My Dog is a Karen – Dog Injustice
Sunday morning began gloomy and gray. We left for Church as the white fluff settled gently from the sky. The fifteen-minute trip ended in a driving sea of white reducing visibility to a quarter mile. Two hours later we said our goodbyes and trudged through three inches of snow.
The forecasters predicted three inches unless the storm slowed and then it could dump more. The stalled storm lasted all day long with occasional whiteouts until after dark. Monday the lake effect flurries kicked in and we accumulated another inch on top the Sunday’s storm.
Seven inches of snow proved too much for me and my bad back. Wife and daughter gathered a face of disdain over the prospect of shoveling the wet heavy slop. I texted the plow guy to clear the 150-foot drive.
About an hour later, he texted back, “Be there in five minutes.” I immediately climbed the stairs and told my wife, “The vehicle to remove the white stuff is on its way,” then closed mom and the dog into the room. I spoke in code because my dog is a karen.
I slipped into my shoes and moved my daughter’s car out of the drive. The plow guy was waiting for me to pull out. Five minutes later, he waved me back home. I wrote the check and brought it to him. He drove off to his next client.
Entering the house, nrrrrrrrooooo, arrrrrnnnn, and other complaints wafted downstairs from the closed room. According to mom, my speaking in code and closing the door alerted the karen and she complained the entire time. Ginger, in full karen mode, complained about me locking her in the room. She filed her grievances to her mom, the manager of the house. The manager, “You will only bark louder if I let you out.”
By the time I entered the house, Ginger changed her objections of being locked in by me to mom being mean and unfair for not letting out. Ginger delivered mom the karen glares all Monday afternoon. An hour after clearing our drive, the mostly asleep Ginger moaned out a grumble or two over the injustice set upon her that day.
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