this is goodpoodle, and though it pains me to admit it, he's my logical half-brother.  obviously, he's not the spawn of little miss mischiefmaker; we have only a father in common.  more obviously, good's mother lacked mine's genetic vigor and unparalleled badness.

the pet store to which our miller shipped us had the good sense to distance us, putting me, the superior badpoodle in the frontmost, highest traffic display, while consigning the inferior goodpoodle to a cage in the backmost corner of the store.  i speak not from personal bias but rather the objective standard of the akc regarding good's inferiority. his hair is scraggly and limp, his body is too long, his patellae are luxated, he has a big old doofy snout, the list goes on and on.  good is a perfect physical example of how very wrong a poodle can go.  to add insult to the injury of his appearance, he's autistic, a condition heretofore unknown among poodledogs.

you can imagine my chagrin when two short weeks after buying me, the evil troll july decided i needed companionship in kind and returned to the pet store to purchase goodpoodle.  what was she thinking? first of all, companionship in kind for me is impossible; i am badpoodle, sine qua non.  secondly, goodpoodle is an embarrassment to me, and i would've been delighted never to see him again. 

this was not to be.  though i did nothing but hump him in the little "test the waters" area of the shop and he did nothing but try to get away from me, evil pronounced him my new best buddy and made hairy buy him.  look at his face.  is he vapidity personified or what? his only other facial expression is terror, and that's inspired by me, ert, bert, ray, strangers, unstrangers, cats, air, the cool dude who brings pizza, noise and life.  though about as far from a rocket scientist as a twolegged could be, evil nonetheless caught on pretty quickly to the fact that goodpoodle is good for nothing much more than trembling with fear and resigned herself to having her lap filled with him whenever she sits down.  he even sucks at being a lapdog - he's too scrawny to pet, all you feel are his bony little ribs, a very gerby sensation indeed.

whenever evil and her lap leave the house, goodpoodle tries to hide before i realize what's going on.  unfortunately, the autistic are less than creative with regard to hidey holes, and good's list of 2 comprises under the chair in the living room and behind the bathroom door. evil tries not to think what life is like for the goodpoodle when she's not on the scene.

digby feels sorry for the black poodle, but the grape stane has always been fairly compassionate. well, i guess that time he and his father divided a cat into two pieces was a less than compassionate moment, but other than that, digs is mainly mellow.  regardless, goodpoodle has rejected all overtures of stanely friendship and prefers to wallow in abject fear of the great white ghostly.

not liking goodpoodle: it's the right thing to do.


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