One Crazy Stronza.

Ah, here it is! The first Turn Off Your Blog Blog.

It's about 6:15am on a Tuesday and I'm sitting in my room listening to a cool independent station out of Nashville, TN. I'm trying to keep the volume low, lest I wake up my roommate and her "dog." I use quotes there, because I'm not completed convinced the thing is a normal animal of any kind. Actually, I'm pretty sure she's a minion of Satan.

She's a Jack Russell Terrier or, as I like to call her, a Jack Russell Terror. Her name is Bella, which must be some kind of sick joke my roommate is playing on the world. "Bella" roughly means "beautiful" in Italian. Perfectly fine name, but it's not the first impression Bella tends to leave. "Stronza" would have been a more appropriate name but I understand, it doesn't roll off the tongue as well.

I've actually begun calling her "Stronza." The roomie doesn't ask about it so I don't volunteer an explanation.

What I find fascinating and maddening about Stronza, is that she has this horrible habit of biting the hand that feeds her, literally. As well as the feet, legs, backside and face of the very person who is responsible for keeping her alive and happy. And frankly, the only person who loves her enough to keep her from "accidentally" playing in traffic.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love animals! I'll admit, I'm a cat person, but I love dogs just fine. What I don't like are dogs whose owners allow them be violent for seemingly no reason.

One day, I was talking to my roommate in her room. Stronza kept jumping in my lap with a rubber toy and growling viciously.

"That's her play growl." My roommate assured, "You have to learn her different growls."

Learn her different growls? That's like a beaten wife saying, "The bruises are just warnings. He breaks the skin when he's serious."

Noting that Stronza was in a playful mood, I began throwing her toy down the stairs in an attempt to play indoor fetch. After a few minutes, I got wrapped up in my conversation with the roommate and inadvertently ignored Stronza's "playful" growls.

Finally, she attacked my shin. It wasn't the first time I'd seen her do it, as the previous week she'd attacked a male friend of my roommate's. After witnessing it I noted to not leave my room without protection, so when she pulled the move on me I was wearing jeans and suede boots. She only managed to grab a mouthful of fabric in her attempt to teach me a lesson. My roommate yelled at Stronza and threw her off of me.

"Was that a playful growl?" I asked.

"No. She does that sometimes if you stop playing with her."

"Have you ever thought about obedience training?"

"Yea. But I can't afford it."

"Can you afford a lawsuit?"

Ok, so I didn't actually say the last line out loud, but I thought it. Thought it real good.

When my friends come over and meet this beast I speak of from time to time, they always have the same reaction. It's as if I've told great tales of a ferocious monster, standing 8 feet tall, wreaking of sulfur and gaining strength from the sorrow of orphans. Then they meet this adorable (their words, not mine), helpless Jack Russell Terrier.

I will just say this: it's all an act. She has it down to a "T" and has fooled many people with her big, brown eyes. But not me. And she knows it...yea, she knows it. Sometimes we have staring contests. It's my way of showing her how little I fear her.

Think I'm crazy? You have no idea.

Welcome to Turn Off Your Blog.

-ErMaster.