So I walk in the door last night, after being in Atlanta all week, and I discover my kids curled up on the couch watching Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2.
It’s a movie about a talking chihuahua.
I should have ripped the TV off the wall at that very moment. I HATE little dogs. I hate everything about them. I hate the way people treat them as little pets, ferrying them around in little dog carriers, bringing them to the hair salon like they’re some kind of toy.
They are 1 step removed from rodents. They are not real dogs. And they should all be shot.
My father has a 1/2 chihuahua, 1/2 Jack Russell terrier. He named it Ringo. Everytime I see that dog I am overcome with an overwhelming desire to kick it. My foot would fit perfectly under its little body, and I bet I could launch him across the room and against the wall. It would feel so good. He would yelp and slither away and I would be satiated, at least for a few moments.
Check out this pic of my old man at a baseball game with his little Paris Hilton dog in tow. It makes me want to puke. He looks like a little rat.
And if you could hear him yelp, you would agree.
Sorry, Dad, but there is something wrong with you. I question your status as a man. I am calling you out. That dog should be put out of its misery.
I don’t think very many people in the South have little vanity dogs like this. At least, I hope not. I imagine in the South it’s all about dobermans and pitbulls and other, tougher, breeds.
It’s a good thing we’re moving, before it’s too late.