My Dog is a Crackhead

I spent last weekend punching my dog in the head. Hard as I could.

Let me explain.

Kia, the mellow one, on the left. Kooper, the crackhead, right.

We've got two boxers. Kia's easygoing. You could run the vacuum on her, swear to God. Kooper, though, he's scared of everything -- strangers, lightning, sound. The one thing he's NOT scared of? Animals. And that makes him Alpha Dog #1 in our dog pack of two. He's first out the door. First to eat. First, everything.

Kia couldn't care less. Like I said, she's Sunday morning.

Kooper is a sweet dog. Honestly, seriously. Wouldn't hurt anyone. Here's the problem: he's a crackhead. Meat bones are his crack. When he sees ones, smells one, thinks of one, he goes full-on rabid. And if Kia is standing between him and his crack?

Down goes Kia.

So last week, when Kia was digging for a bone she buried, Kooper went into a crack fury. It sounded like two hippos killing each other in the backyard. By the time I got there, Kooper had her by the neck. And he wasn't coming off. I called him. Pulled him. Yanked him. Still crack crazy.

So I punched him before she was seriously hurt. Six times, it took. Then he let go.

Funny thing, though. I put them back together an hour later (after I disposed of the bone). You know what? They curled up just like nothing happened. Kia didn't seem bothered in the least.

Six hours after death match.

That's how we roll. We're dogs.

Forgiveness seemed effortless. Animals make it look so easy. Problem is, will they learn? Would Kooper give a damn if he killed her for a bone? Maybe. As humans, we have the ability to transform, to rise above our instinct. Whether we do that, depends. It's not easy. But absolutely critical we do.

Moral of the story? Don't do crack, kids.

Or bones.