BURY THAT SUCKER!

The other night my wife gave our puppy a dingo treat. He loves those things and chewed on it for quite a while. Instinctual preservation being what it is, he only ate part and sought to save the rest. As I worked at the computer Barkley came in and jumped on the futon in my office with slimy dingo in tow.

I mainly use the futon as a closet, a fact that drives the wife nuts – not nuts enough to put the laundry up for me (which she shouldn't and I don't expect). So I tend to the let the laundry accumulate and just get my undershirts, underwear and socks from the futon. I'd ask you to guess how far away my chest of drawers is, but it wouldn't make me look good.

So the dog perches atop the laundry and proudly assesses the scene. He then turns and paws at the clothes until he makes a hold of sorts. The dingo gets dropped between the clothes and the back of the futon. He then uses his paws and nose to hid his treausre with my laundry.

 

FIRST BLOOD: PART 2

The lovable 6-pound pet devoured two more animals this week. He caught two rabbits (a baby and an adult bunny). The baby he caught at my grandmother's house. The adult he caught in our yard. I didn't know about it until he got hungry in the middle of the night and woke me up. I thought he needed to pee. I was wrong. I wondered what was taking him so long. I went out there to see him gnawing on a half-eaten carcass. I cleaned him up, threw the remains away and went back to bed. That dog loves his yard. No one would ever guess that really sweet dog could manage to catch and kill adult rabbits. He is something else. The gorging does induce vomitting. He eats too much rich rabbit and hurls it up later. So I to get to his kill as fast as possible.

THE SQUIRREL CLEAVER

The 6-pound Yorkie-Bichon hybrid took to the hunt on Saturday, capturing himself a young squirrel. We were not around at the time, but my grandmother delighted in telling the story. She was as proud as he.

Someone he managed to catch the fury rodent and killed it. He then devoured it, head first, chomping and knowing until all was gone even the bones. He buried what was left of the carcass, then came back a few minutes later to finish the job. Blood tastes good, apparently.

Grandma said he was quite pleased with himself, carrying the dead thing around the yard, head and tail dragging the ground behind him. He is only 6 pounds after all. Thankfully, she gave his whiskers a wipe-down before we came to pick him up. Dried, clotted blood is not too easy to clean.

Ah, the animal world is cruel but balanced. God save me if PETA gets wind of this story. I’m sure the natural state of things – the life cycle and all – will upset them greatly.

Thank your lucky stars I didn't post a picture. It's just like me to do something like that. Remember when I posted the picture of my gallbladder when I had it removed?

MENDING FENCES

Don't read the title metaphorically; I spent time today fixing the fence on the back 40. Those darn holes near the bottom were just enough that the 6-pound Rip-Skippy was getting through and I cannot have that.

So I took some chicken wire and mended the fence on the north and east side of the farm. Oh, he can still run all he wants – and poop and chase birds and squirrels, rabbits and whatnot – but he cannot escape. At least he better not. A dog ain't meant to be cooped up indoors all day, even the little ones.

It's a good thing that dog is as cute as he is. He gets away with way too much because of those good looks and personality.

Cat in the Fat

What the Hell is that? I came home one night and there was animal vomit all over the new kitchen rug. It was white and there was a lot of it. I should have taken a picture, but I didn’t think of it at the time. The spot was bigger than a pie plate.

After a few minutes I figured out what happened. I cooked chili that day. I drain the beef grease into a bowl and let it cool. I don’t want that in my pipes clogging crap up. After it congeals, I scrape it into the trash. I also rinse my beef to make it healthier.

I left the bowl of fat, from two pounds of beef, on the kitchen counter to harden then left, not giving it a thought. The cat, in his infinite idiocy thought it would be fun to jump up on the kitchen counters – a thing he never does when we are there – and ate half a bowl of fat. It was a significant amount of it, too.

Oh it made his nasty butt sick, which I found funny; he deserved it. The fat mixed with his stomach juices made for one nasty mess. It permeated the rug and got on the floor underneath. I don’t think I can get it out of the rather porous rug. It’s soaked all the way through. It sucks as my parents just bought us that rug.

I just thought I would share my cat’s nasty habits with you. Something different from the political fare of late. Or is it? I report; you decide.

Go Meat!

My puppy could be the mascot for those funny Hillshire Farm Go Meat commercials. He’s spent the better part of two weeks at Camp Nanny (my parents’ house) with my daughter, a niece, a nephew, a cousin and two other tiny dogs . My father still works but my mother is retired so she entertains the kids and dogs for a couple of weeks in the summer. (The dogs are all under 5 pounds).

My daughter is home now and is fine, but the dog is spoiled rotten. He won’t eat. His food bowl has been full for days now. You see, he gets the meat while at Camp Nanny: boiled chicken, ground beef, steak, brats, you name it they feed it. Now that he’s home his is some kind of mad, holding out for the good stuff. It’s not like that at home. The table food is seldom served. We buy high quality dry food from All About Cats and Dogs; it is good stuff, but it is not the real meat.

Where Do Eggs Come From, Exactly?

Thanks to the Bob and Tom Show, I don’t know if I will ever see a chicken egg in the same way. Boiled eggs are looking better and better. Anywho, I just learned that chickens (and other creatures) have only one hole from which poo, pee and babies are excreted.

That’s right. Our beloved eggs-over-easy come from the a chicken’s brown eye. I assumed that they were like us in that they had a special orifice for urine, another for fecal matter, and yet another as the sex hole. Not so, according to veterinarian Amber, who called in to the show to set the record straight. By the way, that single orifice is called the cloaca, which is the Latin term for sewer. Nice.

The Boobs

Snuggling in the chair.

This is the first time that the Boobs have slept together. They are getting along so well. We were worried how the cat would react to the new puppy. Buddy the cat has enjoyed having a playmate most of the time.

(By the way, the green, is the blanket covering my leather recliner. The daughter has been sick and we always put a blanket in my chair just in case she upchucks. I don't really want that on the leather. Normally, the blanket wouldn't be there.)

Catching Some Rays

Barkley Sunbathing

The dog found a nice play to take a nap. He loves going outside, but I am cautious as he is only 2.5 pounds and the street is right there. He and the cat were both sitting at the door earlier watching the yard, but I didn't get a pic fast enough. I barely got this one.

TPing My House

The new pup has found his favorite toy: toilet paper. He got into our supply and had a big old time ripping the TP up from one end of the house to the other. Never had the inside of my house TP'd before.

Barkley-Buddy Blogging

Well the puppy has been home for a little over a week and things are going well. Sure, he's not potty trained yet, but he does pee, assuming we take him out every four hours. If we forget, well, then it's our own fault.

This morning Barkley (the dog) and Buddy (the cat) played chase. That was the first real sign that they are becoming friends. At first the cat wasnt' sure about Barkley, but he's figured out that a little dog can be a good friend.

As for the daughter, she is crazy about the dog. She dresses him up. Yes, that's right. I have a teeny, tiny dog that gets dressed up like a doll baby. What of it? Big honking biker guy hauls around an insy winsy dog. It's funny; I get it. It's worth it to see all the happiness that this little guy brings my daughter and wife. They even have a dog purse so they can take him with them. The wife doesn't warm up to pets too much. She just doesn't, but she loves this dog. She dresses him up and cuddles with him and all kinds of things. Something about a little dog that helps bring out empathy in people. He's been great for the daughter that way too.

The Quest for a Puppy

(We've bought a puppy. He's the grey/brown runt in the middle.)

We’ve been thinking about getting a puppy. Kind of a “hole in the head” deal, I know, but my daughter has been asking for a pet. We have a cat, and cats are great, but they do their own things and do not enjoy being dressed up in pretty bows and sweaters. Ever since my sister got a Maltese for her family, my little one has been begging and we have continued to deny.

We’ve not good luck with dogs. The first time we rescued a stray Basset. He had been tied up to a tree in a field on a farm. His skin felt like sandpaper from all the ticks. He needed an immediate home and we gave it a shot. Why not? Good G … oh my … for the Love of Pete that dog stunk. We gave him oatmeal baths and he smelled like fresh stink. It was awful. You could hardly pet him without having to wash. He wasn’t a good fit. So we gave him to the Basset Rescue.

We did some research and filled out some breed selectors on the Internet. A Whippet continued to land high on the list of breeds for us. We called the Whippet Rescue and they had a dog ready. He was a perfect dog, they assured us. The lied. He urinated everywhere, especially on my daughter’s toys. I took him outside and he would hold it, then come back in and pee on her toys.

We are inexperienced dog people. The rescue knew that. We are not used to training any dog, especially a dog with a serious emotional disorder. We called them about his urinating and asked for help. They mailed me a potty band. If you have a dog that insists on going in the house, then you put a woman’s maxi pad on the band and wrap the band around his belly, covering his digit. When he urinates, it wets the maxi and keeps him wet. They assured me that he would not like it and would soon stop going. Again, they lied.

This dog would pee in his band and not care a bit. I was at a loss of what to do. We figured our next step was doggy school. Remember that he was an adult by the time we got him. Then it happened. One day he attacked my daughter, pushed her to the floor, got on top of her and bit her on the chest, drawing blood. My wife saw the entire incident and she states that it was an unprovoked attack. Had she ran over his tail or something like that, we would have felt different.

That was it for me. I was done. You can’t pin my daughter down and draw blood. Had I been an experienced dog trainer, I may have known what to do and been able to help this poor beast. I wasn’t. I called the rescue and they came to get him. Here’s the kicker: When they picked him up they told us that we were his third family. The last family threatened to put a bullet in his head if the rescue didn’t pick him back up that same day! That would have been helpful information before we agreed to take him.

That’s when we got a cat and put all this dog business behind us. Then my damned sister had to go and get a toy dog. This Maltese is the runt of her litter and weighs about three pounds. She is a tiny thing. They take her everywhere and dress her up. It’s like a living, breathing doll. You can see why my 7-year-old is frothing at the mouth for one of her own.

We’ve been back on the dog search. This time we searched for toy dogs using various breed selectors on the Internet. There are some really cute and cuddlies out there my friends: Maltese, Bichon, Yorkshire Terriers, Havanese, Japanese Chin and the like. What is a fella to do? Some of these dogs are really – really – expensive. Then you run into the problems of puppy mills and bad breeders and that kind of stuff. Some folks, like my buds Paul and Linda, prefer to get animals from sources other than breeders. Me, I’ve had my fill of the Division of Family Services (DFS) for dogs. Not had good luck there.

Then we found the right little guy. This Bishonki, a mixture of a Bishon and a Yorki, he is the runt of the litter weighing in at a whopping two pounds. He is adorable and a bit spunky. We went to the breeder’s home and met him and his parents. He and all the other dogs are well cared for. Despite the fact that there are two dozen or so dogs in the home, it did not smell of dog. I don’t know how, but it did not (and I have a pretty sensitive sniffer.)

He turned and spun, chewed and played then went to sleep in my baby’s lap. The best part of it all, the thing that really makes us feel sure, is that the breeder has offered to help train us in dog speak and to teach us how to help raise a good citizen-dog. She even demonstrated some techniques that night. If we run into problems with him, bad behaviors and such, all it takes is one call and we can send the pup back to her for boot camp to break the bad habit. And I guess we also get our own train-the-trainer boot camp, which is good for new dog owners.

It’s a done deal. We bought him and he is ready to come home. The breeder won’t let him come home until our kitchen remodel is finished. We have food in boxes in the family room so we can eat while the kitchen is being worked on. I can just imagine what a puppy would do with all that food. Hopefully he will come home late next week. All that is left is for us to go to the pet store and make our home puppy-ready.

We’ve been working on names. We’ve decided to let the 7-year-old name him. She did a great job naming the cat. So far she’s come up with several names, Harley being one of them. She came up with that one all on her own, I promise. We’ll see what she comes up with.