Friday, September 19, 2014

I think my dog's insane.

And I don't know what to do about it. 

Every day Zak chases a squirrel (the same squirrel?) to the corner of the backyard. Making a fast getaway, the squirrel leaves a trail of nutshells in his wake. However, Zak sits in the corner, staring. Watching. Prepared. For hours. Nothing ever comes of it. But it's wash, rinse and repeat the next morning.

Einstein's definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

My dog needs help. And he scares me. Here. I just snapped a photo of him. Check out the crazy eyes...

See what I mean? You know, he's the same way with the mailman. Every day, Zak scrabbles at the windows, claws at the drapes, takes chunks out of furniture, believing he can get to the mailman bringing bills. I've been more than once attempted to join him. But I digress.

Zak doesn't get results. Ever. Except once when he put his paw through a picture frame. Blood everywhere, Norman Bate's wet dream. Not the results he expected, I'm sure. But it didn't deter him in his dogged pursuit for vengeance.

My wife and I were already told Zak needs to go to the doggy dentist. Now I'm thinking a doggy psychiatrist might be in order as well.

When I psychically linked up to Zak yesterday, asking him what he thought, he brain-blasted back, "What? Are you nuts?"

I'm trapped in this house with Zak, held hostage. No escape, no relief. I haven't been outside in days, too frightened to leave him alone. My life revolves around his innermost feelings and thoughts. 

Maybe I need help, too. Perhaps couples counseling?

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