Furry Faux Pas

*Disclaimer: This first paragraph may contain some language that offends. Seriously, though, I'm not sure the "appropriate" terms are any less crass and/or offensive.*

It's come to my attention that Bosley has absolutely no grasp on social mores. He sees absolutely no issue with flopping onto the couch or carpet, rolling onto his back and gyrating. It's like watching a Scooby Doo/Ron Jeremy/Chippendale hybrid. All guests of the house are instantly treated to an enthusiastic crotch and/or crack sniff, and the last time poor Sara came to the house, Bosley made quite a show of auto-fellating and tossing his own salad. She took it in stride, but I was mortified when he then proceeded to attempt to lick Sara's hand. Ew! I know!

I know short of making him some doggie tightie-whities there's really nothing I can do to curb his exhibitionist tendencies. Sometimes I even envy him a bit. Ah, to enjoy that sort of public freedom...

Dave and I are trying to get Bosley out more. He needs a little social interaction, but I've been wary since he tends to panic when in new situations or around other dogs. Until this week, he's flatly refused to get into the truck to go anywhere. It was an absolute nightmare to get him into the truck to go back to E-Town, or hell, even to go to the vet which is right down the street. Dave usually resorts to hefting the dog over one shoulder to get him in the truck. (Lift with your knees, Dave-O! Lift with your knees!)

Yesterday Dave and I decided to head over to Chick-Fil-A for a late lunch. On a whim, we decided we'd take Bos with us. Eventually we managed to get him in his harness--he thinks it's a chew toy, but seriously, if you have a big dog or a leasher jerker, get one! They're amazing!

Where was I? Oh, right. Bos in harness. So I walked him outside, fully prepared to drag his huge butt over to the truck, but he surprised me by trotting right over to the passenger door. I opened the door, he climbed in and we took off. Dave and I were shocked.

There was a slight moment of panic went we went through the drive-thru. The second he heard that scratchy speaker voice, Bos' ears perked and he gave that low growl he does before he starts bellowing. Luckily he stayed calm and only did a small bark when he saw the guy taking orders at window.

Oh, and the cashier girl handed Dave one of those bone shaped treats with our order. (Odd, I know, but I guess they see a lot of dogs?) Dave held the bone out to Bosley, and I'll be damned if he didn't give a sniff and haughtily toss his head. Apparently Ol' Roy treats are beneath him.

You know, I think I spoil him too much. In the beginning, Dave and I gave Bosley the best of everything because we felt so freakin' bad for him. He looked so pathetic when we adopted him because he'd been so badly mistreated at that effing puppy mill. Organic shampoo and conditioner, super premium dog food, tons of toys, the best vet, lots of snuggles--there was nothing we denied him. I realize now that I've turned Bosley into the Veruca Salt of Great Danes. "I want it now!"

All along Dave quietly warned me that all the things I found so cute in my fifty pound puppy were going to be annoying when he was one hundred pounds. Did I listen? No. Am I paying for it now? Yeah. The lesson: If we ever have kids, all things in moderation.