So the story of the dog…

A.K.-47 TKM (which, by the way, stands for “The Killing Machine”-he’s badass like that) is The Best Dog on the Planet.  He is a seventy pound pitbull who is pushing ten years old.  He is blind as a bat and pukes if he doesn’t eat every eight hours on the dot (talk about a diva).  He’s  missing part of a hind leg (cancer) and his entire spleen(rupture) but none of his sense of humor.  He is absolutely ROTTEN because I have spoiled him to be that way.  He hates his walks but loves his Mama.  And as far as I am concerned that is the most important part :). 

As of this posting A.K. and I have been together for just over nine years and there has not been one single day that this little monster has not made me laugh out loud.  He has, with age, become a lazy little curmudgeon with an increasing attitude of entitlement….but not one that makes him a jerk.  One that makes him endearing and all the more loveable like a grumpy little old man with a heart of gold.  My dog could be marketed by Hallmark.  If Hallmark’s little old man liked to jab people with his cane.

How we met:

In 2000 I had moved to Texas with a guy.  He was employed doing third shift security work in downtown Dallas.  I got a call from him one night at about one in the morning that he and his partner were on patrol and had found this puppy in a dumpster and he was just so cute and seemed really friendly and blah blah blah.  My response was this:  No.  And not just “no” but absolutely effing not.  I knew that the crappy apartment we were living in didn’t allow animals at all, much less random stray dogs.  I warned him thus:  “DO NOT bring this dog home and let me get attached and then try to take him away.  Let Issac [his partner] take him”.

Fast forward to about six thirty in the morning and I am rudely awoken from my slumber by a bounding, STINKING, nipping, barking (did I mention stinking?) dog in my bed.  I was not pleased. 

The conversation went like this:

Me:  What.  Did.  You.  Do?!?!

Him:  Well Issac didn’t wanna…

Me(confused head tilt):  Ummm…what kind of dog is that?

Him:  What?  Oh..a..uh…*hand over mouth* a phhtbal….*ahem*….

Me:  Huh?

Him:  *cough*  a..um…a..*sneeze* PATbill….

Me (suspicious and now paying attention):  Wait…WHAT?

Him (picture figure eights on the carpet with toe):  A pitbull?

YOU MUST BE KIDDING ME!!!  YOU BROUGHT A STRAY PITBULL INTO MY HOUSE?!?!  (guess who that was?)

 I had a double shift to work in a mere few hours and just wanted to sleep.  Instead we wound up feeding the dog (I turned away for one second and he destroyed my bowl), giving him a THREE baths (not a black dog at all but a rather nice cinnamon color), watched him (in horror) as he pooped on my living room floor.  Twice.  And then shut him up in the bathroom (the only room in the house that could be shut off and was also not carpet) and went to bed.  Furious. 

About one minute later:  *whine whine whine*  *whimper whimper cry*  *scratch scratch cry*

Oh.  My.  God.

I spent the rest of the night sitting on the bathroom floor with this terrified dog.

When we went to “talk” to the landlord the next day about having a dog I stayed in the car.  Arms crossed.  Pretty smug actually.  Upon the poor guys return to the vehicle I asked (smugly) how it went.

Him:  Uh…we’re not allowed to have dogs.

Me:  No shit.

Him:  It’s cool though.  Issac really wanted to take the pooch so I’ll just give him a call…

You must be kidding me.

Me (The Look):  Uh noooo.  Were you not listening to me at all?!?!  Now we have to MOVE!!!

And so we did.

And that little brown dog has been with me every single day ever since 🙂 and that guy gets an e-mail from me every single year on September 1st thanking him for bringing that pooch into my life.  What can I say?  I guess that was my one time in my life to be wrong? 🙂 

So….I love this dog more than most people on the planet and I have learned more about pitts than I ever expected to in my lifetime.  In short…I am in love with a killing machine!

Luckiest girl in the world.

Lots of pictures on the way once I raid my husband’s stash.  And I do mean LOTS!

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