Sirius The Ball-less Devil

God must have been playing cards with Satan when he created Sirius. The perfect devil-package, Sirius suffers from cryptorchidism, a condition that wouldn't allow us to castrate him so as to manage his ah... attempts of marital relations with my and my sister's legs.

Not that a castration could have cured him. I personally believe that only a lobotomy would work. One that would preferably involved the removal of the whole brain.

When Sirius first stepped into our home in October, 2012, he was barely nine months old. Here's a preview of the first days:

I wake to the sound of him playing (or rather trashing around) with something plastic. Dragging myself out of the bed, an effort, I discover it is my Boroplus. There were teeth-marks all over it, but thanks to the generous Emami manufacturers, no punctures. And that wasn't all. He had also tried attacking my lipbalm as well, but the thick cap didn't even register a scratch from the assault.

Being with Sirius, paying attention to him eats up the whole day. I take him for a walk and bring him back. I release him from the leash, and instead of going into the house, he promptly does a U-turn and escapes from the big hole in the fence, so conveniently made by Dolce. Takes a left, then a right. A little kid is standing outside his house, enjoying the fresh morning air. However, when a huge, and I mean huge, dark, madly-grinning dog goes straight for you, you're bound to rush inside. That's what the kid does. Unfortunately, Sirius follows him.

And then this little girl in a school uniform comes out, screaming 'Oh MAA! Oh MAA!'. Not in a cute way either. In a total top-of-your-lungs, slash-movie style.

Since Sirius decides to follow her this time (So fickle minded :D), I pounce on him and finally putting an end to his flight.

The kids are going into shock. Well, I'm exaggerating, but only a bit. They are really shaken up. I stutter apologies to their mother, to who they are clinging, and she looks angry enough to smite Sirius dead with a lightning bolt. Leading him home by the collar, I stride off really quick like an embarrassed mother whose kid just stole another kid's toys.

Sometimes, I consider changing his name to Blockhead. And this is one of those times.

Feed him three times a day, and walk him immediately afterward or he'd relieve himself in the yard. Then walk him another two times a day right at dawn and in the evening at about 6-7 PM. So that totals five times. Sometimes even more if he's doing the 'take me out' whine. Wash his paw, because he likes waddling and skidding in the drain. And oh yeah, due to his penile mis-alignment, his urine often drenches his front legs. So that up too, if you want to play 'shake-shake' with him. Washing him up seemed to take place at least about fifty times a day and leaves my hands dry and chapped when I lather up.

'Peaceful Sleep' is something from another planet now. You hit your head against the bed, and he places his snout on it, too, and goes whine-whine-whine. Then you get up and spend another fifteen minutes trying to figure out his demand this time. Is he hungry, or does he need to pee? Of course, ignoring him costs. If you do so and doze off, by the time you've woken up you're likely to find something in tatters. Most probably, they'll be your slippers (my original pair was white-white, then was replaced by white-black. Now only my white right survives), but I wouldn't rule out the others, too. So far, he's chewed up my sandals (various pairs), socks, white PT shoes, my copies of Hollywood Kids and The Rockstar by Jackie Collins (seems like he's got a fondness for her books), November Reader's Digest, my sister's old phone,  hair-clutches and rubber bands (lost count), lipbalm, Crocs, a bite to the laptop, and my pendrive. He's even run away with my sister's bra once. He looked hilarious with the purple garment hanging from his jowls. And yes, I wouldn't rule out the various products on the dresser. The problem with Sirius is, you never know what to insure. Nothing is safe from him.

Speaking of dresser, he seems quite fond of ours. Ever since he discovered the mirror (and the fact that the dog in the mirror is indeed him and not anyone else), he visits it frequently. Likes preening in it.

Despite been driven crazy by his demands, up to the point where I consider cooking him in the pressure cooker, one look of those big, round, puppy eyes and I melt. It's just impossible not to. :/