trouble. But of course, I am the problem. That is how it works in our house. That crazy animal has turned the place upside down, but I usually take the blame for causing chaos and provoking Jasper’s chronic bad behavior. I am innocent, I swear.
Jasper belongs to my wife and to the ages, though few will believe my story. And a sad story it is. And noisy. Jasper runs around barking like a maniac, as if his tail is caught in an electric socket. This version of man’s best friend is just plain annoying.
It all began the day my wife bought Jasper from a pet store. Who buys animals from pet stores anymore? Poor, sickly, undernourished creatures with smoker’s cough arrive at homes from pet stores, animals that are down and out. Maybe they have TB, worms, or whatever. In Jasper’s case, it surely was distemper, and it proved contagious. Now I have it, too.
The seedy pet emporium sat across the street from my kids’ school, next to Jasper’s, a favorite pizza joint. You can guess the rest. The owner of the pet store told my wife Jasper is an Aussie poo. Never give a sucker an even break.
Genetic tests later indicated that Jasper is a dog of many flavors and what is known as a mutt.
The dog’s only papers covered the kitchen floor where he slept as a puppy. The poodle palace is gone now. Not so the dog. Meredith claims Gabe, our second kid, predicted that Jasper would return joy to the family. Return joy? Where the hell was happiness hiding?
Gabe denies he ever said such a thing. I reached him at college and he seemed to wonder why I was bothering him with this foolish question. I explained that it was his goofy mother who probably made the whole thing up to head off buyer’s remorse. Mine.
Please allow me to present my opening argument in
Richard M. Cohen v. Jasper, the Hideous Shrieking Pig Dog.
This is an open-and-shut case, and I want damages. Jasper’s ear-piercing bark is continual and is disturbing the peace, the animal screaming as if our car is rolling over his private parts, not that they still exist.
Jasper dislikes me as much as I loathe him. The animal bares his teeth and lunges at me whenever I go near my wife. He tries to tear my face off, because the animal is possessive, if not pathological, and believes she is his betrothed. Your Honor, these are only the highlights of my case. Please hear my story.
Scorecard
M y wife is Meredith Vieira, journalist, television star, and fabulous mom. Jasper is simple enough to believe what he sees on television: Meredith sane and serene and fully in control. The problem begins with the fact that my good wife has her moments when she is none of the above. Ms. M. has a few loose screws when it comes to pets and other living things.
Of course, the public thinks Meredith can do no wrong. But when you walk on water, sooner or later you get wet. Right now no jury in the land would give me a fair shake. If Meredith and I stand on opposite sides of an issue, such as a crime against humanity—that would be Jasper—we all know who is going to prison.
The fact that the woman is a fanatic animal person will be held as inadmissible. Besides, no one will believe that she takes orders from our hairy creatures, except people who know the lady has a big heart that overrules her brain.
Meredith routinely chases insects around the house to capture them in a glass or jar to be released in the great outdoors, where no doubt they will be devoured by birds or frogs, which is precisely why the bugs hide indoors in the first place. Meredith never will step on an ant. Big deal. Neither will I, though I refuse to walk in front of an approaching train to avoid insect carnage.
Our kids just watch in wonder, smiling as they silently roll their eyes. They know their mom pretty well. And they can predict my stunned silence. Their eyes go back and forth between the two of us as they hold their tongues.
I imagine them waving a Swiss flag and declaring their neutrality. Yet it never
Jasper belongs to my wife and to the ages, though few will believe my story. And a sad story it is. And noisy. Jasper runs around barking like a maniac, as if his tail is caught in an electric socket. This version of man’s best friend is just plain annoying.
It all began the day my wife bought Jasper from a pet store. Who buys animals from pet stores anymore? Poor, sickly, undernourished creatures with smoker’s cough arrive at homes from pet stores, animals that are down and out. Maybe they have TB, worms, or whatever. In Jasper’s case, it surely was distemper, and it proved contagious. Now I have it, too.
The seedy pet emporium sat across the street from my kids’ school, next to Jasper’s, a favorite pizza joint. You can guess the rest. The owner of the pet store told my wife Jasper is an Aussie poo. Never give a sucker an even break.
Genetic tests later indicated that Jasper is a dog of many flavors and what is known as a mutt.
The dog’s only papers covered the kitchen floor where he slept as a puppy. The poodle palace is gone now. Not so the dog. Meredith claims Gabe, our second kid, predicted that Jasper would return joy to the family. Return joy? Where the hell was happiness hiding?
Gabe denies he ever said such a thing. I reached him at college and he seemed to wonder why I was bothering him with this foolish question. I explained that it was his goofy mother who probably made the whole thing up to head off buyer’s remorse. Mine.
Please allow me to present my opening argument in
Richard M. Cohen v. Jasper, the Hideous Shrieking Pig Dog.
This is an open-and-shut case, and I want damages. Jasper’s ear-piercing bark is continual and is disturbing the peace, the animal screaming as if our car is rolling over his private parts, not that they still exist.
Jasper dislikes me as much as I loathe him. The animal bares his teeth and lunges at me whenever I go near my wife. He tries to tear my face off, because the animal is possessive, if not pathological, and believes she is his betrothed. Your Honor, these are only the highlights of my case. Please hear my story.
Scorecard
M y wife is Meredith Vieira, journalist, television star, and fabulous mom. Jasper is simple enough to believe what he sees on television: Meredith sane and serene and fully in control. The problem begins with the fact that my good wife has her moments when she is none of the above. Ms. M. has a few loose screws when it comes to pets and other living things.
Of course, the public thinks Meredith can do no wrong. But when you walk on water, sooner or later you get wet. Right now no jury in the land would give me a fair shake. If Meredith and I stand on opposite sides of an issue, such as a crime against humanity—that would be Jasper—we all know who is going to prison.
The fact that the woman is a fanatic animal person will be held as inadmissible. Besides, no one will believe that she takes orders from our hairy creatures, except people who know the lady has a big heart that overrules her brain.
Meredith routinely chases insects around the house to capture them in a glass or jar to be released in the great outdoors, where no doubt they will be devoured by birds or frogs, which is precisely why the bugs hide indoors in the first place. Meredith never will step on an ant. Big deal. Neither will I, though I refuse to walk in front of an approaching train to avoid insect carnage.
Our kids just watch in wonder, smiling as they silently roll their eyes. They know their mom pretty well. And they can predict my stunned silence. Their eyes go back and forth between the two of us as they hold their tongues.
I imagine them waving a Swiss flag and declaring their neutrality. Yet it never
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