Cuddles, Chaos, and Chewed Shoes

First, I have to preface this by letting you know up front that my dog is an asshole. Not to me, of course. To me, he is sweet as pie and a tiny, fluffy cuddlebug. To everyone else, however, he is an asshole.

I found Bruno one stormy night when I was coming back home from work. The little one was shivering in the cold, trying to stay warm in the cardboard box his previous owner had dumped him in. I was broke as hell, but I realised that a defenceless, cute creature needed a home, so I took him with me.

Bruno was an adorable puppy from the moment he arrived. I had heard that dogs have a penchant for destroying furniture, chewing slippers, or eating things they shouldn’t. However, my puppy seemed to have the discipline of a soldier.

It initially took him some time to get accustomed, but once that happened, he knew where to eat, how to signal that he needed to go number one or number two by scratching the cat door. I had no problems with him whatsoever. Furthermore, he loved cuddling and licking my face in the morning to wake me up. So, I never saw it coming.

I realized that he was an asshole when my mom visited us. The moment she entered the house, my little puppy couldn’t stop barking. Now, you may be wondering if he was trying to signal that something was wrong, but my mom had raised a few dogs in her lifetime and knew how to care for them.

She approached him carefully, but Bruno wanted none of that, so my mother backed away, respecting his personal space. I was puzzled by how he was reacting.

So I chuckled and asked my mom, “Did you pet a cat or something? Bruno seems to have a problem with you.”

My mother replied, “Not really, no. German Shepherds are quite protective of their territory. It could be that he doesn’t like the fact that someone else is in his space.”

I hummed. “That could be possible.”

That was the end of our conversation that night.

The next morning, I woke up to a shriek. I rushed to the entrance of the house and saw my mother holding a half-eaten piece of her sandal. It was done by Bruno.

I immediately called for the dog, who was nowhere to be found. I looked for him everywhere and finally found him hiding under the bed. He eventually emerged looking guilty, but once he saw my mother in the room, he started licking his paw, acting like it wasn’t he who had eaten the sandal. My mother took it all in stride and discarded the shoe in the bin.

By the time she left a week later, Bruno had managed to eat two of her sandals, poop on one of her dresses, and scratch one of her bags.

I was baffled by this behaviour and immediately took him to the vet, who received the same treatment, albeit a much harsher version, where all Bruno did was bare his teeth. The doctor suspected that Bruno was just being protective of me and his territory.

As a last try, the doctor attempted to befriend him by offering a bowl full of dog treats. Bruno barely sniffed at it and walked away. I was relieved to know that he didn’t have any health issues. It was endearing that he thought he needed to protect me, but I had to let him know that he was safe, and so was I.

I was reminded once again how protective my dog was when my friends visited. It was a Sunday afternoon, and they had come over for a potluck.

Bruno kept a watchful eye the whole time. He even broke up a hug between me and a friend. My friend giggled, thinking Bruno was being cute, but I just wanted to have a nice meal with them without my dog acting like we were being invaded.

I barely managed to move my friend’s purse before he peed in it. I picked him up and placed him in a different spot. Eventually, I had to ask my friends to be mindful of their belongings because Bruno tends to misbehave.

Aside from that, he was an absolute menace; herding them into corners, rushing to occupy chairs before someone could sit down, growling when they got too close to me. After they left, he turned back into the same sweet puppy who loved cuddles, belly rubs, and treats.

That was when I decided I wouldn't have people over too often, for his sake, but most importantly, for my sanity.

At the end of the day, it was his house. I just lived there, cleaned up the poop, replaced the shoes, and apologized to guests like a hostage negotiator with a lint roller.