December 18, 2018

Not so little Rascal…

Toby Nix orgI was going to write a column about the election. But it would only serve to make half the readers angry, the left half.  

And if you are like me, you’re sick of hearing about politics anyway, no matter which side of the political spectrum you find yourself.   

So why bother with a political column? The phrase “you raise a valid point and I shall now rethink my stance on the issue.” is heard about as often as “boy, I think the Bulldogs stand a good chance of going all the way this year.” Which is never.  

I thought instead of boring you with another political opinion from someone you don’t care about, I would write about something we could all agree on. How amazing my dog, Rascal, is.  

We got Rascal about six years ago from a coworker of mine. He was around three years old I think, but he already carried himself like a grumpy old man with bad hips. I don’t have bad hips… yet, but I’m as grumpy as they come. That’s probably why he and I have always gotten along so well. He doesn’t like cats. I don’t like cats. He doesn’t like people ringing his doorbell. I hate people ringing my doorbell. The only doorbell we have is at the front door we never use. So if someone rings it, I know they are no friend of mine. Rascal knows that too.   

Where Rascal and I differ on the doorbell situation is I can tell the difference between a doorbell on TV and a doorbell in real life. Rascal cannot tell the difference. It doesn’t bother him that none of us are getting up to walk toward the door when it’s just the TV. 

A doorbell on TV sends him into the exact same fury as a doorbell in real life. You don’t truly understand how many times a TV show will have a doorbell ring until you have a dog like Rascal. There have been many times I have looked at my TV and silently pleaded with the actor to answer the door before the doorbell rang again. 

Rascal doesn’t like leaving the house and he doesn’t like going to doctors. He likes afternoon naps and sitting beside a bonfire. Those are all things I can get on board with as well. He doesn’t like squirrels in his yard. Neither do I. 

He still thinks he can catch them in a footrace. I gave that dream up years ago. Actually, truth be told, I never thought I could catch any animal without a shell on its back in a footrace. That’s beside the point.  

Rascal doesn’t like new country music. He’s never really told me he doesn’t but since we have so much else in common I just assume he has no use for it. That’s the same logic I used to figure out he is also a Georgia Tech fan. Gotta love “Ol’ Ramblin’ Wreck Rascal,” as I’m sure he is referred in the dog circles. 

I have been out of town, with Rascal at home, and heard a doorbell on TV and cringed in expectation of his impending bark. I’m pretty sure Pavlov would have gotten a kick out of that modern twist to his experiment. 

I think the only area me and Rascal differ on is I don’t have to walk around in a circle nine or ten times before I lay down to go to bed. In his defense though, the floor is a lot bigger than my bed.   

He’s old like me. He’s grumpy like me. He doesn’t like most children not named Nix like me. We get along well, me and Rascal. All we really want in life is a full belly and the occasional back rub.   

Just remind us to take a bath every couple of months. Because we’ll forget.

Toby Nix

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