Should Have Named Him Jughead (Cigar Smoke 3-11-10)

Well, I knew it was going to happen. Yes, I shot a few Democrats just to watch ’em die. No, that was Johnny Cash in “Folsom Prison Blues.” I always liked Johnny. No, no, I didn’t shoot anybody.

What I did was get another dog. Yup, my life was just getting too comfortable and I was enjoying myself way too much to not have another fur ball around. And, of course, my good friend Paula Johnson had something to do with it. She suggested that I get a rescue dog from the pound and not get another damn purebred like my last dog, Hadley. And she kept giving me subtle hints, like, “got another dog yet, you jerk-off commie heartless bastard who likes to see dogs put down at the pound?” (Are you able to get new friends at the pound?)

So, as it happened, I had recently joined the Airedale Rescue Society, and my main function was to help them haul rescued dogs to kennels and homes. So they called me and had me go down to the animal shelter in Downey to pick up an Airedale who had been picked up off the street.

Well, I went down there and got him. And he was one ratty-looking dog. His hair was all matted and his head was bald and he was scary skinny and he had a trailer-trash long tail, and he smelled like No. 2 and he had just been neutered. I got him in the car and he nipped at me. (Hey, I would have nipped at someone too if I had just had my nuts snipped off.)

We got him home and he started to get acclimated by taking a dump on the living room carpet that was bigger than any dump Hadley had ever taken and would have given a rhinoceros dump a good challenge for both texture and total volume. I scolded him and he instantly rolled on the floor in a submissive posture. I told him I didn’t want him to be submissive because that’s what I want out of my wife, not my dog.

Then we had to give him a name. My first choice was Dumpy, but I didn’t share that with Marge. So, because he was bald, I said how about ArchiBALD? She thought that was just a little too cute, so I came up with Jughead because he has a jug-horse head. That didn’t fly, either. Then we remembered that Jughead used to hang out with Archie in the comics. So his name is officially Archie. Archie the Airedale.

I asked him how he liked his name and he didn’t say much. Then I asked him how he liked being rescued from the shelter and being with us, and he paused and said, “I would have preferred the 8-year-old boy on a Montana ranch, but seeing as I am nutless, I might like it here in the old folks’ home.” I told the Rhino Defecator not to press his luck.

Let me tell you a few things about this dog. We’ve only had him for three weeks but we are starting to see a trend. And the word “psycho” is in a lot of the early data. He likes to dig holes in the backyard; he likes to eat shoes; he is sneakier than Pete and waits until we leave a room before he shreds our valuables; he has squeezed under a fence and run away three times; and he likes to seriously haul ass around the house just tucking in his Airedale butt and crashing into things that used to be whole. I mean this sucker moves like Clinton after an intern, baby.

And one time while I was out playing Scrabble, and Marge had to go out for a few hours, she put him in the laundry room. When she got back, she opened the door and there was Archie, looking at her eyeball-to-eyeball. He had jumped up on a counter and ripped open some dog food packets and was trapped up there. But not before tearing down the curtains and overturning his water and food dishes. Psycho. Archie, not Marge.

And get this: I have never seen Archie either pee or go dumpy-poo. Never. Not once. Yes, I see the results, but I have never seen him do these things. Hadley would do these things until I cried. Archie is different. Oh, and Archie does not lick, either. Have you ever heard of a dog that doesn’t like to slobber on you? Me neither. He’ll put his mouth up to yours to smell what you’ve just eaten and try to remove it before you can swallow it, but he won’t lick. I think this is a case for The Dog Whisperer. Maybe even The Dog Hollerer.

But we love the big lug already. He’s very sweet. He is just a gentle giant of a dog. He now weighs more than 70 pounds and you can’t feel his bony sides anymore. And he’s getting healthier after the antibiotics and the de-worming and the deficit-building vet bills. And his hair is starting to grow out. And he smells a little better after the industrial bath and chemical dip.

But he’s still pissed off about his nuts.