Flubs — where would I be without him? He just gets me, you know? Sure, mom and dad take care of him, but I’m his true pack leader in the sense that I see him on weekends, like a recently separated spouse with court-ordered visitation rights.
When I walk through the door he does his little welcome-home dance, jumps up and wraps his paws around me. He cries, and I imagine it translates to something quirky along the lines of, “Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!!”
His snout suction-cups itself to my leg and sniffs in a familiar trail not unlike a doctor’s stethoscope checking a patient’s heartbeat. Who knows what he can smell on me with that thing — other dogs? Psh… not a chance — I’m a monogamous person.
We play this really cool game where in order for him to stop begging for pizza, I have to do this thing where I’ll eat the pizza really fast, get indigestion, then show him my empty hands like I’m surrendering to the cops. He walks away, defeated because I have nothing for him. It’s a pretty fun game. We like to have fun and he’s definitely not like other dogs.
Sure one his favorite hobbies is licking his own asshole, and sometimes I’ll stumble upon a half-eaten slipper or a crusty old piss stain on my mother’s Persian rug, but I don’t get mad. In fact, I’m thankful. Thankful for those not-so-subtle reminders of how true to himself and different from other dogs he is. Most dogs can’t reach their own assholes, I mean I certainly can’t!
He never judges when I overshare with him, like the time I told him I thought I had an STD, or the other time when I actually had an STD. He truly listens, unlike my human friends who just nod say dumb shit like omggggg we should totally hang out more and then never call me again. If Flubs had opposable thumbs, he’d totally call, because he’s not like other dogs.
I enjoy whispering annoying things in his velvety, floppy ears and putting my face right up next to his to try and see from his point of view. How he manages to remain so composed while being eye-level with so much human genitalia is beyond me. Truly amazing and not like other dogs.
OK, fine — Flubs will steal my dad’s chair if my dad gets up to go to the bathroom, but hey, at least he sits with his paws crossed! Flubs is one of the classiest guys in town, plain and simple. I’ve told him time and again he should consider modeling, but he just sighs and gets up and moves to the other couch. So. Fucking. Humble… and not like other dogs.
He’s got those big bulgy eyes and loose skin that molds to the touch. If I had to guess, I’d say his early ancestors we’re probably made of a furry play dough prototype with googly eyes. They say you are what you eat, and in this case, Flubs is a medley of table food. 87% pizza, 22% chicken, and 1% dumpling, if which, according to my calculations, equals 100% mush — very different from other dogs.
We named him Otto despite the fact that I begged and pleaded to name him Squidward, to which my mother asked if I was high… OK I was high but that’s not the point! Then my Grandma chimed in out of nowhere and asked, “What’s a Squidward?”
So Otto it was!
That being said, I rarely call him by his real name. I’ve made up so many nicknames in passing because Otto sounds like every other dog, and as you can see, Otto is clearly not like other dogs. Right now he goes by Flubs, but part of me wishes we’d just start calling him Gary. I don’t think he’d even care because he’s so fucking chill and unique.
Occasionally I’ll interview Flubs while he lay in the grass on a warm summer’s day — paws crossed, of course. I’ll throw him some curve balls like, “What’s the secret to being the cutest dog in the universe?” or , “ Which train should I catch back to the city?” and of course, “Does your asshole taste like pizza after eating pizza?”
He just sighs and looks into the sunset, so I answer the questions for him because I’m his publicist. I’m telling you, if he ran for public office — and he totally could because he’s not like other dogs — It would be an honor to run his campaign.