To discuss a dog with more issues than you

I'm taking Bailey to the vet this afternoon, which is both scary and great.

Scary, because you always get a little nervous the vet will find something wrong with your pet (last time, they discovered he has a heart murmur, which makes his heart beat like a Nelly Furtado song). And scary because it freaking costs a freaking lot of money for freaking everything.

Great, because it gives me a reasonable excuse to talk about my dog, which I try not to do often since I don't want to be one of "those" guys that talks about their pet like anyone gives a crap.
Some things you should know about Bailey:

• He's a chihuahua/dachshund mix, a.k.a. a Chiweenie, a.k.a. likeliest dog to become the neighborhood bitch of other dogs.
• I adopted him from an animal shelter, where Ex-Fiance and I were told no one else wanted him because he was weird. For some reason, no alarms went off in our head. Hmm.
• He has a small chunk missing out of his right ear, making his already gigantic ears look even stranger. I'm hoping it was because he used to get in gang fights with other dogs, with one vicious fight ending with him, sans full ear, telling other dogs, "You should see the other guy," as he smokes a cigarette and the other dog limps away with his testicles ripped off.
• He does dumb things, often involving fecal matter. Examples: When driving from Connecticut to Pennsylvania in the early days of owning him, Bailey, who usually curls up and sleeps in the passenger seat, jumped on to my lap. He looked up at me as we cruised down the highway, arched his back, and took a giant dump all over me.... Example 2: Bailey follows me everywhere, and I mean everywhere. So at one point earlier this year, I had just sat down on the porcelain throne. The bathroom door was ajar, and in walks Bailey. He has a strange look on his ugly mug. Within a second, he is tip-pawing across the bathroom floor, right in front of me, as he dispenses diarrhea everywhere like a chocolate fire hose. I gasp in horror, as I see Bailey continue his Trail of Poopy Tears back toward the door and onto the carpeted hallway. With my pants still around my ankles, I lunge after his pulsating rear end with a Kleenex to catch the remains of this running brown tragedy. Moments later, he's done and calmly walks away. I survey the scene around me-- pants down, tissue full of dog nastiness, poop all around (but not on) me-- and I decided it might just be time to call it quits on life.
• He humps things, even though he's fixed. In the first days of owning him in 2005, Ex-Fiance and I already had adopted her Pomeranian, Lucy (who, at one point, jumped into a toilet and stood there like she was in a bird bath). Lucy was spayed. Lucy did not appreciate Bailey trying to hump her like an audition for Bailey Bangs Baltimore in the days leading up to his neutering appointment. He also humped one pillow with such disdain and vigor that I'd come home from work every day with stuffing littering the floor like a fallen cloud, incriminating pieces of pillow stuffing clinging on his disproportionally large mantool.... And even now, every so often, I catch him trying to hump something. Just like dad.
• He's an awesome dog. We spoon every night.
  

His appointment today is to investigate why he's licking all of his paws incessantly, giving new meaning to the phrase "Lap dog." It may be allergies; it may be skin irritation; it may be he needs the touch of a good woman. I already mentioned how Sister and I looked at potential partners for Bailey, and how that ended in scary metal pipe images. Here's hoping today's appointment isn't as scary. I'll update you later.