK-DUCK! ARE YOU INSANE?”

“Augh! My hands smell like dog! I need cleansing and sanitizing!”

“I smell like dog!”

“This is not OK.”

“I am covered in fur!”

“This is utterly not OK.”

“I AM CONTAMINATED!”

“DID YOU JUST TOUCH YOUR BUTTHOLE TO MY ARM?”

“I NEED SANITIZER!”

“Young man, do not think you have gotten the better of me just because I have a few quirks of weakness.”

“I AM A GOD TO YOU!”

“Fine.”

“WE DO NOT LICK GODS IN THIS HOUSE!”

“Fine, maybe you are right. Maybe that is enough for today.”

“OK, we can be done if you sit. I will let you out of this room if you sit.”

“Sit.”

“SIT!”

“SIT!”

“Oh for goodness sake . . . stop snarling and just get out of here.”

“Young man, stop biting my pant-leg!”

“Training you is exhausting, young man.”

“Dog!”

“Stop it!”

“Dog!”

“What did I say about your tone of voice, young man?”

“Just go away. Just leave me alone.”

“No, I will not give you a treat. You have got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, look at that. Now you know how to sit. Now that we are in the kitchen where the treats are, you know how to sit. Except that’s not sitting, that’s begging. No.”

“No treats for you.”

“Alright, maybe one treat.”

“Look, I can use my magic to open this container and select a treat for you.”

“I am like a god to you!”

“Sit!”

“Good boy.”

    19 comments to God is licked

    • THIS IS LIKE A NIGHTMARE OF DOG FUR AFTER I ROLLED ON IT IN A DREAM!

      Oh my god.

      Maj cracks me all the fuck up.

    • Christina (@FlourishOutloud)

      I laughed many times…

      I too have a badly behaved dog named Jack, we call him Mr. Jackers. he is a Chihuahua/Shih tzu mix…he is a pain in the ass but we love him.

    • Tammy Proctor

      “Quirks of Weakness” is going to be my new band name. We won’t ever perform because QUIRKS, but we shall be awesome.

    • Ellen1dg

      So glad you are back….!

      • Thank you.

        I could have been here this last few months, but it would have been bad.

        Better to step away for a while.

        Trust me.

    • wasnt_serious

      Laughing…This is how training the dog always sounds…LOVE ME! OBEY ME! ok…just one treat

    • Lynn

      DID YOU JUST TOUCH YOUR BUTTHOLE TO MY ARM?
      I. Am. Dying.

      • Hee hee.

        I was typing madly into my iphone and giggling wildly as she trained the dog.

        “Mother, how do you expect to survive in this world if you are forever having fits?”

        So much giggling.

    • Deb

      Oh dear.. Who trained who here?? MORE SANITIZER!!!

      Snort!

      • It is possible (maybe) that I have had a bit of a hand in creating this mess.

        Oh, I do love this mess.

        Hee hee.

    • Snort.

      You can never have enough sanitizer. . .

      • Just back from a weekend away . . . out in the middle of nowhere.

        We brought sanitizer.

        Obviously.

        Lots of it.

        Nature has it in for Maj.

        Duh.

    • If the Moosedawg had ever touched his huge butthole to my arm during training, I would have been forced to amputate it. Wait…

      • Jack actually does this quite often when he is unable to get his way . . .

        He backs his ass up your arm and then sits, tail held high.

        Much screaming and immediate surrender when he does this to the girls.

        HE IS A BUTTHOLE GENIUS!

        Hee hee.

    • a snowsprite

      I was kind of hoping this would be a Maj and Jack post. YAY! And of course, Bahahahahaha!
      Oh, and a sweater? Twitch twitch twitch. Hee hee.