Dogs and Boneheads

My mom and dad are not really great at raising dogs.

They end up with poorly behaved and ill-tempered little shits, to be quite frank. They let the dog turn into the pack leader. It's weird and a little freaky. I've seen it happen with every dog they have owned except the first one. He got hit by a car before he turned to shit.

They housebreak their dogs by tying the dog to a doorknob with a leash and putting newspaper down.
Don't ask, I don't know why they think that's a good idea.

The last dog they had, 'Radar' (again, don't ask.) was a toy poodle. He was an evil little asshole who bit my children, pissed on the back of a chair in my living room, and was quite happy to bite the hand that fed him. Frequently. He did not come when called, and on more than one occasion, my mother chased him down the street in her nightgown because he ran off. In the small town where they live (out in the country) no one would notice. When they came to visit us, people did notice. I bet some of our old neighbors are still giggling. I know I am.

Radar died a few years back (and good riddance to the little piece of shit) and although my mother wanted another dog, my dad said no. Too much work, hard to travel, blah blah blah.

So. My brother Steve, who is a TERRIBLE dog owner, (I won't go into it now, but trust me on this one... he should never be allowed to own a dog again. Ever.) decided today to present my parents with a gift. He and my sister in law called my parents to come over, and gave them a six week old Jack Russell Terrier puppy.

A Jack Russell Terrier?? Why the hell didn't he just give them a Tasmanian Devil?

What a bonehead.