Who Wears the Pants?

For those of you who don't know, I have a Soft-Coated Wheaten Terror, I mean, Terrier named Bear. In the eighteen months that we've lived together, Bear and I have developed an interesting relationship. Below is just a taste of our daily interactions.

(Cesar Millan, if you're reading this, we need your help - please come whisper to my dog! Also, we really want to be on TV, so...call me!)


[Scene: An angry human and incorrigible dog stand in a cramped kitchen. There is a garbage bag in the corner oozing its contents from a hole that has been gnawed into the side making the floor a sea of shredded trash.]

Me: DAMNIT BEAR!

Bear: You know, if I wasn’t so smart I would think my name was “Damnit Bear” by now.

Me: Seriously? You have to be kidding me!

Bear: What? It’s just a couple paper towels torn into a million little shreds…

Me: Look at this mess!

Bear: I was trying to teach you a lesson. You use way too many paper towels. It’s bad for the environment.

Me: You are a BAD BOY!

Bear: Relax—look, I’ll help you pick it up.

Me: NO! DROP IT! BAD!

Bear: Fine…I didn’t want to help anyway.



[A few minutes later…]

Me: We need to talk…

Bear: I know, except I can’t talk, remember?

Me: Just because you never see me wear pants, doesn't mean I don’t wear the pants in this house...do you understand?

Bear: Sure, yeah, whatever.

[Pause]

Me: Did you fart?

Bear: Uh…?

Me: No, you didn’t. Want to know why? Because I did…I’m the farter AND the pantsless pants wearer!

Bear: Well at least your title sounds convincing.

Me: Yeah…Who’s a good boy?

Bear: I am.

Me: Who’s a good boy?

Bear: Me.

Me: Yeah? Is Bear a good boy?

Bear: Do we have to do this every time? I said, me—I’m a good boy.

Me: Yes you are! Now come lay down…

Bear: But I’m not tired.

Me: Lay down, Bear.

Bear: No.

Me: LAY. DOWN.

Bear: No treat, no lay.

Me: Fine.

Bear: Hey, where are you going?

Me: No, no...stay! Apparently I need to put on some pants.