Good Dog

This is my dog. His name is Sam. He weighs in at a fluffy 108 lbs. Hims is a good doggy. At thirteen, he's not as energetic as he once was. Truth be told, there was a time when he could chase down and catch (kill) a barn rat. Yes, he was that fast.

These days he's not so fast. Mostly, he just snores. Since moving to the big city Sam has been enjoying all the comforts of home. Including being allowed in the house. Hims wuvs being in dah house!

His most favorite place to sleep is underneath my desk. I have no idea why. Every single time he tries to get up, he hits his head. Sam's usually a really smart dog...

Yesterday, Sam made some new friends, including the local Vet and her assistant. It's was the first time that Beloved had heard Sam growl at a person. It's not his schtich. He's not that kind of dog. Unless you mess with one of his kids...then looky out.

Sam was not impressed with the Vet. He was even less impressed with that bath we gave him this morning. Let me just say that he smells oh, so much better. Wrestling him to the ground to apply ear drops for his raging ear infection was not nearly as much fun as it sounds. He's a big boy that Sam Bo!

Sam has spent most of his life as a farm dog, but those days are over. The  posh life of an indoor city dog seems to agree with him. But let me just say that some of us are NOT enjoying his gastrointestinal issues that he is sharing with the other occupants of the house.

I'm proud of the fact that no matter how much Dingo, our bipolar kitty, taunts him, Sam does not react. While Dingo has the run of the house, Sam is only allowed in the 70's room (thus named for the amazingly ghastly orange shag carpet that covers the entire family room floor). And while Sam could simply cross the threshold between the family and living room. He doesn't. Why? Because we told him no and he believed us.

He's a good boy that Sam!

Mean Yellow Eyed Dog

I am sitting at the Giver's house with a small, tiny, miniature, fuzzy, black poodle on my lap. Her name is Chloe, but everyone calls her Doodle. She really about the size of doodle if you think about it.

She's a yippy little thing who doesn't really like men. She likes to yip at Beloved whenever he's around. I think she has little dog syndrome because she rules the roost around here. The cats steer clear of her, which cracks me up because she's about as big as a load of bread. A small loaf of bread.

As I sit in this silent house, with the Doodle warming my lap, I think about my dog at home. My BIG dog.

My Dog is a shepherd-chow mix. He weighs in somewhere around 80lbs. He has yellow eyes. Yellow like a lion. Yellow like a killer.

Down boy, down!

He's really not much of a killer. Not really. My dog is getting up in age and not much excites him these days. Oh, he can run...if he has to...but he'd really rather find a warm spot and lie in the sun.

I once introduced my BIG dog to Doodle. He wasn't impressed. Doodle, on the other hand was totally into checking him out. He just walked away.

Doodle has also spent time at our home with our bipolar kitty, Dingo.

Dingo is even less impressed with Doodle than our dog was.

He hisses.

He gives Doodle the, "I'm going rip your head off and make you care it around in a bag," look.

She doesn't care.

She tries to eat his cat food.

She hogs every ones attention.

She sleeps in Dingo's spot.

Theirs is not exactly a love born in heaven. Maybe hell, but certainly not heaven.

The Giver is out of town this week, attending the funeral for her brother. Girl and I will be hanging out in town, watching television (remember, we don't have a television), and listening to the neighbors. How do you townies do it?

Anyway, we'll be hanging out with the Doodle. She makes a great little lap warmer, but just between us, I prefer a dog I can't kick across the room. I like a dog that can rip the face off of an intruder and live to tell about it.

Yeah, give me a big dog, with mean yellow eyes.

Only, make sure and wake up him up, cause that dog loves to nap.

I Said No, Really

I don’t know how it happened. I said, “No”.

Loudly, distinctly.

I had witnesses.

I said no…

But…

She’s kinda cute.

She has a spastic, hyper-active personality that just begs you to have fun.

She possesses super strength.

She's tan and lean.

Blast my warm, tender, sappy little heart.

It’s that dog. His dog.





I just couldn’t stand it any more. Knowing that she, at the ripe old age of 5-months, spends way too much time in her kennel, I broke. I told Miss C that she can walk her. I let her play in my house…with my cat.

I’ve never seen my cat so…unrefined. Since Dingo (the supreme master of all he beholds) has gotten use to the Destroyer and her sister the Monster, he’s been very serene. However, with the introduction of Mia (do you wanna play? Do you wanna? Huh? Wanna? Do you? Come on! Play?) to the family, I’m afraid to report that Dingo has lost all sense of cool.

Dingo use to look like this:




Now he looks like this: