Wisenheimer Weimaraner

How does one start their first blog entry? The first entry is the first entry, and there’s no going back. It sets a theme, a tone, and a tenor for the blog and it gives the reader a set of expectations for all future blog entries.

So, as I contemplated potential topics for my first blog entry, I felt that the following story encompassed all that I needed. The reader will leave with an understanding as to why I am considered the most evil twin. And that, I think, is a successful start to my blog.


My dog, Bandit, is a creature of habit. We walk at least a mile twice a day, no matter what – rain or snow, bitter cold or blazing hot. He also enjoys the regularity of heading north for our morning walk, and south for our evening walk. He likes variety, but on his own terms.

Thus, our evening walk began with the march southward. As we were halfway up the third block, I spotted all that I detest: the bitchy girl (with whom I’ve previously had a less than positive interaction), the unleashed male Weimaraner in her yard, and the man who lives next door and who has his nose in everyone’s business and who makes rude noises when I walk by. So, I will admit that my hackles were already up before anything actually happened.

Bandit and I were a couple of houses away from the girl when the Weimaraner saw us. He ran towards us… as has happened before. I reined Bandit in on his leash because I know that this is the worst possible scenario for him: an unleashed dog (he hates that others have their freedom while he’s shackled to me), a male (a potential threat to Bandit’s masculinity), and one that is running towards us like a latte-colored bullet.

I prepared myself for potential conflict and wondered if I would have it in me to kick another dog – even one that was attacking Bandit. Fortunately, this confrontation ended with some stiff-legged genital sniffing and a few low growls. I noted that – once again – the girl did nothing to stop her dog. She calmly walked by me.

“Sorry about that.”

I gave her The Look.

The Look released her Inner Bitchiness, which is actually not difficult because I believe it’s constantly simmering just below the surface.

“Oh, it’s not the end of the world,” Satan’s spawn tossed out as she walked toward the dog who was now several houses further down the block and calmly ignoring her.

I had a choice. I could let my head explode, as I thought it very well might. I could kill her. Or, I could unleash my self-righteousness.

The first option was out. It was not my time to go. The second was tempting, but Mr. Rude Noises was a witness.

“There are no bad dogs,” I taunted, “only bad owners. And see? Your dog isn’t even listening to you.”

“It’s not even my dog,” she retorted, turning her back to me so that I could see the horns growing out of the back of her head.

“And you think that makes it OK?” returned I.

I longed for option #2. Instead, we kept walking. And my insides kept boiling. I ran the scene in my head again. And again. And again.

Must. Kill. Bitchy. Woman.

All the while Bandit happily sniffed and peed, the episode long since forgotten in his fuzzy little doggie mind. He squatted for a nice, healthy doggie dump. And THAT is when the Most Evil Twin in me came out.

I picked it up in a plastic bag. It’s the law. Now, normally I like to find a dumpster as fast as I can to relieve myself of this warm, smelly bag of poo. But this time, I held on to it, walking, and formulating a plan. An evil plan.

I would return in the darkness later that evening. I would smear the poo all over her front steps, where she’d have to work hard to get it off. Most importantly, I would leave a note, so there would be no mistaking who left her the gift. The note would read:

“It’s not the end of the world.

It’s not my poo.

Oh yes… but it is my responsibility.”

Ah, yes, it would be a valuable lesson for her. She would see the light. She would one day thank me for teaching her this lesson in humility. And I could release this hatred from my heart.

I wanted to do this with all of my evil little heart. But I had to ask myself if I really wanted to be this kind of person. (I struggle with this question a lot.)

That bag of poo sat out on my back porch all night long. I ultimately decided that no, I did not want to be that kind of person. I’m sure I’m better off for it.

So I did what any self-respecting Evil Twin would do… I threw the stale bag of poo away.

And then I called Animal Control to report an unleashed aggressive Weimaraner.