Category Archives: dog

Random Crap


I’m sick. But I won’t say much about that because I hate whiny sick blogging. Also – I refuse to accept sickness because I have too many things going on, like the girl’s birthday and Halloween madness fun drunkosity. And dammit, I refuse to be sick.

I will, however, say this about being sick: My mother will drive me crazy one of these days. I know she loves me and cares about me. And I know she worries. I do it myself – one kid sniffles once and I’m running through all the horrible diseases on earth (and perhaps the universe) in my head, while remaining calm on the outside. So I get it. I really do. But, I swear, if I hear one more accusation & demand that “You better start taking care of yourself!” I will punch someone.

Despite what she seems to believe I do take care of myself. I’m not diving into biohazard bins at the hospital in my free time. I take vitamins. I try to eat (somewhat) healthy. I get a flu shot. But a few years back, I had H1N1 and it did a serious number on my immune system – I still get sick more easily, and illnesses seem to hit me a little harder than they did before. And I have these two things in my house. These germ-filled pastries known as “kids”. So, Mom? When I am sick, if what is coming out of your mouth is anything other than the following:

“Poor baby!”
“Let me make you some soup!”
“Can I take the kids for you?”
“Here is some Nyquil/Advil/wine.”

Then, please – I’m begging you: SHUT UP ABOUT IT ALREADY!


In other news, I have the only golden retriever in the entire world that is not a love pig. Which is what makes the slobber & hair worth it. What the fuck?


And I just got back from my annual work retreat at a lovely resort on the bay, where I had great food, lots of (free) booze, a massage, bike-riding, shopping and a sunset cruise. Only to return to a house that looks like pigs live in it. Not figurative pigs – actual farm pigs. And lots and lots of bullshit drama. So I am just going to think about this instead:

I Blinked


I blinked and my sweet, silly little boy:

Turned into a long-legged, mustache-sprouting, sometimes angsty, taller-than-I-am high school student:

I blinked and my tiny, loving, bean of a baby girl:

Turned into a social butterfly, princess, cheerleading, fashionista second grader:

I blinked and my teeny, fuzzy, wobbly puppy:

Turned into a ginormous, hairy, clumsy, cat-fighting, garbage-picking dogbeast:

I really have to stop blinking



When the boy was two, we lost our beloved golden retriever, Cosmos. It was a rough time for me, and I was nowhere near ready to get another dog. Mr b, however, kept pushing for it. I wasn’t ready and told him so, but I could see that he was constantly thinking about it. One day, I came home from work and mr b and the boy weren’t home. Not that this was particularly unusual, but that day, I just had a feeling. And then I saw the local newspaper open to the classifieds and that feeling got stronger. A few minutes later, they came home & when I asked where they were, mr b said they had gone to the grocery store. I sighed in relief because my feeling was wrong – I was not ready. Mr b went out to the car to get the groceries and I picked up the classified to throw them away before he got any ideas, and the boy turned to me and said the words that changed my life:

“Daddy got a puppy!”

Admittedly, I wasn’t happy, but then mr b walked in with a goofy, bumbling black lab mix puppy & I couldn’t help but love him. He was a few months old, already and not well-trained (which would be my biggest frustration ove rhte next few years. Mr b had come across an ad by an elderly woman who recently lost a dog and replaced him with a brand new, cute as a button black lab. Well, she soon realized that a new puppy was too much for her (and her remaining old dog) to take, so she gave him up for adoption. And then he was ours. She had named him Boris, which was possibly the worst name for him, ever, so he immediately became Rocky.

Over the years, he turned into a great dog. He was so loving – as a young dog, he would practically try to wrap himself around your head like a turban. And he never outgrew the need to constantly be touching you. He was funny – we’d put him in costumes (like a while polyester jumpsuit – and call him Smellvis) and put things on his head and he’d take it like a champ. He was protective – he’d bark at anyone and anything that came near our house. It could be annoying at times, but I always appreciated it – when there was a rash of burglaries & fraud in the area perpetrated by an Irish Traveler-like group going door to door, he scared them off when they came to his door. He was a love pig, but he sounded like a quivering, snarling, white hot ball of canine terror (Family Dog, anyone?). He was gentle – we often found him curled up with a cat or a kid.

One of his most prominent traits, though, was that he was nervous. And what did he do when he was nervous? He shits He shit Big. Some examples:

Your son has a friend over. The friend’s dad and sister come to pick him up. The kids start playing Twister. Rocky is nervous about the strangers and shits on Twister.

It’s Christmas morning. There is much squealing and yelling and wrapping paper being strewn about. Rocky is nervous about the excitement and shits on Christmas.

Mr b is picking up the boy from daycare. He takes Rocky along. He stops at the ATM machine and gets back in his work van. While he is out, Rocky, nervous about being alone in the van, ignores the 3000 square feet of floor space in the van, and instead somehow balances himself and shits on the driver’s seat. Husband does not notice as he gets in, and sits on the driver’s seat. Husband contemplates murder.

You are 7 months pregnant (and in high-gagging mode). Your 2 cousins come to visit. They pet and love Rocky. When he walks away, all present get the “who farted?” look. Rocky, nervous about the stock market, shits on said cousins’ feet. Cousins contemplate murder. You contemplate barfing. The boy cracks up.

You are 9 months pregnant, and driving Rocky to the groomer. This is already a trauma, since Rocky is not a Car Dog. He is flailing about, falling down, hitting the dashboard and being a pain in the ass. In the middle of a call to the office, you get the “who farted?” look. Apparently, Rocky is nervous about automobile travel and shits on the passenger seat. Rocky is suddenly in the backseat, crying softly. You contemplate barfing. You decide it’s a fine idea and do so. You call Husband and tell him of your murder plans.

Despite all that, he turned out to be one of the best dogs I’ve ever known. And now he is gone. I miss my loving, funny, protective, gentle, nervous puppy.

Cat versus Dog


Dog: “I’m biting you! Woooo!!!”

Cat: “Go away!”

Cat: “No really – GO AWAY!”

Cat: “I’ll pound your head!”

Cat: “I’ll bite your ears!”

Cat: “I’ll eat your lips!”

Dog: “Still biting you! I’m biting your leg!”

Cat: “BAD DOG!”

Cat: “I kill you!”

Dog: “You don’t scare me! I’m biting your butt!”


Dog: “Now I’m eating your arm! Delicious!”

Cat: “Go! AWAY!!”
Dog: “Uncle!”

Winner coming soon…I promise



Edited to add that told me that comment #18 was the winner! And that lucky person is Carmen @ life blessons. Carmen – I’ve emailed you – just send me the info I need and you’ll get your gift card ASAP. Congratulations!


I just wanted to let you all know that I didn’t forget you – I will be announcing the winner of the $50 gift card very soon!

Until then, here’s a very sad puppy getting his SECOND bath of the day. It’s his second bath not because I enjoy wrestling a biting, chewing, wiggling ball of badness into the tub, but because after his first bath he ate cat litter-encrusted cat poop in a delightful clumping cat-pee/litter reduction, puked it up in his crate, and then ROLLED IN IT.

I’m Talking About the Dog & Cats Again…I KNOW!


I am pretty sure this conversation happens every night in my house, just as we are trying to go to sleep…

Cat: Hey! You! Cat! PSST…CAT!

Dog: I’m not a cat.

Cat: Whatever. I’m bored.

Dog: Not ”whatever”! I’ve told you a million times I’m not a cat. You’re just being mean.

Cat: Sorryyyyyy!. Jeesh. I’m bored.

Dog: Go to sleep.

Cat: In the middle of the night? What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you sleep in the day like a normal cat?

Dog: I’M NOT A CAT!!! And besides – everyone’s sleeping and we have to be quiet.

Cat: Wooooooooo! Weeeee! Zip! Crash! Sliiiiiiiiiiiide…BANG!!

Dog: Be quiet!

Cat: Oh, you wanna do it too. Come on! You can’t catch me! Weeeeee!

Dog: Can too! Raaawwwwrrrr! Stomp. Thunk! Scramble…BANG!!


Dog: BARK! Ohhhh…..shit! You made me! I hate cats!

Cat: You hate yourself!

Dog: I! Am! Not! A! CAT!!! BARK BARK BARKBARKBARK!!………..shit!

Other Cat: Yaaaaaaaawwwwwwnnnnn….strrrrrrrreeeeeeettttccccchhhh…what’s going on out h….Hey! FUN!! Weeeeeee….WOOOOOOOO!!!


Other Cat: CRASH!!!

Dog: CRASH!!!!!…….SHIT!


Dog: I hate cats!

Cats vs. Dogs


I was talking to someone about the movie Cats vs. Dogs recently, and they asked if I was a Cat Person or a Dog Person. I can’t really answer that, because I guess I am both. But it got me thinking – do I prefer one over the other? So I sat down and tried to figure it out.


Dogs would rather eat off their own foot than poop in the house. Dogs do NOT want to disappoint you.

Cats can’t wait until you slip up and neglect to clean their litter box at exactly the right moment (approximately 5.3 seconds after they are finished, but don’t even think about coming around a millisecond too soon and looking at them, you disgusting pervert) so they can poop on the floor next to it to just punish you.

Advantage: Dogs


Cats: “……….whatever……….”

Advantage: Dogs


Dogs (or most dogs), are not at all interested in getting a bath. They will hide under the bed, run around the house to escape, put their brakes on, brace themselves against the door frame, and cry like a baby when being forced into the bathtub. And then once they are in there, they will sit down so you can’t rinse their ass, shake dirty dog water everywhere, and jump out and run immediately to a nice, dry, non-wet-dog-stinky piece of furniture. And don’t think just because your dog likes to swim or play with the sprinkler that it means they will be good in the bath, because dogs have no common sense. And here’s a little known fact: Dog dirt cannot be cleaned – it can only be transferred to another surface. So when the dog is finally soft and fluffy and fresh you and your entire house will smell like a wet, dirty dog.

Cats clean themselves. I have only had to bathe a cat twice. Once when he got a pitcher of kool-aid dumped on him…by a dog. And once when he was peed on…BY A DOG.

Advantage: Cats

Home alone:

Dogs need someone to look over them. You can’t leave multiple days worth of food because they will eat and eat and eat until they explode and then they will look for something else to eat. They have to be taken out and loved and played with and talked to.

Cats can be left with a vat of food and a big bowl of water (which they will ignore in favor of the toilet).

Advantage: Cats


Dogs: Become startled by their own farts. Regularly tangle themselves up in their leashes.

Cats: Can’t find the treat sitting directly in front of them. Lose a battle of the wits against tape.

Advantage: Tie

Critter patrol:

Cats like to hunt. Most cats can be counted on to seek and destroy mice, rats, moles, centipedes and spiders.

The most you can expect from a dog is a resounding “SQUIRREL! SQUIRREL!! SQUIRRELSQUIRRELSQUIRREL!!!” and the damned squirrel is outside and not bothering anyone. If you are lucky, they will also attempt to rid your house of mail carriers and their shadow. They will fail spider miserably, though.

Advantage: Cats

Coming Home:

Dogs don’t care if you were gone five days or five minutes – their reaction is always the same: “You’re back, oh my God, I am SO HAPPY! I was so worried about you because you were here and then you were gone and I was thinking about you and then you CAME BACK! YAY!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!

Cats didn’t even know you were gone. If they happened to be walking through the room when you return home, they might give you a barely noticeable glance to let you know that they want food and a clean littler box.

Advantage: Dogs


Dogs will do almost anything to protect the people they love. At the very least, they will bark and let you know someone is coming (and sometimes, continue barking and barking and barking).

Cats will hear a noise in the house at night, puff up, looked totally freaked out, take off and hide under the bed. Cats do not care if you are slaughtered.

Advantage: Dogs


Dogs: Bark! Growl. Snarl. Wine. Cry. Sniff. Snort. Slurp. Chomp. Chew . Yack. Snore. Howl. BARK! BARK!! BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!!

Cats: purr…meow…silent, evil stare…meep…purr.

Advantage: Cats


Dogs: Assholes

Cats: Assholes

Advantage: Tie


Cats basically have no smell. Unless they have one of those weird I Refuse To Clean Myself compulsions, they are obsessive in their hygiene. Other than the occasional I Just Ate, Can You Smell The Tuna On My Breath moments, they are pretty pleasant.

Dogs…Lord. If the non-bathing and bathphobia weren’t enough, let’s add in the ass breath. And the dogfarts. And the fact that they like to roll in poop and dead things for fun. Dogs – though delightful – are gross.

Advantage: Cats


Dogs are loyal. They will love you no matter what you do. You can screw up again and again with a dog and he will still think you are the greatest thing ever. You always hear stories about heroic dogs saving their owners, or walking hundreds of miles to find their family again.

Cats, on the other hand, will give you ONE chance to not screw up. In fact, cats are already plotting your death simply because they can. Cats don’t save their owners – cats eat their owners after they fall down the stairs and there’s no dog to run for help.

Advantage: Dogs

So there you have it. The final tally:

Dogs: 5

Cats: 5

Humans: 1,000,000 (or possibly minus-2, depending on how big of an asshole the dogs and cats are being at the time).

Never Ready


We came home from The Girl’s cheer competition at Idlewild Park late Sunday night (more on that later), and I knew as soon as we pulled into the drive that something wasn’t right. Usually, the instant your tires hit the drive, you hear the sound of the barking barker who barks and barks and then barks some more. But that night, there was no barking. I thought maybe the dog was sleeping, but as I was getting out of the car, I heard some loud banging coming from the open window.

My thought went from OMG something is wrong with the dog, to OMG someone is in the house, to WTF? It turns out my first thought was the correct one.

Before you get too worried about us, let me say that he is OK. But that night, we weren’t so sure. We walked in to find puddles of vomit, poop, and a cowering dog. At first, I thought he just chowed his food too fast (and he always cowers when he’s guilty), but then I saw how much there was and I knew it was something more.

I went to pet him and it was obvious something was very wrong. He couldn’t seem to control his body. He tried to get up and kept falling over. When he did manage to get up, he just went in circles. His eyes looked…I don’t know…blank.

Within 30 seconds, both kids were crying and mr b and I were terrified and trying not to cry ourselves. Mr b took the dog outside while I tried to calm the kids down. The whole time, all I could think was “Not yet. I’m not ready.” But, you know – you’re never ready. There is never a good time to lose a loved one – even when it is a pet and you know it eventually has to happen.

Every time I have lost a pet, I have gone through a brief, but intense period of I Am Never Having a Pet Again Because It’s Too Painful, and then I come to my senses and do it all over again. Last time – with my cat – I found that it was easier to go through because we had another cat at the time and it didn’t feel so empty, so…catless. And I came to the conclusion that maybe two dogs or cats are better than one. So I got yet another cat.

And lately, we’ve been thinking about getting another dog. Not because of the reasons I just described, but just because. We talked to a breeder and made plans to send in a deposit. And then Sunday happened and I found myself feeling guilty – as if I was “replacing” my dog before he was even gone. I know it’s silly, but I felt almost responsible for what happened.

First thing Monday morning, Mr b took the dog to the vet and was told that he would most likely recover. And so far so good – he’s getting around almost as good as before, he’s eating and barking and being his pretty much normal goofball self. But I find myself worrying about him every day, spending more time playing with him and petting him, which he loves, of course.

And I’ve gotten over my ridiculous guilt – our puppy-to-be will be born in a few weeks and we’ll have him in late October. And in the meantime, I am just loving the dog we do have, and trying not to think about what’s in the future, because no matter how much you try and prepare for it, you’re never, ever ready.

The Fish Whisperer


I was (finally) out shopping for my March for Maddie giveaway prize this weekend, looking – obviously – for some weird stuff to throw in there. And I came upon a tiny plastic aquarium with a couple of those “grow” fish in them – the ones that expand in water. And I decided I needed to have one myself.

You see – I am not very good at taking care of pets. No – that’s not exactly true – I am fine with dogs and cats, because they can remind me that they exist and are hungry/thirsty/bored/need to pee/are dicks. But quiet, contained animals? Doomed. That’s the same reason I kill plants. They can’t nudge me with their cold noses, or bark by the door, or stare at my food and “boof,” or knock their empty dish off the platform, shove it across the room, jam it into my instep and “merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! MERL! MERL! MERL! MERL! MERL! MERL!!” at me until I get off my ass and either feed or kill them.

The fact that I still have living hermit crabs should tell you how little care they need. Because if they required anything more than minimal effort, they’d be hot-glued into little vignettes by now.

So anyway, I got this cute, tiny little aquarium that I can set on my desk and play God with the fake fish. You add water – they grow – you forget all about them and they dry up and shrink. Then you notice them one day and think, “GASP! My fish are dried up!” Then you add more water and they puff back up again and you don’t even have to feel guilty about it! I don’t know if you realize this, but YOU CANNOT DO THAT WITH REAL FISH!

Don’t get me wrong – I love aquariums. I can spend hours just looking at them. Speaking of which, I once did just that at burghbaby’s house. Her husband was nice enough to talk to me for a long time all about the fish and critters. Which – while we’re on the topic, Ms. burghbaby often claims that her husband doesn’t talk, but I certainly haven’t experienced that. It seems that she is either full of shit, or Mr. burghbaby and I are dorks of feather. Truthfully, either is possible.

Anyway, I wasn’t always bad at keeping fish, etc alive. Back when I was a kid (somewhere around 6 or 7), my aunts took me to a carnival. One of the games they had was the one where you toss ping pong balls into tiny fishbowls filled with colored water and goldfish – if the ball stays in, the fish is yours.

My aunt tried to talk me out of playing, since it was a waste of money – no one ever wins at that game – plus, if you do – the fish die in a couple of days, anyway – I mean – they are swimming in tiny bowls of colored water, right? Wrong. I won me a fish and I named him Fred (I went through a stage where everything was named Fred for a while). We took it home (to my aunt/grandma’s house) and within a couple of days, we had a whole aquarium set up for this one fish. And despite what everyone but me expected, this fish did NOT die in a couple of days. In fact, he not only lived, he thrived. Within a week or so, we saw him start to increase in size. I was worried about him being lonely, so we bought him a few friends. But soon, the friends disappeared and Fred got bigger. And bigger. And BIGGER.

He soon started looking less like a tiny goldfish and more like a huge gold river fish. He was bigger than any goldfish you’ve ever seen. His tail was the size of an adult hand when “unfurled.” More than once, when my grandfather was cleaning the tank, he put Fred in another container while he scrubbed the tank in the kitchen. When he came back, he found that Fred had leaped from the tank and was lying on the floor, dry and seemingly dead. But Gramps, who loved animals, grabbed Fred and plunged him back into the water. Then he started rubbing him gently – almost doing compressions. And damned if that fish didn’t revive! And it happened TWICE! Gramps thought the first time was a fluke, but after the second, he started throwing a towel over the container.

Fred lived a good, LONG life. I got him when I was about 6 and when he died? I was in college. College! Gramps was magic like that. He didn’t need a fake fish to dry up & reanimate – he could do it for real.

Random Shit Monday


There was a truck in front of me the other day that had stickers on it that made it look like there were bullets holes all over fake bullet holes all over the tailgate. I truly do not get this. I am just not sure why this guy wants to say to the world, “I am such a huge asshole that someone SHOT AT ME” I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he also had fucking hitch balls. For those of you asking what hitch balls are, here you go. Classy. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I’d be wiling to bet there was a mullet involved. I’ll bet the guy has to beat the ladies of with a stick, because he is clearly quite a catch.


I saw that truck in the drive-thru line at McDonald’s while I was getting some morning caffeine. You know what I really hate? People who blow their horn in the McDonald’s drive-thru line. I understand that you are in a very important hurry, but do you not realize that we have no control over our speed here? The poor guy at the window is just waiting for his McMuffins and there you are, three cars behind him, blowing your goddamned horn. In MY ear. Stop it.


We rented some movies from redbox this weekend, and I have to say, Dear Baby Jesus – thank you for redbox. I am serious – they are cheap, and best of all, I don’t have to deal with the idiot working at the video store. I know netflix is cool, too, but really, if it involves stamps and mailboxes, I will fuck it up. Redbox is much easier for me.

Anyway, we watched Bolt, What Just Happened, and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. I didn’t expect to like Bolt, but I did. I think I was biased, since two of the main characters were voiced by Miley Cyrus and John Travolta, and I don’t like either one of them. So I was prepared not to like the movie. But it turned out it was pretty damned funny.

I think What Just Happened is one of those movies that is really for Hollywood. Because I think that anyone in the film industry probably found it uproariously funny, but for the rest of us, it was just one inside joke after another. I just didn’t really get it.

**warning, spoiler-y**The Boy in the Striped Pajamas was a weird one for me. I was prepared to love it, but it just kid of missed for me. I liked it most of the way through (for as much as you can like a movie about the holocaust). Other than the fact that the boy from the camp was not only way too robust, but actually had full-on chubby cheeks, it was engaging and somewhat interesting. But the end ruined it for me. I think I was supposed to be heartbroken by it, but I wasn’t. don’t get me wrong, it was sad. But the overall horror of the holocaust is so overwhelming that it is hard to feel sympathy over this one “accidental” death. I mean, I guess that was the whole point of the movie that the holocaust was horrible. But you don’t rally need to kill off an innocent German boy to prove it to me. I know already. Six million dead Jews and 5 million other dead ethnic and religious minorities, disabled people, homosexuals, and free-thinkers (or more) pretty much make it clear without this contrived story that I felt was intended to pull at my heartstrings. It simply didn’t. in fact, although the boy was likable and I felt bad, I still found myself thinking, “well, boo-fucking hoo”

I know that the movie was critically acclaimed, but I just can’t get on board with the rave reviews. I didn’t hate it, I don’t think it was a bad movie, but I just couldn’t help being disappointed in the end (and don’t think I expected a happy ending, because there are none in this subject matter). I broke my own rule and saw the movie without reading the book and that may have made it worse. Reading about the book, I think I would have appreciated the slight differences. The movie, though, left me feeling…I don’t know…weirdly uncaring. Maybe that makes me cold, I don’t know. But Schindler’s List made me cry. Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl made me cry. Inheritance made me cry. Forgotten Holocaust made me cry. The Holocaust made me cry. Survival in Auschwitz made me cry. Night made me cry. Every single book I have read on the subject made me cry. Visiting Dachau made me an emotional wreck. But this movie just made me feel manipulated and underestimated.


OK, so now, since I hate to end things on such a heavy note, I will talk about dogs.

When I was cleaning on Friday, I found a few large-ish chunks of black pet hair. Now, having a black dog and cat means that I am always finding hair floating around, sometimes even big tufts and tumbleweeds of it. But these were bigger than normal an I was a little concerned that one of the pets was having some sort of problem. Until Sunday when I saw this:

I know it’s not a great photo, so in case you can’t tell, that is a large chunk of fur missing from the dog’s back. one of several, in fact. Put that together with me being unable to find scissors Saturday and The Girl “helpfully” telling me exactly where they were, and I think we all know what happened here. I guess she has moved on from putting eyeshadow on him.

Also – Puppy! (not mine, just “borrowed” for a little while from Rapunzel)