Beware of Dog

Ralph is our dog. He is freakin' cute. You take him out in public and all the ladies want to pet and hug him. He loves the attention and instantly sucks you in. Ralph has some bad habits though. His nickname is Ralph the Mouth. That should be clear enough, right? This nickname does not however do justice to his oral issues. Ralph uses his mouth a lot. He has some kind of psychosomatic issue with it. Issue one: Ralph likes to bite. He doesn't bite to be mean nor does he bite hard. He just bites. He bites your hands and feet in the morning when he wants to go out. He bites your feet and ankles on the way out. He bites Lulu's ( our chocolate lab) face at the back door, and he bites you when he comes back in.
While you are fending off the biting you are also dealing with issue two: barking. Bark bark bark bark bark bark bark! I believe the neighborhood wakes up to this sonorous cacophony of yapping. He barks at everything. He barks when you get up. He barks when you come up from the basement. He barks when you come home. He barks as he bites you. He barks at people, dogs, cats, babies, bikes, and sometimes he barks at nothing.
Issue three: growling. Not just a low growl, but a vicious, psychopathic, rip your throat out growl. It's a scary growl. It used to freak my wife Erin out (I think it still does). As Hounds of the Baskervilles as his growl is it is all show. The growl means playtime. Especially when he is playing with Lulu. It sounds like he is preparing to put her in a death-grip, eviscerate her and feast in her internal organs. Sometimes it freaks me out. Especially since he sleeps in our bed. Typically he goes to bed with Erin. This means he is already there when I come to bed. He lies in wait, quietly feigning sleep, with his body tensed ready to pounce. I reach the bed, take of my pants and start to pull the covers back. The attack that is ensues is vicious. Involuntarily my hands cover my special parts. His snarling mouth is about waist high snapping and lunging within mere centimeters of my manhood. I recover from the initial shock of the attack shouting: son of a bitch! This is appropriate as he is a dog. I fend him off, feeling the air as his teeth gnash at my fingers. As suddenly as it begins it is over. I climb into bed and he crawls up next to me, licks my face and goes to sleep dreaming of the morning when he can begin it all anew. Ralph needs therapy.