Category Archives: Dogs

When trolling for garbage leads to the Police station

It’s late.  The fire is roaring (as much as a gas insert can roar but it sounded good).  And the house is quiet minus the snorts or farts from our Lab.  But I’ll take it.  It’s quiet to me.

I’d be reading right now except that the pain in my ankle got the best of me and I popped two Vicodin.  Vicodin doesn’t play nice with small printed words on a page and it alters my comprehension level.  Plus, I’m trying to get back on a blog schedule.  Life has been straight jacket insane.

In addition to all of the sports and extracurricular activities we have the kids enrolled in because society tells us that we suck if we don’t, we lost our 6yr old Lab for a few days.  She was engaging in her favorite activity….trolling the ‘hood for garbage can delicacy (that could later be expelled on the single swatch of carpet in my home) when she went missing.

When her hungry stomach didn’t bring her home in the usual 10 minutes, we formed a search party.  We scoured the neighborhood for days.  All of the neighbors are well acquainted with our beast and assured us they hadn’t seen her (although I kept a suspicious eye on the free range chicken owner).

Unknown to us, she was taken to the Police station when an over zealous officer on neighborhood patrol picked her up.   She was placed in a caged jail until an employee took her to his home in order to save her a trip to the pound (where pretty girls like her are sure to get raped).

Tres was beside himself.  He bawled and snotted everywhere for days.  The unknown and visuals of her in a road kill state wrecked havoc on his little mind.  I, on the other hand, couldn’t believe how much cleaner my house felt.  NO HAIR!  Do you know how much Labs shed?!?  NO VOMIT!  Do you know how sensitive Labs stomaches are and how much they enjoy gorging themselves?!?  NO STINK! Do you realize the amount of canine odor Labs produce?!? I was borderline giddy!  But then I’d look into the sad, swollen eyes of my baby boy and almost feel bad.  It wasn’t until he prayed for the Lord God, creator of Labs, to bring her home safely that my heart melted.

I never thought to call the Police.  Something didn’t seem right about calling them to report a missing dog.  Murder, sure.  Rape, hello 911.  Robbery, uh-huh. Kidnapping, of course.  Bomb, yep.  Missing dog, w e a k!

I sheepishly dialed the Police station and in apologizing tones stated that I,

Umm, would like to report a missing dog.” 

I held my breath and literally paused waiting for the laughter.  But instead the female officer asked me for a description!  Wow, really?  As I began to rattle off (in too much detail I’m sure) a description down to the very fur count, the officer grew quiet.  Quiet (in my world) means I have to talk more.  Unless I’m really comfortable with you, quiet is kinda awkward for me and I usually fill it with useless ramblings.  When I rambled about her collar color, including a description of the pattern and texture she finally blurted out,

I know where she is!

This verbal expulsion shut me up for a few minutes.  What?  Did she just say she knew where our missing dog was?  The Police who deal with murder, rape, robbery, bomb threats and kidnapping, those Police…they actually know where our stinky dog is?

She texted me a picture and asked me to confirm her identity.  As I was waiting for the photo to ding on my phone, I thought about leaving her with the nice guy who took her home.  He’d give her a good life right?  He obviously liked her already.  In fact, I bet they were seriously bonding.  I just knew it would be too traumatic to yank her away from him.  After spending every day of her life for the past 6 years with us she wouldn’t even miss us after a few more days….right?….

Ding.  The picture came.

Will you Help me?

And I heard someone who sounded a lot like me saying,  “Awww, that’s her.  She’s ours.”  And I found myself loading up excited Tres and driving to the Police Station to claim our loot.  And I may have heard myself asking the Police woman if the kind man who took her home just didn’t want to keep her considering the amount of time he had invested in her well being.  And I may have just given Police woman my number for him to call me if he was interested.  And I may have just called the next day and left the good Samaritan a voice mail to inquire if he was interested in a certain 6yr old English Lab with a fondness for garbage.

As pay back for my thoughts of and actions toward premeditated abandonment a thank-you she body slammed us a little more aggressively right before she emptied her bladder all over the Police Station floor.  Vomiting is her preferred body fluid deposit of choice but I guess they didn’t provide her with the necessary access to garbage.

Now that she has an arrest record, I have big plans for her involving an underground fence, electricity and a collar.

The expensive yard containing set-up should provide hours of amusement especially when she spots the free range chickens just out of her reach.  I wonder if I can convince the kids to forego the family vacation (I’m trying to pay off the thing people) and stay home to play “lets count how many times the dog gets shocked!”

In the meantime, I have to vacuum.

Straight jacket insane.

Check please.

A picture of insanity

Meet the Schnoodle, our new addition

As IF an English Lab and a Chihuahua were not enough dander producing creatures to abide in our home, we took in a Schnoodle (part Schnauzer, part Poodle).

Why?!?

But I need my very own dog! I LOVE her! She NEEDS me and I NEED her!

Sigh, incase you couldn’t figure it out by now I am a sucker for cute, manipulative kids and animals have always had my heart!  Wish me well as we continue to add to our zoo and the “R”esponsibility that comes with it.  I seem to avoid the “R” word until after the fact.  But not to worry, we are responsible pet owners which is why we haven’t dumped our food scavenging, neighborhood trolling, professional vomiting, massively shedding English Lab yet.

Tell me what works for you and your pet zoo.  How do you guys handle the responsibility of caring for your pets and budgeting the expense (those Vets are making the cash $$$!) Oh my, I just realized that we will now have three dogs to find sitters for when we take those elusive family v-cays!!  Yikes….suggestions?  And offing them is not an option – just sayin’

All in a year

I am amazed at the difference a year can make in the lives of my little human beings.  Sometimes even in mine (if I’m not in an omigosh this phase is dragging funk).

Last summer you may remember this post where my youngest was apprehensive (and bordering the indications for therapeutic intervention) of our little Tiki Man water toy.

365 days later and wa-la…he discovered the pure joy of Mr. Tiki:

He was content with the quality time he and Mr. Tiki were having

Yes, this is safe but thanks for asking Mr. Tiki

Dancing the Tiki

Drinking the Tiki

Constipating the Tiki

Wait, this constipation is fun....let's put him in the grass and see just how much pressure I can create!

Until….he discovered the raw power he held in his hands….

I'm holding a weapon!

Let's kill some grass

But grass killing is boRRRING!

It all began with this look

And there was not a sibling in sight to “bond” with.  Well, not a human sibling anyway.  He did spot a sibling of sorts. And off he went.

C'mere my sibling!

And our fur child entered into some forced bonding time with the Tiki possessed being.

MOMMY HELP ME! I'm TIED down!!!

I know I'm a water loving Lab but this is grounds for animal cruelty!!

See, sometimes I am just too engrossed in my footage that I forget to intervene.  Happens. all. the. time.

Eventually I came to my senses and called off the Tiki weapon wielding child.  It was this intervention that brought the realization of my interactable human status into the equation. Before this, I was just a camera holding prop.

But no longer…

Ready....

AIM...

SATURATE!!!!

I believe you can even see the splatter on my lens with that one. After he was content with the status of my saturation he went on to the enivitable.  In fact, being a boy, I was surprised that this was not the FIRST and possible ONLY activity he engaged in with Mr. Tiki.

Mr. Tiki, the appendage

Then in true boy fashion he turned proudly to face all of creation (who, after watching what happened to our Lab, screamed and hid in horror).

Look out world. Here my appendage and I come!

I can’t wait to see what happens next year.  Or, maybe I can!

The Virus and The Bread

Whew, I’m back.  If I ever hint that I am thinking about getting another puppy, hit me….hard.  My friend’s dog, The Virus (Mr. Pavlov’s affectionate nick name) was a trip and turned our home upside down for a while.  Toys that managed to survive the puppy stages of our (now mellow) Lab, were destroyed within seconds after meeting The Virus. 

One time during our dog sitting, I left our daughter with The Virus while I ran an errand.  She texted me A LOT during my brief time away.  The child has over 3,000 texts a month but seldom sends any my way.  I am text deprived and become a little too excited when I receive one.  If I had a tail it would wag uncontrollably and I just might slobber at the sound of a text.  When her number popped up on my phone I was about to wag and slobber but I knew something was up.  The first one read “When are you coming home?” 

I had just left.  She never requests me to return so soon.  Thankfully I wasn’t driving when the text came through.  I don’t text and drive – I’m old school and not that coordinated.  Texting aside, my phone really isn’t that car safe considering  it is all touch screen and I can’t “feel” the numbers when I attempt to dial.  I embody Helen Keller as I guess the location of the numbers and have been known to dial many wrong numbers.  It is most embarrassing at times especially when, after hearing a brief hello, I immediately begin the conversation with something like “Hey sexy, what time will you be home tonight?”  Awkward.

 After the initial  satisfaction of receiving a text from my cool girl dissipated, I replied, “I’m barely gone – why is everything ok?”

Her: “Yea, he’s just crazy. Come home soon!”

I was about to tell her to crate him when I got distracted by the bread that was on sale for .99cents.  We go through loaves and loaves of bread each week so .99cents was excitable.  It doesn’t take much to excite me people but you know you’re borderline pathetic when you palpitate over the price of bread.

Another text came through and before I could mount any excitement – which is actually a good thing because the endorphins from .99cent bread and a text would probably kill me on the spot – I noticed the single word “MOM!”

Then in rapid fire an avalanche of texts bombarded my technically advanced phone causing it to glitch and freeze momentarily.  Pictures followed.  My heart missed several beats.  My fingers cramped.  Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.  I couldn’t keep up with queen text and I needed more bread!

The texts read “He dug up your potted plant to get a hidden toy lizard. Dirt is everywhere!” Wow, the toy lizard?  He saw it?  Tres, our youngest, buried that sucker a few years ago and no one ventured to remove it….until now.  The picture that followed contained the lizard and a pile of dirt all over my floor.  I wish I had the photos to post but in my haste, I deleted them.

“He ripped open a ton of stuffed animals, their stuffing is all over the floor and he is raping another.”  Stuffed animals?  I thought I had put those in places where he couldn’t reach.  Raping?  It was these next few pictures that caused my armpits to spring forth fountains of living water.

“He chewed the corner off of your woodwork.”  Really? The entire corner?  I had never had a dog chew off my woodwork corners…until now.

“He destroyed a baseball hat.”  I hope it wasn’t this year’s baseball hat!  I am cheap enough to make my dear son wear a mangled hat if it is at all functional. The photo quickly followed and it resembled the left overs from a flesh-eating beast .  It was ripped apart and had several teeth marks indentations. Near one of the indentations I made out the marking “2005″ Ahhh, I exhaled – until this time I had been unknowingly holding my breath.  It was a ball cap from our older son’s Dos, 2005 baseball season.  Younger Tres had been wearing the cap and left it in an accessible place for doggie teeth and death.

“He chewed the leashes.”  All of them?  Now how were we going to walk these furry beasts? I’d venture to say that our fatty helped him destroy the key item that made her physical activity possible.

“He shredded some of the boy’s toys.”  Hopefully it was the cheap, plastic McDonalds type!  The photos confirmed that most of the debris was from el’cheapo toys.  I never had a dog help with cleaning out toys…until now.

“He snacked on the bathroom garbage and you know what’s in that can!” Oh noooooo, that garbage can contains the remnants of Mother Nature’s monthly gift.  I bet he dined on my carpet.  He did.  I had the photos to prove it.

“He ripped apart my Abercrombie flipflops…we need to go shopping!” Hmmm, as traumatized, palpitating and sweaty as I was, I smelled an opportunistic rat.  By this time I was caught up in the sequential texts.  I waited for the photo.  I even began to talk to my phone.  Show me the photo, show me the photo.  I waited.  People took my bread.  I waited.  People asked me to hand them some bread (I was defensively blocking the bread shelf). I waited.  The bread supply dwindled.  I waited.  No photo.  No photo.  No photo….ever.

Texting paused, my mental faculties returned and seizing the moment, I texted “CRATE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  Then, I scarfed up more bread and bolted for home.  

All was in order.  The tornado pathway of destruction?  Cleaned.  The virus?  Peacefully sleeping in his crate.  My daughter?  Looking haggard.  Taking a deep breath she said “I didn’t know a dog could tear it up so much – until now.  But you can reward me with shopping.” 

I gave her a loaf of bread.

Looking up sustains life

During the craziness of life I have found that when I keep my mind and thoughts positive things look better and lives are spared. 

Like today, when the dog took a Goliath size dump right in front of the door I wanted to practice my blood-letting skills on her but instead, I took a deep breath and said “at least it’s on the ceramic tile.” 

This outlook saved her life….and the fact that we are dog sitting a rambunctious 1yr old lab who wouldn’t let her do her business outside.  He is a nut, a beautiful nut.  His color is fox red and is personality is fiery!  Our poor, fat, mellowed 5yr old lab experiences daily harassment and physical activity rape.  With her eyes she pleads for salvation and questions whether his presence in our abode is permanent. 

Although I believe a dog should physically combust before releasing any waste material in MY home, I gave her a one time pass.  She will live to die another day! 

 

Ours is the fat white one visually pleading for salvation in the background!

 

Help me...I must rest...must get air!!

Because usually the scene looks like this – ALL day long:

Play with me...pant, pant...play with me!

 I try to talk to our fatty in the spirit of looking up and viewing thing positively.  I explain that all of the exercise she is receiving is a good thing and will allow her to table surf for many more years.  Then I throw her a piece of food.

Oh yea, incase I forgot to mention her most recent conquest was an entire mixed berry pie, a loaf of bread and a batch of bananas all of which were consumed in under two minutes.  Really.  I turned my back for two minutes and that’s when she preformed her perfected air assault, paw maneuver causing (in one swoop) those three items to fall from their secured spot on the counter and into her enormous gastric holding area.

She chose to dine on the mixed berry pie on the solo carpeted living space we have.  It figures that the last piece of carpet left in our home was the feasting spot of my homemade, organic mixed berry pie that didn’t even touch my taste buds!  But I got to experience the heart warming joy of cleaning up the residue….look how close she was to dining on wood….grrr.

The mixed berry mess

 

It is still present but now faded.  I have scrubbed.  And scrubbed.  I thought about taking her far away from home and dog dumping her butt and I smiled.   When I realized that I would be the only one smiling, I decided to engage in some positive thoughts and secretly wished she developed an upset stomach or diarrhea – outside.  It helped and again, her life was spared at the thought of her gut spasming and cramping.  Looking up, it really works.

Now…how do I get this stain out of the carpet?????

Hot and Stupid

A video tribute to Valentine’s Day

Sorry to disappoint but this post is not about a blonde, bombshell Barbie who fails to score above 500 on her SATs.

True, she does have a full body of lustrous locks.  And yes, she isn’t exactly the reincarnation of Einstein but that’s where the similarities between bombshell Barbie and ignoramus Angel end.

Angel?

Angel is our faithful, dim-witted, family canine who seeks out human companionship like Jersey Shore’s “The Situation” preys upon female flesh.

She is intense.  Her pursuit of love and affection is never-ending even if it means placing herself in less than ideal situations.  Angel will wait.  Patiently.  And then wait a little more for that brief moment of bliss when a random human finally acknowledges her panting, smelly presence and offers her an obligatory scratch.

Why do we have her?

Because seven years ago our daughter, at the ripe age of 7, demanded her and we caved pretended it was our idea.  Chalk it up to hormones, sleep deprivation and insanity on my part…I had a newborn attached to my body 24/7 sucking my life source.  Clearly, I was not in a stable frame of mind.

And many times I question Angel’s mental stability.  I think she got the short end of the cranial material.  Either that or she is truly LOVE starved.  Although, I consider dental checks, brushing, ear cleaning, toe nail clipping and hog-tying-bath-time the apex of sacrificial LOVE.  BUUT  She must desire more agape as evidenced today when she attempted to cook herself just to be by my side.

We were alone.  I was cold so I pulled up a comfy chair and cranked on the gas fireplace.  The kids were in school and she was in her chronic emotional state of neediness.  She refused to part from my presence even though the creature was obviously tormented by the heat.  Because of video size limits, you will only see a clip of her torment below….but it is more than enough.

What you do not get to visually appreciate is the constant discomfort and position changes, the Semi Truck panting, the moistening of the parched lips and the pathetic looks in my direction begging me to move away from the inferno flames.  I did not move.  I chose to remain tush planted and film my intellectually challenged subject.

Eventually compassion moved me.  Well, NO actually I feared she would succumb to hyperthermia induced brain damage and she requires as many actively firing brain cells as possible! 

So Angel, as we come upon the holiday of LOOOOVE…this post is for you…our Hot and Stupid one!

In 2010 there are things worse than coal…

Coal, the dreaded lump of coal.  When I was growing up I lost count of the number of times I heard the old timers threaten us “young whipper snappers” with “You’re going to get coal for Christmas!”  It was a valid threat and we did everything to behave. 

Well, most of us.  You see, some of us did not actually believe that our parents  Santa would place a lump of coal in our stockings.  Some of us possessed unwavering confidence that an enormous pile of presents resembling the likes of Mt. Everest would be under our tree Christmas morning.  Why?  Because NO one had actually ever received coal…at least that we knew of.  We never returned to school from Christmas break and heard “I was bad.  All I got for Christmas was a lump of coal!”  We never saw a coal present.  Therefore, we knew for a fact that the entire coal thing was a hoax.  It was common knowledge that Santa never did coal.  It was just enough to make us giggle, play nice with our stinky brother, and become indentured servants to our parents.  All these behaviors were done conditionally for the ultimate behavioral payday – Christmas Presents!  

While attempting to cash in on some indentured servants of my own, I tried the ‘you’re going to get coal’ line on my modern young offspring.   I had a difficult time keeping a straight face while saying these words because…Coal? c’mon, who says, “you’re going to get coal” anymore?  But desperate is as desperate does – so coal it was.  My futile threat was, as expected, met with looks of “huh?” followed by the “ppfffftt, yeah right!”  Wow, absolutely no effect.  What has become of Christmas in 2010? No coal?  The threat was not even mildly effective.

But ah, as I glanced to the side I realized there are worse things to receive in 2010 than coal.  Things that will send shivers down the spines of my lovelies hurling them back to the 18th century.  Things that will prompt them to inquire if I would like my ‘bath water drawn.’  Things that they know I am dementedly capable of placing in their stockings. 

Things…like…this…

Happy Holidays.