You'd think he was an Australian husband.


My BiL and the gazillion dollar Bichon Frise stud dog.

My niece and nephew had been harassing my BiL and his wife --seemingly from the moment of conception -- for a dog. Oh, dear Internet, you couldn't possibly believe the whinging/whining, the torrents of lachrymose fluids, the pleading, haggling and abject beggary in which these kids engaged, shamelessly.

Eventually, my BiL nodded a weary assent. Of course Mrs. BiL*, being an aspirationally posh sort of girl, couldn't just go to the dog pound and get something suitably cute. So, after much deliberation they wound up getting a Bichon Frise puppy. This puppy cost as much as a set of aspirationally posh faucets, to give you an indication of what sorts of sums we're talking about.

Me? I'm not a pet person. I'd tell you how much I'm not a pet person, but the imbeciles who haunt BabBab's dreams would march on my house like ecomentalists would Jeremy Clarkson's. Suffice it to say that I love all domestic animals, particularly when we have no ownership relationship.

So the idea of getting a dog that costs more than my first two cars combined is an alien one, especially when we're talking about a dog whose only real party trick is to simultaneously oscillate at 100Hz and urinate a quart or so of canine fluid. To say nothing of the completely reiduclous name of the breed. But they did, and if you like that sort of thing it was pretty good. It came with an impressive pedigree, all the paperwork, and probably was listed in the Social Register. The seller told them they could expect to recoup their costs, many times over, in stud fees.

Except that once the puppy "was of age" he developed the habit of doing what my nephew innocently described as "the hugging dance." So, for reasons which have yet to be adequately explored, my BiL had his gazillion dollar stud dog neutered.

You have no idea, dear Internet, how livid my beloved was with me over my failure to refrain from laughing uproariously over the fact my BiL bought a gazillion dollar stud dog, only to cut its balls off.

Yes, I have a particularly puerile sense of shadenfreude,


* I love her to death, but this doesn't mean I am utterly blinded to some of her more, er, vexing quirks.


Poppy Buxom said…
Pal Liz and her family have a Bichon Frise.

When the dog got too fat, Liz put her on the South Bichon Diet.

For the sake of that pleasantry alone, I will occasionally accompany Liz and her dog on walks.
My float said…
So your BIL and Mrs BIL lost twice over! Hilarious.

Of course he wasn't an Australian husband. An Australian husband:

a. wouldn't have caved into the kids' demands
b. wouldn't have spent so much money on a darn dog (let alone "faucets", but that's another story)
c. would have bought a sheep dog and made it EARN ITS LIVING retrieving coldies* from the fridge

* cold beer
Stomper Girl said…
What My Float said.
shula said…
What Stompergirl said.
Kim said…
No no no My float, Stomper and Shula, an Australian husband will say yes to the breeder when they ring saying they have a puppy while his wife in the background shouts no. Twice.

That said husband will then assure said wife she 'won't have to do a thing'.
Which she won't.
Except see the backyard decimated.
See and smell dog shit covering what seems to be every square inch of the backyard.
Except live with stinky dogs that need to be bathed at least once a fortnight but get bathed once every six months.
Except watch as dogs' coats get more and more matted.
Except watch as social life ceases as friends no longer come over due to all of the above and the fact they are untrained and jump.up.on.everyone.

Shall I go on?

Australian husband = idiot. Which is really where Joke was coming from.

As you all were.
Joke said…
Actually, I was making an allusion to the fact that an amazing number of Australian husbands are now more-or-less as capable of producing any/additional progeny as the poor dog.

Whether or not the average Australian husband has been brought to, er, heel for inappropriate episodes of "the hugging dance" on someone's lower extremities, I know not.

h&b said…
We will not be getting a dog. I do not like entertaining and having to apologise for a 'whoopsie' i missed, and make no mistake, this will be my job, as I *hate* shit on my lawn.

I *hate* it when this happens to me at someone else's house. Especially when you have a crawling baby, which I did at one stage, and seemed to meet up with a lot of people who couldn't seem to clean all the shit off their lawn.

No, i'm not over it.

And I hate 'walkies', when it's cold, when it's hot, when I look like crap, when I feel like crap, and make no mistake, again, this would end up being my job.

I like my cat. He turns up, he eats, he pisses off, he doesn't shit on the lawn and he doesn't hump me or stick his head in my crotch because 'he likes me'

I am not a dog person.
Stomper Girl said…
I wondered if this was an allusion to poor Fixit. It had to be done mate. At least I didn't pay thousands for him and then NOT let him breed. He had his go.

Also, what H&B said.
Joke said…

You are far smarter, as:

1- You got Fixit for free, and
2- Allowed him to cast his genes forward one generation.

I trust Fixit didn't greet strangers with "the hugging dance" which precipitated the procedure in question.


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