This past Sunday I drove over to spend some QT with the family in Hacienda Heights.
Once as white as Justin Timberlake’s ass, Hacienda Heights is now a giant Asian crisper drawer, along with neighboring Rowland Heights and Diamond Bar. (If you don’t happen to have a crisper drawer in your fridge and therefore have no clue what I just wrote - or crisp lettuce for that matter - then Hacienda Heights is where Koreans and Chinese live to maintain their off-the-boat freshness.)
If you think I’m exaggerating, I’ve included a photo of one of the town’s more famous landmarks below, the Hsi Lai Temple on Hacienda Boulevard …
Yes, unbeknownst to you all, my mom is a Shaolin monk, which made it all the more painful for me whenever I came home with a B on my report card. And if you’ve ever been severely beaten with a Cicada Wing Sword, you know what I mean. Granted she’s a devout Presbyterian, but that particular denomination never did have any cool weapons to speak of.
The puppy I got my sister a few months ago is almost seven months old now. He’s an amazingly smart little bastard, loves to be around people, and possesses this beautiful curiosity about things.
Oh, and he occasionally eats other dogs' shit.
My mom thinks this is a sure sign that he’s a manic-depressive and needs puppy Prozac. But I’ve been told that this is a common problem among dogs – something to keep in mind when you dog owners let your canine buddies kiss you on the mouth. Lord knows when he tried to lick me, I held him away like herpes, SARS and Mad Cow were having a party on his tongue.
“Don’t take this personally,” I said after making sure nobody was around to see me talking to a dog. “But you brought it on yourself, little guy. Don’t you realize that eating poo is frowned upon everywhere outside of Japanese porn? So stop it why don'tcha?”
There are ways to train your puppy to stop this filthy habit; but although it only took a few minutes to teach him how to sit, my sister’s had a hell of a time trying to get him to stop chomping on Lassie’s ass loaves.
So my other sister, whose husband is a veterinarian, is flying down from Seattle in two weeks with one of those shock collars. It doesn’t hurt the dog, it just scares the crap – or crap eating – right out of him. My brother-in-law’s clients who’ve used the collars claim it only took a few or even just one zap to scare the puppy straight.
I hope it works. Because as disgusting as I think it is for owners to kiss their dogs, I think my sister wants to be one of them. She really loves that thing.
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