4 months after my wife and I were married, she went off to tech school in San Antonio (air national guard). We had one dog at the time that was 9 months old. Since I had to work (things were very tough back then), I decided to get a companion for Buster. I went to the Humane Society and found Hobo. He was the same size and age as Buster and seemed to be a real friendly dog.
Where Buster had tons of energy (a regular frisbee dog), Hobo was the exact opposite. He saw walking as a way of getting from point a to point b... where he could lay down. It was long after I got him that I knicknamed him "fatass".
It appeared that he was raised in an appartment when he was a puppy, and turned into the shelter when he got too big (half Golden Retriever and half Collie). This meant he wasn't housebroken and he thought he was a lapdog. The lapdog thing didn't last since he was 85lbs, but he did become quite the foot dog.
I also refered to him as "the phantom toejamter". We'd let him outside in the morning to answer the call and he'd trot around... he'd come in and wait until we weren't looking then cop an insta-squat on the carpet. I swear he could do it in 3 seconds flat. We never really cured him of it, though we were diligent in not letting him back in the house until we actually saw crap being dropped. Once in a while, he'd still get us. He always had that "gotcha!" look on his face afterwards.
I remember when I took him in to have him fixed. He was the second for me to take in, so it was old hat for me. I wasn't prepared for what the nurse had to say afterwards. They called me into the back and gave me Hobo to walk out when the nurse said "Your dog had the largest balls I've ever seen. I have them in a jar if you'd like to take them home with you." Wow... what a moment that was. I politely informed her that the last thing any man wanted laying around the house was a jar with a pair of balls in them.
Hobo also had a frog tongue. By frog tongue, I mean that he could be laying across the room and still nail you on the cheeck with his tongue. This led to a moment more gross than the "balls" incident. As I was getting ready for work, I was sitting on the couch and bent over to tie my shoes. Hobo had assumed his normal place at my feet and was excited that papa was finally up and about. I began to yawn just after I grabbed my shoe laces and Hobo saw an opportunity... he shot the tongue out and licked me.... square in the mouth. I swear he hit my tonsils. He promptly licked the place where his balls used to be and gave me a look that said "that's not all I've been licking" in triumph.
He never changed. I'll miss him.
AKDejaVu
