I'm Not Gonna Lie by George Lopez Page B

because my grandmother said she was allergic. I guess that’s possible, although I don’t ever remember her sneezing. Whenever I sneezed she told me to cut it out; I was still going to school. In order to skip school, I’d better be bleeding, which, by the way, she said she could make happen.
    I think she just didn’t want to deal with the dogs inside. Today she couldn’t use that dumb allergy excuse, because people breed hypoallergenic dogs. They also combine breeds on purpose. I used to have a dog that was half spaniel, half poodle. We called it a mutt. Today there are no more mutts. That breed is now a very special and desirable breed known as a spanieldoodle. My dog was the result of two dogs that did it in the neighborhood. Today a poodle gets knocked up by a Labrador, you call it a Labradoodle, and it costs you $5,000 for a puppy.
    People plan the mating of their dogs as if they were arranging a canine couples’ retreat. They get the dogs together and let them romp and frolic and fool around like they’re on some doggy getaway weekend in Maui. When I was a kid, you didn’t plan anything. Your dog got out and came back pregnant. I’d say, “Hey, the dog got knocked up.” Then, when the dog gave birth to this spanieldoodle, I’d think, “I don’t want this. My dog got laid by a cocker spaniel. It’s ugly.” Not only does that ugly mutt now cost five grand; it’s considered beautiful.
    Dogs used to be just dogs. Modern dogs have become privileged, even elitist. I’ve seen dogs look at me like they’re better than I am. You can see it in their eyes. They look down on you.
    I once got involved with a woman who really loved her dog, a huge German shepherd named Hans, who I swear didn’t like Mexicans. Shortly after she moved in, I got a bad feeling about Hans and their relationship, which should have been a red flag about her as well. Right away I got the sense that Hans didn’t like me. There was something about the way he looked at me. He would sniff in my direction, turn his nose up, and make a face like I smelled. He would sort of frown, as if he accused me of farting. Usually you blame the dog. This dog blamed me.
    I mentioned this to my new girlfriend. I told her I thought her dog was jealous of me. She laughed it off. “You have a great imagination,” she said.
    â€œI do,” I said, “but I’m not imagining this. I’m telling you the dog doesn’t like me. I know I’m right about this.”
    I was so right that one night I came into the bedroom and found the German shepherd lying in bed spooning with my girlfriend. They were both sound asleep, snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors.
    I froze in the doorway. “What the hell . . . ?”
    The dog lifted his head, glared at me, gave me a disgusted look that said, “Oh, it’s you,” then dropped his head onto the pillow and went back to sleep.
    Now, I know some people like to spoon with their dogs, but this didn’t sit well with me. I realize people are just being affectionate with their dogs, sharing a moment, and it’s no big deal. It’s not like that woman I read about a while ago who used to drink wine and watch TV in bed with her pet orangutan. Every night she’d pour herself and her orangutan a couple of glasses of a good cabernet, drop a sedative into his glass, and they’d snuggle and watch a movie, something they both could relate to, like
Rise of the Planet of the Apes.
One night, she decided to change things up and poured the orangutan a pinot noir instead. He got pissed and tore her face off.
    I don’t want to say, “Lady, hello, what did you expect?” but
what did you expect?
I’m not putting a panther or a chimp in my bed, even if I gave him a bottle of Scotch and a couple of Vicodin while we watched HBO. I know where to draw the line. Spooning is far enough.
    I didn’t