Showmanship

2 - Dogs, I-Phones, and a Slumber Party

Dogs

   They like to wake you up. Especially the big ones that your stepdad bought you because he thought the dog would bring you two closer.

   It's not that I hate my moms husband. It's just that I am so socially awkward that I can't talk to myself in the mirror. Nothing personal.

   Back to dogs. My stepdad brought this box one day, and 18 year old me, who just managed to get an apartment so he wouldn't have to live with two teenage girls anymore, wasn't expecting that box to bark. Not only was the box barking, it was about as heavy as half of my half brother at the time.

   He had got me a dog. Even though I had just got a place. That didn't take pets over the weight of 100 pounds.

   Thanks Dave.

   I took the dog to my apartment, and since a German Shepard puppy only barely weighs less then 100 pounds I kept him. Marge named him kitty, for irony. I call him Kit because as much as I hate my neighbors, I didn't have the heart to make them think I got a cat.

   I tried to change his name, but the dog is so stupid. By stupid I mean he would only listen to Marge and not me, which is why I was awakened from a lovely dream where I had almost won the love of a certain cast member.

   "Stop," I mumbled m, continuing to try to push the dog away. Maybe if I pressed my eyes hard enough I could become part of my dream world.

   My dog continued to shove his cold nose in my face. Not only was his nose cold and wet, it also smelled. Really bad.

   Why does my dogs nose smell really bad?

  I wasn't sure if I wanted to know why.

  I laid my head down on the pillow and hid my face, so the only thing Kit was poking now was the back of my head and my hair.

I laid there for a little longer, keeping my eyes glued shut. After I gave up hope of getting my dream back the pull of curiosity was enough to get me up. I also heard Kit going through some trash, and I really wasn't in the mood to clean something up before my first day shooting.

At least I was in L.A and the floor isn't that cold in the middle of august. Even if my buildings air-conditioner wants me to feel like I'm back in London at the age of twelve.

I walked up through the apartment, which looked like any standard L.A apartment. Way to expensive for a a few square rooms with some windows and everything to be whitewashed.

And as I had expected Kit had knocked over the trash bin in the middle of the night, again. Thankfully it was a basically empty because I'm a 21 year old boy with no social life, so I don't make a lot of trash.

Kit sat in the doorway from the bathroom to the kitchen, watching me pick up his mess because that's what pets do. I finally cleaned everything up, which didn't take to long. I have a feeling it would take longer if I had a girlfriend,

   Or a sex life.

   And I have neither of those things.

   Kit was running around like crazy in the kitchen because he got tired of waiting for me to clean up his mess.

   Or so I thought.

  Kit was now laying on the kitchen floor, chewing on something. Probably something important.

   "What is in your mouth?" I asked blankly.

   My dog continued to chew.

   "Oh god, what is in your mouth?" I dropped to the floor and tried to pry open his mouth. Except that this was a fully grown German Shepard dog that weighed atleast 1/3 of what I did. A will power of a dog to keep his chew toy adds on like 100 more pounds.