Poodles Are Crazy

One thing I wish someone would have told me before we adopted Sir Duke Barkington, is that poodles are fucking crazy. Of course, it would have been hard to tell me that, because I woke up one day and was all, Hey Missy, let’s get a poodle today! And so we did (because my husband truly gets me all the things I want, and for the most part goes along with all my crazy plans. He really needs to stop that. Someone needs to knock some sense into me.) So there’s that. Although, come to think of it, maybe Duke is just exhibiting behavior he has learned from me? That’s neither here nor there, let me tell you about car line.

Jerimiah usually drops Jackson off at school in the mornings on his way to work. It would be a nice little sleep-in kinda deal for me, if it weren’t for the damn dog. Sir Duke REALLY likes car rides, so when he watches them leave in the morning he freaks out. Like, freaks out. Goes from window to window to see them drive away, then goes to the front door and cries as they pass by the porch. Why do I know this? Why am I not fast asleep in bed? Because if I sleep in, then the damn dog “acts out” after they leave. Usually this means going through the trash, or tearing apart one of my books he has managed to nose off the bookshelves. So I have to be up and at ’em in the morning, or else.

When Jerimiah is away, I have to take Jackson to school, which is totes fine as it is a three-minute drive (which is much better than the 25-minute drive we used to do in Charlotte up and down the highway each morning.) BUT, that means Sir Duke Barkington either gets left outside or gets to come along. This week he caught on pretty quickly that if he gets put outside before we leave, we aren’t letting him back in. And he has to stand at the gate and whine and watch us as we pull out of the driveway. So on Friday, he guilted me into taking him. How? His eyes, his deep, brown, soulful eyes. Here, look:

Oh, oops. Sorry, that is a picture of his balls hanging freely. So sorry, big mistake. Trust me, he has soulful eyes. BTW: He still has these bad boys for another month, so if you know any, ahem, pretty SPOO or DOOD ladies… He’s looking. #Thumbs Up #WinkyFace #NoPreferenceWhatsoever

Anyway, this sonofabitch followed me around all morning and whined at my feet, refused to go outside, and just as I was slipping Jackson’s lunch box into his book bag, he ran over, sat politely, and stared at his leash. See what I mean? Guilt. So we took him.

You know how sometimes you feel like people are watching you, or looking at you, or judging you in some way? But really they aren’t. You just feel that way because we are all self-centered, when in reality we are all too busy thinking the same thing about ourselves to be actually paying each other any attention? When I’m in the car with Duke, people really are looking at us and judging.

First, he’s adorable. No, for real, here look:

Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry, it’s a zoomed in balls picture, I’m so sorry! How did that happen?! Okay, trust me with the next one:

Okay, okay. See what I mean? Really sorry about the other picture. Not sure what happened.

So, yeah, not gonna lie, he’s totes adorbs. And people want to pet him. And he wants people to pet him. He LOVES people and pets. Unless he is in the car. Something happens to him when he’s in the car. He goes into “Batshit Crazy Poodle mode,” as I refer to it. I have only ever seen this type of behavior in more protective, aggressive breeds like German Shepherds and Chihuahuas. The car, like his house, is his domain to protect and he does just that. It’s just that, say, at the carline at school, or in the line at the bank, it kinda sucks to have to roll all the windows up, and have your giant Standard Poodle barking ferociously over your shoulder at whomever you are talking to. And in the carline, when the teachers—or in the case of today—when the PRINCIPAL opens the car door for Jackson, and he lunges at the tiny woman from the backseat, which makes you nervous and you let off the brakes a little while the car door is still open and she says, “Ohhhh,” well, it can be embarrassing.

So what is my point here? Don’t adopt a Standard Poodle?! Oh, no! Adopt one, they are amazing, here, just look at him when he was a puppers:

You were sorta scared to look, huh? I said you can trust me now, you guys! Adopt away, just know that they are crazy-ass mofos who feed off your anxiety and worry. They are SUPER smart and also SUPER stubborn, so while they know that you want them to calm the fuck down, they refuse to do it. You won’t be telling them what to do, rather they will be telling you what to do. But in return, if you obey their demands, you get a ton, a ton, of cuddles. Like, probably more than you want. But don’t complain, or they will attack the mailman.

Smoochie booches!

M. and Sir Duke Barkington of Charlotte

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