Nightmares of a Dishwasher

My Most Memorable Thanksgiving

I was woken up in the best possible way one could hope for on Thanksgiving; a solid, firm dog paw to the groin and a large tongue shoved down my throat. 

"Hi buddy", I struggled to say under the attack from my Rottweiler's strong tongue. It was always a process to get him off of me. He was the friendliest dog in the world, and would be the gentlest, if he had any self-awareness whatsoever. Yet, he did not, so a wrestling match always ensued that usually seemed to just leave the dog confused. 

Rottweilers get a bad reputation. He is all too often the victim of an accusing eye around town. Often, when he is just walking down the street, on a leash, upper-class white women will pick up their small dogs and children, and hug the side of the road as we pass. 

This misconception stems from their strength. Rottweilers have one of the strongest bites of all dogs, so people with bad intentions choose them and train them to be intimidating. You can train a Golden Retriever or a Corgi to be just as vicious but why would you?

After I managed to get Roland off of me, I squinted at the alarm clock to check the time. 6:03, the clock read. It wouldn't be light for about another hour, not really light, anyway. I was up, however, thanks to Roland's assistance, so I crawled out of bed and hopped in the shower. 

My fiancé was still sleeping. Our plan for the day was to go to her sister's house, about a half hour away. I always enjoyed going there, but my intentions were not always so pure. I wanted to become close with her sister, not because I was particularly fond of her, but because I was so in love with her home that I hoped I would be the first to know when it was on the market(and that maybe she could cut me a deal). 

I got out of the shower and got dressed. I put Roland's high-vis orange hunting jacket on him and out the door we went. Our dirt road, through a series of turns and twists, formed a roughly 2 mile long loop that was almost a perfect length to let the pup get some steam out. He had a lot of energy, but he was finally maturing and could contain it better, so the walk was enough to start. Since leaving puppyhood, I had started letting him go off the leash, and thus far he was doing his part in earning the privilege. 

It wasn't amazing out. The temperature was fairly good, quite nice actually, around 40 degrees I'd guess. But the wind was a little much. I could tell Roland didn't care though, so on we went. 

As we were approaching halfway, I could hear a trailer behind us rattling up the dirt road. Roland was pretty good with cars, but nevertheless, the trailer sounded a little sketchy and I wanted to be safe, so I called him back towards me. 

"Sit, boy" I said, when he got to me. I squatted down next to him and we watched the truck and trailer pass. It was an older, beat-up Chevy pick-up, inside of which I could just barely make out two men not too much older than myself. On top of the rickety, home-made trailer they were towing behind it was a small building with a door. Just like the truck and trailer, it was old, and a poorly built piece of DIY construction. I guessed it had to be either an outhouse or a tiny hunting cabin. One thing was clear, and that was that Roland was not a fan. 

As the trailer drove by, he began a low growl. In a few seconds, the low growl had turned into a full drool and slobber bark-a-thon, and I was beginning to have trouble holding onto him. It was so unlike his character, I had never seem him act similarly before. Ever. 

But the trailer went out of sight and Roland seemed to forget about it, and we finished our walk in peace. 

When we returned to the house Sonja was up. She was in her pajama bottoms and a sports bra making eggs in the kitchen. No make-up on, hair swept behind her naturally; this was my favorite way to see her. She was truly beautiful, and I honestly thought that the make-up and jewelry was an insult to her natural looks.