I’ve decided to share my latest book (The All-Important, Well-Fed, Giant White Man) with my followers here, free of charge, one chapter at a time. So… Where were we on this read-along… Oh, yes…

Chapter 5: Roxy

And now, a short and pointless little story from a different time in my life, with an even more pointless moral attached to it. The year: 2004.

A few years into my first marriage, we had a pet Boxer with beautiful fawn and white markings, long powerful legs, a short stubby nose, and eyes that were so warm they could melt snow in December. Roxy was by far the favorite of all the dogs I ever owned.

To say that she was high-energy would be like saying Louis Armstrong was a great musician. It’s true, but it’s not nearly true enough.

If Roxy didn’t get substantial daily exercise, she would bounce around the house, completely unable to control herself, and knock over everything with which she came into contact. If we valued our stuff at all, we had no choice but to keep her exercised.

As a big fat guy who looked at exercise the same way Bob Ross probably looks at skateboarding (it just isn’t going to happen), there was no way I was going to go out and give her the five miles or so of running she needed every day to chill the hell out. So, we’d use a 30-foot leash and my wife would sit on the tailgate of our SUV while I drove in circles around the nearest school parking lot 60 or 70 times with Roxy running in tow. She loved every minute of it. When it was over, she’d calmly mosey around the house the rest of the day like a normal, good dog.

Some days we couldn’t take her on a run for one reason or another. I didn’t mind so much. We’d play tug of war and wrestle until we were worn out. Then we’d both calmly mosey around the house the rest of the day like normal, good dogs.

Roxy had this favorite tug-of-war toy. It was a thick orange and white rope with frayed knots tied in both ends. She’d get hold of one end and you could not pull hard enough to yank it out of her mouth. Her jaws were so powerful and stubborn, I would sometimes lift her off the ground by the rope and carry her over my shoulder just for fun. She’d dangle there like a sack of yams. If I ever won tug-of-war, it was because she let me win not because I actually won. It was rare that she would do that for me.

But that wasn’t enough for Roxy. If she felt that she wasn’t winning fast enough, without letting go of her side of the rope, that dog would swing around and straddle the arm I was holding the rope with between all four of her legs. If I was on the floor, this was no big deal. If I was on the couch, it always left my face about four inches from her exposed butt hole.

I’m telling you right now, I don’t care how much you love your dog, you don’t want that right in your face. Ever. Or maybe you do, weirdo.

Anyway, one day we were having a particularly brutal war with the rope and she had straddled my arm as she sometimes did. Her ass was in my face like it so often was. And then it happened.

Pshshshshpshhsshshshshshpshshpshhh.

It was long. It was steamy. It was hot. And it hit me right in the face with the gentleness of a wooing lover. The smell, on the other hand, hit me the way a third degree black belt would hit a stack of bricks. Impossibly fast, accurate, and with incredible power.

I felt the blood vessels in my eyes immediately tighten, and my eyes began to water.

I didn’t breathe it in, and yet it was somehow saturating my nostrils and lungs anyway.

My stomach threatened to return my lunch back up to me.

And I let go of the rope.

She had won, yet again.

Pointless moral of the story: nothing pleasant will ever happen when you put your face next to an excited dog’s ass.

And with that, we’ll get back to it (in the next chapter of my book that I share)…

Dan Pearce, from my book: The All-Important, Well-Fed, Giant White Man

Last Chapter: “Lick It”
Next up: Sweat, Blood, and Smears

If you would like to start from the beginning, or catch up on a missed chapter, you’ll find all the chapters I’ve published so far by clicking here.

Of course, this book is for sale on paperback, hard cover, or as an e-book. If you find yourself unable to live without a copy, I would *so* very much appreciate you ordering one. You can find it on Amazon here (paperback and Kindle). Or hardcover here. Or Nook here. Or iBooks here.

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Dan Pearce is an American-born author, app developer, photographer, and artist. This blog, Single Dad Laughing, is what he’s most known for, with more than 2 million daily subscribers as of 2017. Pearce writes mostly humorous and introspective works, as well as his musings which span from fatherhood, to dating, to life, to the people and dynamics of society. Single Dad Laughing is much more than a blog. It’s an incredible community of people just being real and awesome together!