Our family dog is a mutt of unknown origins. We suspect she carries genes from Ridgeback because of the darker red going down her back. Her ears remind us of a Bully or Boxer, but her snout resembles more of a Lab without the pouches. Her personality boasts a large portion of very hyperactivity and obstinate breeds.
Her short red-orange hair first reminds people of honey that gave her the name at the pound. A problem soon arrives with her presence in our house. My wife refers to my daughter and I as Honey and every time she calls us, the dog comes running. So, the first day home, I mention, “She is a ginger.” From that point forward her forever name remains Ginger.
Several times a day, the zoomies race her through the house at top speed. So, we send our ten-year-old daughter and Ginger to obedience training where they both learn to follow instructions. Ginger’s bouts of super energy and lack of attention make the training go very slowly. She barely passes puppy training. The teacher of thousands of dogs states he has not seen anything like her.
Her hyperactivity fads with time but her obstinate trait blossoms at the same time. As she approaches ten years of life, she remains the most hyper dog I ever met, she has calmed over the years. As she slows down, her stubborn streak increases. She soon follows commands only when there is something in it for her. Then the complaints start when things don’t go her way.
About her seventh birthday, she became a full-blown Karen entitled to all the special treatment and privileges devised in her mind. When we fail to meet her wants, we hear about her grievances from groans and grumbles to all-out shouting at us in a high-pitched screaming whine. If she reaches this top level of disdain, we receive the cold shoulder until the next mealtime. She always warms up to us when it is feeding time. A Karen can be very charming when they want something but become ogres when their wants are not met.
This is our dog and our life with a living breathing Karen. We remain vigilant not to upset her, but we still have to maintain the rules of the house such as not feeding her every time she feels hungry, which is all the time. The other day, my daughter feeds Ginger and ten minutes later mom comes downstairs. Ginger stares with sad hungry eyes after not eating for a month of Sundays.
“Did you feed Ginger?” hollers up the stairs.
“Even a bit more,” comes echoing down.
“You’ve been fed!” mom staring back at the forsaken face.
“Oarrrrn, Uggghhhh” comes back in a deep under-the-breath groan.
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