Charley the Dog Vs. ‘The Squirrel’

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My dog charleyby Gregory B. Gonzalez

As I write this, my dog Charley is napping in his Superman doggie bed, lazing on a Saturday afternoon. I find it amusing in that between the two of us, he’s actually lazier than me. You’d think he would be the one licking my face to wake me in the morning, but no- I get up before he does.

I get up to make coffee, and he wraps himself up in the blankets, paws up like a canine corpse and snoring. Even if he does get up, it’s only long enough to see where I went, shoot me a dirty look that says, “Hey, are you coming back to bed, or what?” then turn right around to go back to my room.

My friend, Alicia, lovingly refers to him as a ‘lazy ass’. Can’t say I disagree. He doesn’t chase cars, he lies down and takes license plate numbers.

Just about the only thing he’s obsessed with (other than me) is catching the squirrel in my backyard. He hates that thing more than the white family who hated that black guy in the movie Get Out. I don’t really get it, either- everybody likes squirrels. I like squirrels. I love things that are cute and fuzzy. It’s the whole reason I have a dog in the first place!

But not Charley. He actually sits and waits by the window on what I refer to as ‘squirrelwatch’, biding his time, patiently sitting vigilant, ready to pounce the moment that little buck-toothed dust ruffle shows his face. Don’t worry, I never let him out fast enough to get the squirrel, and thankfully, he’s not dumb enough to let himself get caught.

I suppose I should be happy that Charley is getting smarter at picking enemies; for a while there, he was trying to fight WAY above his weight class. One time we went for a walk down the hill from my house, and these five slobbering, snarling pit bulls came thundering at us. Instead of running for his life, Charley charged at them, ready to take them all on. If it wasn’t for the wrought iron fence keeping them from us, it would have been like zombies feeding on a fat guy. All that would’ve been left is a pair of big ears and a severely mauled, empty collar.

I pulled Charley back and told him, “Are you crazy? Those are pit bulls! You’re trying to pick a fight with balls you no longer have!” Not that he was paying attention, he was struggling to get out of my arms and resume the pissing contest. Walking home, I tried my best to soothe  him and said, “Boy, your muzzle is writing checks your tiny body can’t cash!”

Anyway, getting back to his nemesis, the squirrel, there was one day when I was in the backyard with Charley, me sitting in a patio chairCharley the Dog with a comic book, and the doggie marking his territory and sunning his belly.

I guess I’d stopped paying attention to my surroundings because it wasn’t until I was stirred by a weird noise that I looked up to see what Charley was up to. He sat on his haunches, looking up, with his head slightly tilted.

The weird noise, if I had to describe it, sounded like two crickets having angry sex. I scanned the yard, but I couldn’t tell where it originated. I switched my view to Charley, wondering what on Earth could be keeping him so laser-focused. Especially since under normal circumstances, he has an attention span like a toddler on meth.

I got out of my chair and walked over to where he was sitting. The weird noise seemed to be louder, and I lifted my head to where Charley was looking. Above us and to the left was a telephone pole that bordered my house and the neighbor’s, and attached to that was a metal junction box, upon which the squirrel sat.

And I shit you not, he was looking down at Charley and doing what I can only assume was angrily cursing a blue streak at him.

Both Charley and I stood there, him out of curiosity, me out of fascination, at this little ball of brown fur, who finally got tired of being harassed by a dog. I thought I’d seen and heard everything, but I was wrong. Believe me, that squirrel was PISSED. At one point, I think he even gave us the finger.

I felt slightly detached from reality. Cursing squirrels were a relatively new phenomenon for me. I probably shouldn’t be surprised, though—I’m a weirdness magnet. I guess that extends to my dog, too.

About Post Author

Gregory B. Gonzalez

Gregory B. Gonzalez is an angry black man who isn't actually black. No, really- he told us to say that! His parents once had him tested for Tourette's, but when the doctor came back with his results, he said, "No, he's fine. Your son is just an a**hole!" It's been downhill ever since. He lives like the Unabomber, only without the explosives. Feel free to contact him provided you can actually locate him. Just keep in mind that he'll probably make fun of you to your face. We here at MMA can't stand him, so if you want him, he's all yours!
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5 years ago

A no-Trump story. Delightful! How about more of these Mike? Hell. I’ll write a couple 🙂

Teresa Picot
5 years ago

I love these Charley stories – love that boy and you!

Jerry Girard
5 years ago

Greg you are proud of your pup and that makes you OK in my book. Fun little story.

jess
5 years ago

The little squirrel family that live in my trees, I think they throw things at my dogs to get them to back the fuck off dogs or I will cut a bitch (in their tiny squirrel voices) Not for nothing but I was wondering where does one go to find out what angry cricket sex sounds like, asking for a friend Greg, asking for a friend 🙂

Reply to  jess
5 years ago

Oh. Well, that’s easy Jess. You see you wait until the first curtain of darkness has fallen, wait for the crickets to chirp, and when you hear the chirp, moan, chirp, moan, followed by the word, in cricket speak, “already” in the form of a question, then you’ve heard angry cricket sex. Tell your friend 🙂

jess
Reply to  Professor Mike
5 years ago

I see you have thought this through, a lot even 😉

Diane G.
Reply to  Professor Mike
5 years ago

“Already?”

Lol!

Admin
5 years ago

Dogs and squirrels! I love to watch the former try to catch the latter, although my guys catch one occasionally.

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