Crazy Aminals

In 1994, my brother, who was living with my mother at the time, was given a dog. Frank, not being the most normal of children, named the dog "Onion".

Onion was a good dog, by which I mean that she meant well. Or at least I presume that she meant well. She'd do her best to protect the house from intruders, even the non-existent ones, and would let us play with her. It's just that Onion was not a particularly smart dog. In fact, even by canine standards, she was probably mentally retarded.

You know that trick where you pretend to throw a ball but secretly palm it behind your back? Most dogs fall for it a couple times, then catch on. Some will casually trot behind you and nose at your hand, as if to tell you that the gig's up. Not Onion. She'd run headlong in whichever direction you pretended to launch the ball, not stopping to take into account things like lamps, tables, concrete walls, etc. Onion never once figured out that it was all a clever ruse. She'd reach the other end of the room, sniff at the ground for a moment, then give up and begin rubbing her ass upon the carpeting.

Onion flunked out of obedience school twice. The instructors said she couldn't even master the "Sit!" command.

Anyhow, shortly after they acquired Onion, my stepfather compressed his spine and underwent emergency surgery. He never fully recovered and has spent the remainder of his life confined to a wheelchair as a paraplegic.

One summer afternoon, my mother and Frank stepped out of the house to go to the store for a few items. My stepfather was in the backyard listening to a baseball game. Onion was out there with him, getting some exercise. He had a drink and was in the shade; they didn't plan to be gone for more than 15 minutes; he would be alright.

As soon as they left, my stepfather had to use the bathroom. Being paraplegic, he couldn't get there himself, but nobody was around to call. If he didn't do something, he'd wind up wetting himself.
He did the only thing he could. Bracing himself against the side of the garage, he stood up, whipped it out and relieved himself.

That was the moment I arrived on scene. I entered round back, looking for signs of life, and found my stepfather, sweatpants down around his ankles, pissing on the lawn. At his feet, was Onion, dog-genius, lapping up the puddle for god-only-knows what reason.

I was overcome with both laughter and nausea. I didn't blame my stepfather for doing what he'd done but the dog, sheesh. From that day afterward, whenever Onion would attempt to greet me by licking my face, I'd disgustedly reject her. If she's willing to lap up urine (and eat cat shit too), I had no idea what else had been in that mouth. I certainly didn't want it near my face.

And that's my animal tale.

Jam it back in, in the dark.