Water Torture

Bocephus. That's pronounced Boe-see-fuss. He is named after Hank Williams Jr, who was lovingly nicknamed Bocephus by his father Hank Williams. I have vowed to name all my dogs after classic country artists. Don't ask me why. I'm from Louisiana and this is just a little way I can keep connected to my roots I guess, AND I have yet to meet another dog named Bocephus. I'm sure they are out there, but I haven't met one in Alaska; yet.

The resemblance is uncanny.

We adopted Bocephus from the animal shelter when he was three months old, the name on his temporary collar read "Trouble". I'm sure that was just a coincidence. He has grown in the last 2.5 years from a 15-pound fluff ball to a 105-pound dog-beast. He has been trained in the ways of being housebroken, he will sit, lay down, shake hands AND high-five. My dog high-fives! I can't think of a greater accomplishment to have. He will also walk up to your face while you are relaxing in the recliner, wait for you to turn towards him and then burp. He does this on purpose. Everyday. Like clockwork.

He will also walk right between your aim of the remote and the cable box so that you are rendered a blubbering idiot, begging him to move his ginourmous ass away from the TV; "You're daddy wadn't a winduh maker boy!".

He will not roll over. Flat out refuses. I tried for hours when he was a pup but he would just roll halfway and then jump up on all fours like "ta-da, where's my treat?". Then he just kept getting bigger and bigger and me trying to teach him to roll over looked more like a WWE match.

He also will not eat or drink unless he has a witness to the fact. This, this, THIS! This is the bane of my existence. One thing I cannot stand is the sound of someone eating, slurping or smacking. One thing he loves to do is wait until I'm in the room so that he can eat. I can fill his bowls and leave for the day, come back and he hasn't eaten a bite and he won't eat a bite until I am standing within visual proximity to his chomping and smacking or even better until I am relaxed in the living room reading or watching some mind-numbing television (to be honest it's probably the latter, so what).

I asked my husband last night if Guantanamo Bay was still closing soon because they could use the sound of our dog drinking water as torture. It could get confessions out of anyone. I often end up confessing to things right there in the kitchen as he's lapping away.

"Yes! I did it! I bought another pair of shoes at Nordstrom, they are in the back of the closet! Please make it stop!"

Joe says that I can't teach a dog to chew with his mouth closed or drink through a straw, that it's impossible.

Oh yeah? Well he also told me that I couldn't stop the dog from licking himself, and after 2.5 years I have squelched his desire to lick his vacant ballsac and any impulse he has to clean himself while inside the house. Every once in a while I will catch his eye as he lifts that rear leg and aims his nose at what used to be his manhood and it's a heated staring contest until that leg slowly but surely takes its place back on the floor. "That's what I thought" I say and Bocephus replies "I'll lick what I want when I get outside and then come in and burp in your face."

Can't be done. Watch me.