A/N - A drabble written for my fabulous friend, Jekkah.
It's a Dog's Life
They call me Oscar.
They named me after a freaking grouch, man. What the hell was up with that? I'd been the very model of an ideal canine companion and yet they still dubbed me with a puppet's moniker.
I blame the blonde.
It had to be her idea. She had that look about her….the kind that said she took a kind of devilish glee in labeling unsuspecting dogs with unfortunate names. Like it was a hobby or something.
But putting my mild grudge over my unfortunate title aside, the blonde was still better than the one my man Marshall had chosen to cohabitate with. Man…that chick was a piece of work.
See, I have this thing about humans that like treating their pets like small children. It's insulting, really. I mean, I didn't survive the mean streets of Albuquerque by being frickin' cute, you know? It took tenacity and street smarts. It took finding your kibble in a garbage can or a trash heap. It took brains.
Trust me, nobody stood on the corner, yelling, "Nummy! Nummy! It's time for chow chow, Oscar! Come eat for mommy!" in a lilting Southern accent that makes you wanna toss your doggy biscuits.
Last I checked, this chick that Marshall was shacking up with didn't have four legs. I'm seriously doubting she gave birth to a litter.
Honestly, what did Marsh see in this Abigail lady? She wasn't his type. Really. My peep Marshall doesn't need a woman to laugh at his dumbass jokes….he needs a lady that rolls her eyes and makes a snide, pity comment to bring him back down to reality.
You know, like Mary.
Now, don't get me wrong, Mary and I have our issues. The name thing aside, she and I haven't always seen eye to eye. She doesn't let me on her couch and she's stingy with the Purina. Usually we spend our time together trying to glare each other into submission. However, she's got something I can respect…
You'll never see Mary running off to the bathroom to cry when Marsh is late for dinner or simpering like some freakin' Scarlett O'Hara about a sappy movie. Nah, Mary is an in your face Jersey girl. She lets a dog – or man, as the case may be – know the score straight up. Yeah, she thinks she's superior in every possible way, but truthfully, she kinda is. Like me, she came from the school of hard knocks.
And a dog has just gotta respect a female like that.
Mary and I have our mutual dislike of Abigail in common. It's sorta bonded us.
And let's be real here….Mary is hot. She's got that sassy attitude…brains…and a killer rack.
It's the freaking trifecta.
And Marshall doesn't see it?
Or, maybe he does.
See, I catch him looking at her from time to time with a little trail of mannish drool creeping down his chin. It'd be cute if it weren't so sad. Seriously, if I was a guy and I still had my balls, I'd be all of that. But, sadly, not Marshall.
Nope, my guy settles for the Southern Belle.
What can I tell you folks…it's a dog's life.