College wouldn't be the same without the inevitable weekend bacchanalia. But when your innocent, excitable dog is hung over the day after a big party along with you, has your debauchery gone too far?
Apparently it has, but more on this later. First, let's go to the scene of the crime. It was yet another great Saturday night, and our house was stocked and ready for yet another 21-and-up, drinking-game-free party designed to take us out of the real world.
But this time my roommate's dog was the drunkest guy at the party, despite the concerted efforts of some seasoned binge-drinking veterans (i.e., my alcoholic roommates) and their massive beer-before-liquor hangovers.
And what a show "El Doggo" was, shotgunning beers and running the obstacle course around the piles of beer cans on the floor. All the ladies in the neighborhood were howling at the display, and our little superstar was looking to score.
Unfortunately, reality set in: Too much alcohol will doom anyone to morning misery, human and dog alike. But El Doggo knows how to hold his liquor, so we weren't too worried for our little friend.
After all, he's a big dog-roughly 70 pounds-and has gotten drunk a few times before. His raucous owner has taken our canine companion on some crazy journeys this year, so he's built up quite a tolerance. All the strays in Trinity Park know where to go if they're looking for a good time.
But the next day, our affable if dim-witted pet was a little sick. He made quite a big mess around the house, and he looked a little more ragged than he usually does (even though that's his style, which one sassy poodle across the street particularly enjoys).
His little heart wouldn't give up that easily, however. He drained our toilet bowls more than usual to fight off his dehydration, and he took plenty of naps to regain his strength. He wasn't going to let a little thing like nausea ruin his chance to root on the Pats to an undefeated season.
Thankfully, our trooper finally returned to his normal jovial self. I know what you're thinking-it's cruel and unusual punishment to give dogs alcohol-but when your dog was spawned in hell itself, with a penchant for destruction and the brains of a steel pole, it's hard to feel too sorry. Those wackos from PETA be damned.
Okay, that was a little callous. I feel bad for the guy, even though I know he had one hell of a time (he'll be telling this tale to his grandkids). Certainly my roommate was a little annoyed at waking up to some putrid smells emanating from the dog's usual pillow right next to his.
I guess the real question is, when did the pursuit of ever-wilder alcohol-induced entertainment become so powerful that we lost ourselves in the hunt? Four years ago I never would have given a dog a beer; now, whenever we crack open a few cold ones, the dog is in on the fun.
A part-time, second-semester senior, school is effectively over for me. I've got my job and I'm just coasting along on my surprisingly high GPA. Now my only charge is to see what crazy things I can do before I don't have the freedom to do them any more. I'm sure most of you have seen yourselves change along the way as well.
Granted, I've changed for the better, too. But it's still ironic that it took the plight of an animal I could never understand to show me how powerful destructive influences can become. Too bad he can't talk-maybe then he could have told me that the second six-pack was too much.
Or at least he could explain why he just had to take that steaming hot Quizno's sub off of my plate. Until then, I think we're headed for a lot of miserable Sunday afternoons together.
Jon Detzel is a Trinity senior. His column runs every other Tuesday. No dogs were actually harmed-nor did they shotgun beers-in the writing of this column.
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