My Dog – Mr. Feeny – Bachelor Uncle of the Week

The rarest of all Feeny emotions. Happiness.

Today is a “fuck it” kind of day. It’s November. It’s getting cold. I’m annoyed and in a shitty mood. So here’s a cute fucking dog.

Dog’s are the best because no matter what, they’re the best friends. They don’t offer you shitty advice or bury you with their own problems. They don’t have other shit to do. They’re just there for you to listen to you and act like they understand. They don’t. They just lick their privates and get super fucking stoked you came home.

All he does is eat his feet.

My dog is emotionally withholding. He doesn’t like to cuddle. He’s not a lap dog. He doesn’t really bark. He just looks at you with a concerned disapproving face and huffs at you when he doesn’t like things. Which is most of the day. I’ve never seen a more emotionally withholding being, let alone dog. Dogs are known for being gregarious, but my dog is way more “Greg” than gregarious.

That’s a stupid joke.

Anyway, it’s this autonomy and emotional distance that earns Mr. Feeny Bachelor Uncle of the Month status. He doesn’t give a fuck. He isn’t trying to please anyone. Most dogs are people-pleasers. But not Feeny. If he doesn’t want to do something, he fucking wont. Sure, he’s food motivated as much as any other dog, but not overly so. He just sits there, just out of arms reach, daring you to engage with him on his terms.

Mr. Feeny in his normal mode. Nonplussed.

He gives no fucks about what you want or think. I got him from a lady off NextDoor who responded to my post last year about wanting a dog. I asked what was wrong with him, and she said “Nothing. He’s a good dog.” And he is a good dog. He lets himself out to use the bathroom. He doesn’t make a ton of noise. I’ve peed on the floor more than he has.

He’s chill. He’s a really good roommate, all things considered. He’s just this middle aged, self-sufficient, unimpressed little grouch.

And it’s this emotional withholding that makes him so special. Because sometimes, he climbs up on the bed and gets as close as he can to you. Sometimes he looks at you from the other side of the couch and he’s smiling. Sometimes he freaks out when you come home and huffs like a dragon and brings you his favorite toy of the day.

And in those moments, you really do feel like he’s choosing to love you because he wants to. Not because he has to. Not because you own him and feed him. So this is an ode to dogs in general, and my dog in specific. The life of a Bachelor Uncle would be really lonely without good friends and pets like Mr. Feeny.

He hated his hair long, which I take as a personal attack.

I used to think the day you got a dog, you also bought a ticket to the worst fucking day of your life. The day your dog passes. And maybe that’s why people love puppies so much, because they get to spend as long as possible with that dog. But Feeny came to me middle aged and fully formed so the return on investment he has given me is way out of whack. I don’t have to do shit and he makes every day better.

Even when he huffs at me like I’m the stupidest being he’s ever met.

Get a pet. A good pet. One that won’t ruin your beautiful Momeni rug or Milo Baughman couch.

Here’s to better days.

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