That’s my dog. Well, to be fair…he lives with my mom and dad. They buy his food and take him to the vet and whatnot but I found him and convinced my parents to buy him. I think he remembers who rescued him from that boring cage in a pet store 11 years ago.
Rooty is quite possibly the coolest dog on the planet. He doesn’t do any stupid tricks that other dogs seem so proud of, like rolling over or playing dead. When he sits up it ain’t because one of us told him to, it’s because he wants something dammit.
He hasn’t met a toy he can’t destroy in 5 minutes. Just before Christmas the year that the animal cruelty scandal broke, I discovered a Michael Vick football marked down to a couple of dollars at Wal-Mart. I bought it and wrapped it for Rooty (yes, he has presents under the tree that he gets to open). Like he could smell the animal-hater on that football, Rooty had popped it within the hour and spent the rest of the day prancing through the house with the football carcass in his mouth.
Rooty also occasionally likes to show inanimate objects who’s the boss around here. If you even so much as whisper the words “Rooty, you’d better watch out” he will attack the nearest baseboard heater with the ferocity of whatever would result from a mongoose and a rabid badger mating. He won’t rest until he’s managed to wrestle the front plate off, and most of those plates are now bent.
Don’t tell him I said this, but Rooty is kind of a sissy about some things. He won’t stop shaking on a windy day, he loathes thunder storms and fireworks, and just getting a loaf of bread out will send him (ears back and tail tucked) slinking up the stairs to hide under mom and dad’s bed because sweet Jesus they’re surely getting the damn toaster out!
He’s also afraid of:
-Cardboard wrapping paper tubes
– The sweeper
– Little kids
So on the extremely rare occasion that a UPS or FedEx man comes to our house and leaves the package in front of the door without even knocking because he’s afraid of Rooty? Well that just makes me chuckle. See, Rooty likes to fancy himself quite the badass. This summer he had an altercation with a squirrel AND a bird. He’s chased after deer that made the mistake of wandering into HIS territory, and he isn’t one bit afraid to steal a toy out of a Doberman’s mouth. When the UPS/FedEx man knocked on the door and encountered Rooty barking and hopping and practically vibrating from excitement, he was apparently scarred for life. What a pansy.
It just so happens to be a windy day here, and poor Mister Rooty is terrified. As I’ve been typing this he has squirmed his way under a blanket next to me and has been inching his way onto my lap. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to type with a trembling Jack Russell drooling on your leg?