Attacked By My Own Dog

I am distraught.

My chocolate lab, Dixie whom we have raised from a pup, came to me this morning and informed me that due to the racist connotations of her name, she will no longer answer to that name, preferring to be addressed as “Svatchime”.

“What?  Why are you offended?  Did someone mistreat you?”  I asked as I scratched her behind her ear.

“Someone told me that I was named after a horrible racist song that glorifies slavery and oppression and that I have always been horribly oppressed my entire life by the man, you bigot”, she growled.

“Who told you that?  Was it Isadore?”, I asked as I offered her a piece of bacon.  Isadore is a mean little terrior/poodle mix who lives behind us.  She doesn’t like me and barks a lot.

Dixie nodded as she devoured the bacon, and paused just for a second to ask "What's a song?"

Of course, I was shocked, and not just because my dog speaking with me, or because she was offended by her own name, but also because of her new name.  “Svatchime” is what conservative radio host Bud Grant used to call Mario Cumuo when he was governor of New York…it’s Greek for “The Impotent one”.

“Do you know what “Svatchime” means?” I asked

“No, but I like it and Isador says that it can mean whatever I want it to mean”, came the reply.

While trying to wrap my brain around all this, I heard a loud ruckus erupt outside the house.  I looked out the window, and small but loud band of feral cats were in the front yard singing ‘Dixie’, and waving dead mice and Confederate flags.

“Who are they?”,  I asked.

“They are your allies, you hateful bigot.  Can I have some more bacon?”, came the reply.

“No more bacon for you.  Why are they here?”

“Isadore invited them”, Dixie replied. “She said that you racists should hang out together.  I really want some more bacon, fascist pig.”

“They are feral cats, you stupid dog, and I’m not a racist!  No bacon for you.” I reminded her.

“You’re a mean spirited, white supremacist racist zionist because you won't give me more bacon, Look at your friends and look what you named me, you race baiting skunk!” said Dixie angerly.

Using my Airsoft rifle, I persuaded each cat to leave.

I knew Dixie was angry, but I was too.  I pointed my Airsoft gun at Dixie and said softly “They are not my friends, Dixie is your name, and …”

“SQUIRREL!”, Dixie screamed as she leaped at the sliding glass door and began to bark madly.

Insanity isn't about a talking to a mad dog.  It's about trying to reason with one.