Chester is the top dog. He's a yellow lab, and much larger than Caine. He's put together much better than what the picture tries to show. Caine, however, looks just like that. He's a fucking cartoon character. Yes, he wears sweaters; he likes it. Caine is a miniature labradoodle--coughmuttcough--with three-fourths of horrible, possibly inbred or perpetually drunk poodle and one-fourth of some sort of lab that only existed to create him. Caine is stupid. He's the only dog I have ever owned who will not jump over the siderail of a truck bed. He just won't do it; it's like something in his ridiculous genetics makes it so he can't jump that one thing. However, he is hypo-allergenic, which was a stupid thing for me to get since I'm not allergic to dogs. I'm allergic to hay and dust, which are stupid things to be allergic to when you're around horses for eight hours a day.
A tale about Caine:
I live with my parents; I have for years. The storm door to the backyard is glass and the indoor door is wooden with glass panels. There is a carpet in front of the door because I often tromp in with grass and paper shavings and dirt and horse crap on my boots. Caine has never had a problem with this carpet or this two-door arrangement.
Caine loves to go in my truck. I don't know why--it smells, there is stuff everywhere, he only has one little seat with a small, reeking dog bed and I yell at him whenever he goes in the front seat. I also yell at him and often throw books or random shoes Chester happens to deposit on the front seat whenever he visits at him whenever he lays anywhere that isn't his little dog bed. I assure you--be assured--he is not abused. He's just stupid.
Caine usually spends all day with me, and by with me, I mean he gallivants into my truck around ten, I do stuff until dark--which can be six hours or nine, depending on the time of year--and he's lucky if he's allowed out of the truck during that time. He does, however, get whatever leftovers I have from McDonald's, but not the fries. My horse loves fries.
Now, on this particular day, I had been working with this bitch black mare whose owners had asked me to start for them. I was agreeable but told them to not ride the horse or really do anything with her until the month was out. Obviously, they did not do as such, and, as I had informed them, I charged them double for two weeks. The horse's owners apparently did not remember agreeing to this, even though their signed copy of our arrangement was tacked onto a board in the kitchen, which I passed every time I went to be paid. They were furious and threatened to sue me. I was very clear in telling them this would be a stupid endeavor; the proof was right there.
They reluctantly paid me, but the problem had wrought it's damage. I was pissed. I threw myself in my truck and glared back at Caine; he was lying in a little ball and looking meekly up at me. Stupid, stupid dog. So, I left their property, deposited the cheque and went to my barn.
There was a tame squirrel that lived around the barn manager's house for a few years until a coyote ate it, leaving parts of the squirrel all over the place and "traumatizing" some of the stupid little rich girls there. This squirrel would let you do anything with it; even though I hated squirrels and always have, I sometimes messed around with this squirrel and once tried to train it to chase cats, which was...dumb of me.
Caine's predatory instincts are extremely dull. He will whine when he sees a cat, will sort of chase a rabbit until he gets distracted or confused, but he knows how to chase a squirrel--if he can see it. I'm bad at getting him groomed so he often has hair all over his head and covering his eyes. So I picked up the squirrel and wandered over to my truck. Actually, it wasn't really wandering. It was determined stomping--I am very fond of stomping and do it often.
I tapped on the glass, predictably scaring Caine. He looked up at me and saw the squirrel. He jumped to his feet and whined, frozen at the sight of the squirrel in my hands. I held up the squirrel and kind of jiggled it a bit.
Caine fucking threw himself at the closed window. It wasn't like he couldn't see it--it was tinted and it had been closed all day. He slammed into the window and sort of slid down it, leaving a trail of nose goo and spit, covered with the marks of his flailing paws as he tried to hit consciousness into his little brainless head. After a moment, in which I wasn't sure to laugh or call the vet, Caine pushed himself to his feet and looked back at the frozen, horrified squirrel in my hands. He sort of whined and kind of lifted a paw in the direction of the squirrel before wandering to the floor--I don't know how he found it--and collapsing next to my grain bucket. I released the squirrel and hesitantly made sure Caine was still alive.
Incredibly, he was. He was confused as all hell but just fine.
I left him to sleep--in retrospect, since he could have had a concussion, it could have been a bad idea, but I was too overcome with hilarity to think of that--and went to work with my horse until it became so cold out I hurt. A few hours later, I figured it was late enough to go home and somehow drove myself home without killing myself.
At home, Caine, who is usually fucking ecstatic to do really anything--go inside, FUCK YEAH, go outside, FUCK YEAH, eat, FUCK YEAH, take a shit, FUCK YEAH, watch me eat, FUCK YEAH, get in the truck, DOUBLE FUCK YEAH, etc--would not go near the house. I tried everything--treats, picking him up and just sort of tossing him and watching him somehow use the air as a force field and project himself away from the house, lecturing him on common decency and how he should clearly see the house was no threat.
Chester, who was inside and nearly shitting himself with excitement of not only being able to see me but to also see his gay little buddy, started howling. For some reason, this sparked something in Caine's little head and he started doing his little jiggy-prance-holy-shit-I'm-so-fucking-excited dance.
After he does this for a while, which must include sticking his butt up in the air and shaking it all over the place, my mom comes around to try and figure out why Chester is howling and Caine is doing his retarded little gay yips all over the place, and she opens the inner door to apparently not have to peer through two panes of glass to see what's going on. She now, evidently, looks like a squirrel.
Caine, for the second time in a day, launches himself at a glass window/door. This time, since this was shit glass, he breaks the fuck through and then runs all over the house, all proud of himself, getting little glass shards everywhere. Chester tears off after him as my mom stares at me, this Caine-shaped hole in the glass by her knees, and instead of doing something normal, like apologizing for having such a retarded animal living with her, I casually glanced over myself and, content with the fact I had nothing other than an iPod and heavy winter clothes on, I sauntered over and crawled through the hole Caine had made in the glass. I got to my feet, brushed imaginary glass shards off my knees and walked away.
Caine had somehow not managed to gouge or even scratch himself with his daring glass dash. The sweater protected him. He did, however, manage to get a nice long shard stuck in Chester's side, but that was remedied with my dad going HOLY SHIT HE'S PROBABLY DYING SARAH YOU SHOULD GET HIM TO THE VET RIGHT NOW AND PAY SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS BECAUSE ITS SUNDAY NIGHT AND ITS ALMOST TEN FOR THE VET TO ASK YOU HOW THE HELL YOUR DOG GOT GLASS STUCK IN HIM AND FOR YOU TO TELL HIM YOUR OTHER DOG RAN THROUGH A GLASS DOOR AND FOR THE VET TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR FUCKING SANITY BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T BRING THE DOG IN THAT RAN THROUGH THE DOOR BUT BROUGHT THE DOG IN THAT WAS JUST AN INNOCENT, HOWLING FUCKTARD BYSTANDER AND THEN FOR HIM TO TELL YOU IT WASN'T VERY DEEP AND DOESN'T NEED STITCHES, JUST KEEP IT CLEAN AND YOU'RE GOOD. I took Chester to the vet so I wouldn't have to scour the house for glass.
Caine was so proud of himself, and he hasn't run through glass since. He is, however, now afraid of the carpet for no apparent reason.
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