Shoot this dog and win an iPod...

I had a longer post, or what was preparing to be a longer post, earlier, but...sigh...time flies so quickly that Friday's stupidity is silly to mention now, almost. Basically, I managed to get into a fight-of-sorts with Fluffer 'cos she thinks that the entire god damned world revolves around her. Basically, she wanted me to arrange for Meg to tutor her for free in a course, and when I didn't want to do that, she wanted me to agree that it was a good idea for her to drop this problematic class and take it with Meg next term, which I'm not going to do, sorry. Neither one of them. Tough rocks.

I think she thinks Meg would be easy for the same reason that she thinks that I don't know what I'm talking about...because we both look "sweet", or "nice", whatever. Sorry again; I rarely open my mouth unless I'm quite certain I'm in the right, and Meg's reviews on RateMyProfessor are...mixed--some of them are very positive, and others are extremely negative. Considering that Meg teaches tough classes (in popular opinion), and the only people to go on RateMyProfessor are on a mission (positive or negative), well...

Don't get me wrong; Meg's fair. Completely fair. But that's all she is. She isn't a pushover, or a cakewalk, or anything else that a lot of her students think when they first look at her. Her abiding principle is that she works, and she expects her students to work--completely fifty/fifty. She isn't really crazy about the teaching part, anyway; if she could, she'd get a position that is strictly research, but that's a while away, if ever. In the meantime, if you don't pass--deservedly--then Meg will fail you. I think Fluffer taking her is a dumb idea, because Fluffer's not motivated enough; that's why she's having problems in the class she's in. She just wants the class under her belt, so that she can heave it around and claim expertise; she doesn't want to *learn* it. How do I know with such certainty? Well, number one is 'cos I know Fluffer. Number two, I completed the series (plus three classes above) as a undergraduate. Barring dramatic career changes and the like, if Fluffer Cared she would have done it then. It is only a 2000-level class, anyway, and rightly so; it's challenging, but not hard...especially if you study and do your freaking homework, and I speak from experience.

And if I were to hear Fluffer badmouthing Meg (as she currently is badmouthing the prof of the class she's in), I'd have to beat the snot out of her. If you fail Meg, it's 'cos you wanted to fail, or your Piagetian Window of Learning is nailed shut; it's not for Meg's lack of trying.

And plus, Meg can't stand her.

Fluffer's tough to take; she did whine and gripe enough that I'm having to come in on my birthday...MY BIRTHDAY...to meet with her about some RCMP stuff. ON MY BIRTHDAY. Because any other time in the whole damn week just isn't convenient for Fluffer. Screw anyone else and anything they may want. I'm sure as soon as she figured out that I didn't want to do this on my birthday, it became all-important that she prove that she can *make* me by kvetching about anything else that might have been offered up as a compromise. And did I mention this is occurring ON MY BIRTHDAY?

bitch.

Butsoanyway.

I'm not bitchy in person; I'm really trying to be stoic about the things that Fluffer and Sophie do, otherwise they'll see that they get a rise out of me and do annoying things more often. They're just That Way. Too bad that they can't get along with each other for more than five minutes.

Butsoanyway.

Son-Friend was approved for Disability, thank god. He should start getting whatever assistance within the next thirty days. And there will be much rejoicing in my bank account.

Then his dog attacked him today. It really is always something.

Son-Friend has the most horrid dog in the world. No, really. This dog is...well...to say that it is a behaviour problem really fails to convey the full impact of the animal; that's a heavy burden for two tiny words like "behaviour problem' to bear. The dog is fucking mental. I have hated that dog for the past four years. The dog has bitten people, it barks constantly, and runs pointlessly around Son-Friend's apartment as if its ass were on fire--which I often wish were the case. It breaks things, chews things, tears anything apart it can get its mouth around. The only thing that this beast doesn't do is go to the bathroom all over the house; I'll have to give it that. It does at least go outside, which is kind of like wearing a ball gown to the lot-owner's meeting at the trailer park, or hanging a pine tree air freshener in an outhouse. If the dog spoke English, I'd ask it why it bothers to wait to be walked; in doing so, it is forfeiting its claim on the title of Worst Pet on Earth.

Butsoanyway.

So it bit the fuck out of Son-Friend today, for no reason, with no warning. Five times. Son-Friend said that they are bad bites, too; on his shoulder, arms, and hands. He said that the deepest puncture stopped bleeding, but the other ones were still bleeding a little bit a few hours later.

What this all means is that Son-Friend is having to put the dog down tomorrow.

No, I'm not happy. But I can't think of anything else. Son-Friend was already looking for a new home for her to avoid being evicted. No, really--the manager of his complex (heh, heh...his complex *needs* a manager. Ok, sorry) gave him the ultimatum that either SatanDog goes, or Son-Friend *AND* SatanDog go; this happened after SatanDog attacked a smaller dog about a month ago (I'm serious--the dog is *that* bad). So Son-Friend has been looking. Even SatanDog's vet, when told of Son-Friend's predicament (pre-attack) suggested putting the dog to sleep. And the Humane Society has a sign up that says that they won't take behaviour problems for placement, though they will put them to sleep for only $25. The pet rescue people wouldn't take the dog after meeting her, etc.; and this was all pre-attack.

So I had to deal with this at Eviljob today. Son-Friend got attacked and locked the dog in a bedroom, and then of course called me at work to discuss what he should do. For what it's worth, I tried to think of alternatives to putting the dog down; since Son-Friend was so upset, I even offered to take the dog to the Humane Society myself (since I'm not covered in dog bites) and just tell them that I was moving, and not mention anything about the attack. But--to his credit--Son-Friend rejected that idea because if the dog were to be placed in a household that has children and the dog hurt one of the children, Son-Friend said that he would feel responsible. I'm actually kind of proud of him for thinking through that; he's usually not that lucid in his thinking. I think it's his medications. Well, that and some flagrant stupidity.

Now, in reality I would never do such a thing to another person. What I was going to do was to take the dog to Dr Vet, tell him the truth, and let him either accept responsibility for the dog, or pay him to put her down, his choice. I was just going to *tell* Son-Friend I'd gotten her adopted away. Ok, so I'm a bitch. But I would trust Dr Vet's decision, and I have a feeling it would be similar to SatanDog's vet's suggestion, though if anyone wanted to give the dog a chance, they have my blessing.

And an offer of bandages and ear plugs.

So I am sad over this; I am not happy that the dog will probably die tomorrow, but I guess it's better than some enraged father beating it to death after it has ripped his kid's face off, which might be my reaction were I ever in that position, knock wood.

And I know that Son-Friend is going to go have a ton of seizures, and shit... But the only thing that I could think of to do about that is to lie to him and take the dog myself and do it. As god-awful as that animal is, Son-Friend is attached to her. Why I don't know, but he is. I wish I could think of something else, but I'm also concerned that Son-Friend needs to be on antibiotics, or something; from what he and his girlfriend said, they are not superficial bites. I guess I'll see him tomorrow and take a look, because he wants me to go to the vet with him (I offered to pay the vet's charge so that Son-Friend didn't have to go to someplace unfamiliar, like the Humane Society), and then I have to go buy a pair of shoes for him, 'cos the dog has chewed up his last pair. And somewhere in there I have to fit in going to another urgent meeting (heh) and getting an oil change. Not that I'm belittling anything that is going on, it's just...it's just always *everything*. All at once, it seems.

Sigh.

And yeah, my title's callous. I know.

Sigh.