Boss Lady and Boss Lady’s Mother took me for a walk today. It wasn’t an adventure, it wasn’t even a mini-adventure, but it was better than being stuck in the house all day. We took the usual route, which involves walking up the hill past the two dogs that are sometimes outside and bark at me, walking down the other side of the hill past the cedar hedge that Boss Lady won’t let me pee on, through the swamp where Boss Lady does let me pee, and then past the house that has only had a dog outside a couple times but I always remember to check. It also involves walking past the house with the 2-3 dogs outside in the yard who sound like they want to kill me. Boss Lady and I both dislike those dogs because we’ve had words with their owner.
Today, as we rounded the corner where that house sits, Boss Lady’s Mother went a little ahead of us and out into the road to scout for us. She reported that the dogs weren’t out, and we continued without any problems. But, passing the house jogged Boss Lady’s memory and she told Boss Lady’s Mother about what happened the other day. Boss Lady and I were taking a walk, along the usual route, and as we turned the corner and approached That House, we were met face to face by the more vicious of the dogs, a black and white BC looking dog. Instead of being hitched in the yard where it’s at least 3-4 feet from the sidewalk, it was hitched to the front of the house, where it can practically step into the road, and it has complete control of the sidewalk. As soon as it saw us it started barking ferociously. Boss Lady stopped and looked at it. She waited for someone to come outside and control the dog. When no one came outside, we were forced to step out into the middle of the road to walk past the house.
Boss Lady was furious. After that time the owner accused us of being the reason his dogs bark, she has had it out for him. But, there was nothing she could do to him. Despite their barking and annoying behavior, the dogs were always chained in the yard and couldn’t actually reach the sidewalk. There was no legitimate reason Boss Lady could call animal control to complain. Recently, though, the owner is giving Boss Lady more and more reasons to complain. Twice in the last couple months the dogs have been loose, completely loose, in the yard when we walked by. Fortunately for all of us, the owner noticed us before the dogs did and he took them inside. Now we have the dog chained on the sidewalk, blocking the way for all pedestrians. Boss Lady can’t wait for it to happen again. You can bet she’ll be on the phone as soon as we get home. Boss Lady is not a lady to mess with when it comes to my safety.
06 December 2008
05 December 2008
Grey's Anatomy According To Boss Lady
I was all worried about what to write in my blog today. After teasing somedog else for slacking off with his posts, I felt compelled to make sure I posted today. And, after reading another somedog else's riveting blog today, I felt compelled to make sure I posted a really good blog today. Unlike the other somedog else, a really funny thing didn't happen to me today. A really normal thing happened to me today: I got left home alone. Blah. Blah. Blah. Until a few minutes ago, when a really funny thing did happen. It was also an educational thing. I received a rather detailed lesson in anatomy.
It all started when Boss Lady's Mother returned from grocery shopping. After all the bags of grocery were in the house, Boss Lady set to putting them away. She grabbed the cold stuff first. A couple bags of english muffins, some bagels, a big pack of chicken breasts all needed to go in the freezer. In order for it all to fit, some rearranging was necessary. During which Boss Lady picked up an odd item. A single hot dog, wrapped tightly in tin foil, and frozen. Boss Lady held it up for all to see and inquired as to whether or not it was really a hot dog, and not, possibly, something naughty. Aunt A, sounding horrified, inquired as to why anyone would want something that cold near her cha-cha.
"Cha-cha?" asked Boss Lady.
"No, not cha-cha, ta-ta." Replied Boss Lady's Mother.
"Wrong. Ta-ta's are up here." Explained Aunt A.
"And ninnies. Ninnies are up there, too." Added Boss Lady.
"Ninnies?" Echoed Aunt A and Boss Lady's Mother.
"Yes, ninnies." And Boss Lady proceeded to relate the story she recently read regarding ninnies and horrible mistreatment thereof.
Aunt A and Boss Lady's Mother made appropriately horrified comments at all the right places and then Aunt A, who is, though not currently employed as, a vet tech, added her own story to the mix. While working the reception desk one day, she received a call from a woman saying she wanted the vet to look at her dog's 'box.' Aunt A, totally mystified, asked the woman to repeat herself.
"Her, you know, box. Her 'back there.'"
"Ok, well, which part of her back there?" Asked Aunt A, still totally confused about the problem.
"Um. Ok. I need the vet to check my dog's.....'area.' Her 'personal area.'"
"Ah! Alright. Let's seen when the vet is available." Said Aunt A, finally understanding what the woman was trying to say.
According to Aunt A, many pet owners have a lot of difficulty using the anatomically appropriate names for the dog's vagina.
"And the penis, too!" says Aunt A, motioning to me, I suppose as an example of one armed with a penis.
"No, no, no. That's not a penis, it's a pink highliter. I learned this from Dogster, from one who isn't shy about flashing it around. Or, alternatively, it's a protractor." And Boss Lady explained how those nicknames became. Something to do with studying geometry and for the Mdogs, with a lot of excitement.
"Oh, I've got a much better one." Claimed Aunt A. "Back this summer when I was up at the farm hiking with L and Rusty the dog. Well, Rusty has a little problem with containing his 'donger' when he's really excited. L turned to me and ask why Rusty's donger keeps falling out. You try explaining to a 4 year old why the dog's 'donger' keeps falling out, in such a way that her teacher will not be phoning the next day asking what L is witnessing at home. I had to come up with some story about underwear and how Rusty's skin is his underwear and that's why you can't always see Rusty's 'donger. I thought I did a pretty good job."
So, there you have it. A discussion starting a frozen hot dog, and ending with a dog's donger. I hope you feel more enlightened and educated than I did after that discussion.
It all started when Boss Lady's Mother returned from grocery shopping. After all the bags of grocery were in the house, Boss Lady set to putting them away. She grabbed the cold stuff first. A couple bags of english muffins, some bagels, a big pack of chicken breasts all needed to go in the freezer. In order for it all to fit, some rearranging was necessary. During which Boss Lady picked up an odd item. A single hot dog, wrapped tightly in tin foil, and frozen. Boss Lady held it up for all to see and inquired as to whether or not it was really a hot dog, and not, possibly, something naughty. Aunt A, sounding horrified, inquired as to why anyone would want something that cold near her cha-cha.
"Cha-cha?" asked Boss Lady.
"No, not cha-cha, ta-ta." Replied Boss Lady's Mother.
"Wrong. Ta-ta's are up here." Explained Aunt A.
"And ninnies. Ninnies are up there, too." Added Boss Lady.
"Ninnies?" Echoed Aunt A and Boss Lady's Mother.
"Yes, ninnies." And Boss Lady proceeded to relate the story she recently read regarding ninnies and horrible mistreatment thereof.
Aunt A and Boss Lady's Mother made appropriately horrified comments at all the right places and then Aunt A, who is, though not currently employed as, a vet tech, added her own story to the mix. While working the reception desk one day, she received a call from a woman saying she wanted the vet to look at her dog's 'box.' Aunt A, totally mystified, asked the woman to repeat herself.
"Her, you know, box. Her 'back there.'"
"Ok, well, which part of her back there?" Asked Aunt A, still totally confused about the problem.
"Um. Ok. I need the vet to check my dog's.....'area.' Her 'personal area.'"
"Ah! Alright. Let's seen when the vet is available." Said Aunt A, finally understanding what the woman was trying to say.
According to Aunt A, many pet owners have a lot of difficulty using the anatomically appropriate names for the dog's vagina.
"And the penis, too!" says Aunt A, motioning to me, I suppose as an example of one armed with a penis.
"No, no, no. That's not a penis, it's a pink highliter. I learned this from Dogster, from one who isn't shy about flashing it around. Or, alternatively, it's a protractor." And Boss Lady explained how those nicknames became. Something to do with studying geometry and for the Mdogs, with a lot of excitement.
"Oh, I've got a much better one." Claimed Aunt A. "Back this summer when I was up at the farm hiking with L and Rusty the dog. Well, Rusty has a little problem with containing his 'donger' when he's really excited. L turned to me and ask why Rusty's donger keeps falling out. You try explaining to a 4 year old why the dog's 'donger' keeps falling out, in such a way that her teacher will not be phoning the next day asking what L is witnessing at home. I had to come up with some story about underwear and how Rusty's skin is his underwear and that's why you can't always see Rusty's 'donger. I thought I did a pretty good job."
So, there you have it. A discussion starting a frozen hot dog, and ending with a dog's donger. I hope you feel more enlightened and educated than I did after that discussion.
03 December 2008
RCHS Update
Today's visit to the RCHS introduced me to Reno. He looks surprisingly like a coyote, doesn't he?
He's very sweet, though. His write up says he doesn't like to be handled, but he didn't mind putting on his harness at all. Well, except for the fact that it's all pinks and purples and flowers, and coyote look-a-likes don't wear flowers. Reno, and I just have to say that I think that name is all wrong for him. I don't have any suggestions, but Reno doesn't fit. Reno loves butt scritches, and neck scritches, and head scritches, and pretty much any scritches he can receive. I took him for a hike in Pittsford, and he was very well behaved. He's pretty laid back, but don't be fooled; there's still some puppy in there. Or maybe it's just Husky mischievousness. He wanted to chase the stick I picked up, and he got all bouncy in the tall grass. He even wanted to go wading in the river. What is it with dogs and water when it's cold?!? I do not allow swimming when it's only 40 degrees. Sheesh.
He wasn't very cooperative with the camera. He refused to turn around and look at me, so my first few photos were of his butt. Then I realized that if I wrapped the rope around a sign post, then I could anchor him in place while I walked around to face him. Even with that trick, he wasn't very cooperative.
He was pretty sure there was something behind him, and it was far more interesting than some chick in front of him with a camera. By the by, he doesn't know the word biscuit, or treat, or popcorn, or cookie.
He was disgusted that I wouldn't let him go where he wanted. He was annoyed at the anchoring. This is the dirty look he gave me. I ended up with lots of dirty look pictures.
When it became obvious that his dirty look wasn't going to sway me, he opted to just look pathetic. Why is it that dogs with bat ears can do such a great pathetic look?
When the pathetic look didn't earn him any freedom, either, he tapped into his husky side and told me exactly what he thought about the photo shoot. And he wasn't exactly polite.
Did you notice the blurry tail in these pictures? That's because his tail never stopped wagging during the entire hike. Seriously. He wagged and wagged and wagged. Everything was waggingly terrific. Riding in the car was fun (and he was very well behaved), getting out of the car was fun, getting into the car was fun, hiking was fun. Basically, everything was fun, and everything warranted tail wagging.
He's very sweet, though. His write up says he doesn't like to be handled, but he didn't mind putting on his harness at all. Well, except for the fact that it's all pinks and purples and flowers, and coyote look-a-likes don't wear flowers. Reno, and I just have to say that I think that name is all wrong for him. I don't have any suggestions, but Reno doesn't fit. Reno loves butt scritches, and neck scritches, and head scritches, and pretty much any scritches he can receive. I took him for a hike in Pittsford, and he was very well behaved. He's pretty laid back, but don't be fooled; there's still some puppy in there. Or maybe it's just Husky mischievousness. He wanted to chase the stick I picked up, and he got all bouncy in the tall grass. He even wanted to go wading in the river. What is it with dogs and water when it's cold?!? I do not allow swimming when it's only 40 degrees. Sheesh.
He wasn't very cooperative with the camera. He refused to turn around and look at me, so my first few photos were of his butt. Then I realized that if I wrapped the rope around a sign post, then I could anchor him in place while I walked around to face him. Even with that trick, he wasn't very cooperative.
He was pretty sure there was something behind him, and it was far more interesting than some chick in front of him with a camera. By the by, he doesn't know the word biscuit, or treat, or popcorn, or cookie.
He was disgusted that I wouldn't let him go where he wanted. He was annoyed at the anchoring. This is the dirty look he gave me. I ended up with lots of dirty look pictures.
When it became obvious that his dirty look wasn't going to sway me, he opted to just look pathetic. Why is it that dogs with bat ears can do such a great pathetic look?
When the pathetic look didn't earn him any freedom, either, he tapped into his husky side and told me exactly what he thought about the photo shoot. And he wasn't exactly polite.
Did you notice the blurry tail in these pictures? That's because his tail never stopped wagging during the entire hike. Seriously. He wagged and wagged and wagged. Everything was waggingly terrific. Riding in the car was fun (and he was very well behaved), getting out of the car was fun, getting into the car was fun, hiking was fun. Basically, everything was fun, and everything warranted tail wagging.
False Accusations
This evening Aunt A clomped down the stairs, partially eaten bag of potato chips in hand, and inquired as to whether or not Boss Lady had moved said bag of potato chips at some point during the day. Boss Lady answered to the negative and waited for Aunt A to continue. "Well," said Aunt A, "I was positive I put the bag of chips next to my computer last night. I remember closing the bag and setting it down and putting the computer against it to keep it closed."
"And?" Prompted Boss Lady.
"I thought maybe you had noticed it sitting within reach of the dog and you'd moved it, or something."
"And?" Prompted Boss Lady again, the whole time anticipating an accusation involving a certain furry four legged animal and an empty bag of chips.
"And, I just found the bag on the other side of the room, inside another plastic bag." Replied Aunt A as she carefully removed a chip from the bag, sniffed it, and then ingested it.
"If you're accusing Colyn of moving your bag of potato chips across the room and then putting it inside another bag, then you're barking up the wrong tree." Boss Lady laughed hysterically.
"Yeah, I didn't really think he would do that. I guess I'm remembering wrong."
Safely cleared of the potato chip thievery charge, I continued sleeping on the floor. I did make a mental note of the fact that, should I feel hungry in the middle of the night, there might be a bag of potato chips to be found in Aunt A's room.
A couple hours later, Boss Lady's Mother lodged another accusation. It seems Boss Lady's Mother was enjoying a steaming cup of tea at work this afternoon, when she discovered what appeared to be a black hair floating in it. Apparently the fact that I am covered in black hair caused her to immediately blame me. Nevermind the fact that I was not anywhere near Boss Lady's Mother's place of work, not to mention her cup of tea. Boss Lady pointed out this fact in my defense. Her Mother noted it was true, and also noted that I probably shed the hair on her sweater this morning just so that it could fall in her tea this afternoon.
What happened to innocent until proven guilty?
"And?" Prompted Boss Lady.
"I thought maybe you had noticed it sitting within reach of the dog and you'd moved it, or something."
"And?" Prompted Boss Lady again, the whole time anticipating an accusation involving a certain furry four legged animal and an empty bag of chips.
"And, I just found the bag on the other side of the room, inside another plastic bag." Replied Aunt A as she carefully removed a chip from the bag, sniffed it, and then ingested it.
"If you're accusing Colyn of moving your bag of potato chips across the room and then putting it inside another bag, then you're barking up the wrong tree." Boss Lady laughed hysterically.
"Yeah, I didn't really think he would do that. I guess I'm remembering wrong."
Safely cleared of the potato chip thievery charge, I continued sleeping on the floor. I did make a mental note of the fact that, should I feel hungry in the middle of the night, there might be a bag of potato chips to be found in Aunt A's room.
A couple hours later, Boss Lady's Mother lodged another accusation. It seems Boss Lady's Mother was enjoying a steaming cup of tea at work this afternoon, when she discovered what appeared to be a black hair floating in it. Apparently the fact that I am covered in black hair caused her to immediately blame me. Nevermind the fact that I was not anywhere near Boss Lady's Mother's place of work, not to mention her cup of tea. Boss Lady pointed out this fact in my defense. Her Mother noted it was true, and also noted that I probably shed the hair on her sweater this morning just so that it could fall in her tea this afternoon.
What happened to innocent until proven guilty?
30 November 2008
It's Mine! All Mine!
Early this week, the humans brought home a frozen 20 pound turkey. They didn't say so, but I knew they got it for me. They really are devoted to me. The turkey sat around on the counter for awhile so it could thaw. I also saw it in the fridge every time they opened the door. Yesterday morning it was stuffed full of something yummy smelling and shoved in the oven. I couldn't believe how thoughtful my humans were being. I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into that bird. After many days of waiting (they claim it was only a few hours, but I know better) my turkey was finally removed from the oven. I was so eager I was drooling. I backed up so they could put it on the floor, but instead they put it on the counter. I was about to complain, but then they explained that they wanted to let it cool off a little bit. I'm telling you, these people are just the greatest. They even made sure I didn't burn my mouth. I have to tell you, though, it was extremely difficult to contain myself while the turkey cooled. I think I created a small puddle of drool while I was waiting. Finally, they deemed the turkey cool enough for consumption. Again, I made sure there was plenty of space on the floor for my turkey. But, they weren't ready to give it to me yet. First they wanted to carve it into neat little pieces. I don't know why. I certainly didn't need it cut up, my teeth work just fine. In recognition of their kindness, I continued to wait for my reward. I waited and waited and waited. I watched as all the nicely carved meat was neatly placed on a platter. I began to wonder if they had forgotten why they got the turkey. I don't eat off a platter, I eat out of a stainless steel bowl. Then I thought maybe they were going to give me a special platter to go with my special meal. Of course, that's exactly what they were doing. I would have to think of something really terrific to do to reward them. Finally, the turkey was all carved. I stood up to signal my readiness for dinner. And then I watched in utter astonishment as they carried my turkey to the table. They all sat down and started eating.
Wait a minute! Where's my turkey?! I waited so patiently. Surely you didn't forget about me? I'm the dog; how could anyone forget about me? I sat politely; no response. I downed on the rug; still no response. I gave them my best sad puppy dog eyes; nothing. I whined pathetically; that elicited a quick reprimand. Then I started thinking. I thought and thought and thought. Just one word was running through my mind: TURKEY! I was going to get some of that bird no matter what. I just needed to bend their minds to mine. I watched the turkey platter go around the table, I awaited the perfect moment. I needed the turkey to be in the only perfectly accessible place and then I would strike. When the turkey reached the end of the table near me I knew it was time to strike. The platter was balanced in mid-air, passing from one set of human hands to the next. I flung waves of thoughts at the humans: drop the platter, drop the platter, drop the platter. I could tell it was working. The platter started to dip towards the floor, then it was actually tipping. I shot my strongest thought waves and the platter actually fell! All the turkey spilled. I had done it! The turkey was mine! Oh, the excitement, the satisfaction, the power of a doggie mind. I was going to eat all that turkey. It was going to be so good.
Unfortunately, I stopped sending my thought waves a second too soon. One of the humans grabbed for the turkey and managed to actually save all of it. The platter landed on the table, and only a couple of the tiniest scraps ended up on the floor. And even those were snatched out of my reach when another human threw her body in front of me and grabbed those scraps. I was left to sadly watch as my turkey platter continued to make it's way around the table. *sigh* Maybe next year my plan will work better.
Wait a minute! Where's my turkey?! I waited so patiently. Surely you didn't forget about me? I'm the dog; how could anyone forget about me? I sat politely; no response. I downed on the rug; still no response. I gave them my best sad puppy dog eyes; nothing. I whined pathetically; that elicited a quick reprimand. Then I started thinking. I thought and thought and thought. Just one word was running through my mind: TURKEY! I was going to get some of that bird no matter what. I just needed to bend their minds to mine. I watched the turkey platter go around the table, I awaited the perfect moment. I needed the turkey to be in the only perfectly accessible place and then I would strike. When the turkey reached the end of the table near me I knew it was time to strike. The platter was balanced in mid-air, passing from one set of human hands to the next. I flung waves of thoughts at the humans: drop the platter, drop the platter, drop the platter. I could tell it was working. The platter started to dip towards the floor, then it was actually tipping. I shot my strongest thought waves and the platter actually fell! All the turkey spilled. I had done it! The turkey was mine! Oh, the excitement, the satisfaction, the power of a doggie mind. I was going to eat all that turkey. It was going to be so good.
Unfortunately, I stopped sending my thought waves a second too soon. One of the humans grabbed for the turkey and managed to actually save all of it. The platter landed on the table, and only a couple of the tiniest scraps ended up on the floor. And even those were snatched out of my reach when another human threw her body in front of me and grabbed those scraps. I was left to sadly watch as my turkey platter continued to make it's way around the table. *sigh* Maybe next year my plan will work better.
Well, We Try To Be Environmentally Friendly
Boss Lady was perusing her presence on the internet last night, because she had nothing better to do, and she came across a bunch of stuff she'd written on another website several years ago. Much of it was about me. She'd forgotten how much she wrote. Now, she wants to reclaim it. To do so, she will be recycling it through this blog from time to time. So, in the near future you might find yourself reading stories that seem a hair of out place. Don't worry, though, I won't let her go too crazy.
29 November 2008
Is This What You Meant?
I took Boss Lady's comments seriously the other night when she told me that I needed to do a better job as guard dog. As you'll recall, she was concerned that I was not fulfilling all my roles and responsibilities as guard dog. I wasn't greeting her at the door. I wasn't announcing the arrival of guests. I generally wasn't guarding the place.
To prove to her that I am fulfilling my dogly duties, I spent this week guarding the house. I barked at the people walking on the sidewalk in front of the house. I growled at the kids being vomited from that big yellow bus. I threatened to go through the window and attack the neighbor's dog that accidentally got loose and wandered into our yard. I greeted all humans at the door, and even remembered to bring Bone and drop it on their feet.
As reward for the perfect execution of my responsibilities, I was banned from the festivities on Thanksgiving. No scritches and scratches from friendly guests for me. No accidentally or otherwise dropped food on the floor. No opportunities to impress with my expanded repetoire of tricks. Nope. I was unceremoniously gated first in the living room, and then in the front hall. At all times within sight and sound of all the festivities, but not actually involved.
Supposedly this was not a punishment. Supposedly this had nothing to do with how well I did, or didn't, perform as guard dog. Supposedly this was simply because an 11 year old 2nd cousin was one of the welcomed guests, and I don't generally get on well with 11 year olds, be they 2nd cousins or not. Supposedly, as a dog, I don't have a memory long enough to hold a grudge. Supposedly, my tail.
So, when C and her boyfriend arrived later Thanksgiving evening, I made sure to threaten each of them as they came through the door. And when C arrived again this afternoon, I made double sure to bark ferociously, jump all over the door, and refuse her entry until Boss Lady came out and called me off. We can't be letting strangers who could be axe murders into the house after all. And when Boss Lady arrives home from work next time, you can be sure I will enthusiastically greet her at the door and I will be sure not to drop Bone on her toes until after she's been able to take off her shoes.
To prove to her that I am fulfilling my dogly duties, I spent this week guarding the house. I barked at the people walking on the sidewalk in front of the house. I growled at the kids being vomited from that big yellow bus. I threatened to go through the window and attack the neighbor's dog that accidentally got loose and wandered into our yard. I greeted all humans at the door, and even remembered to bring Bone and drop it on their feet.
As reward for the perfect execution of my responsibilities, I was banned from the festivities on Thanksgiving. No scritches and scratches from friendly guests for me. No accidentally or otherwise dropped food on the floor. No opportunities to impress with my expanded repetoire of tricks. Nope. I was unceremoniously gated first in the living room, and then in the front hall. At all times within sight and sound of all the festivities, but not actually involved.
Supposedly this was not a punishment. Supposedly this had nothing to do with how well I did, or didn't, perform as guard dog. Supposedly this was simply because an 11 year old 2nd cousin was one of the welcomed guests, and I don't generally get on well with 11 year olds, be they 2nd cousins or not. Supposedly, as a dog, I don't have a memory long enough to hold a grudge. Supposedly, my tail.
So, when C and her boyfriend arrived later Thanksgiving evening, I made sure to threaten each of them as they came through the door. And when C arrived again this afternoon, I made double sure to bark ferociously, jump all over the door, and refuse her entry until Boss Lady came out and called me off. We can't be letting strangers who could be axe murders into the house after all. And when Boss Lady arrives home from work next time, you can be sure I will enthusiastically greet her at the door and I will be sure not to drop Bone on her toes until after she's been able to take off her shoes.
28 November 2008
The Cursed Middle Man
Most evenings Boss Lady, Boss Lady's Mother and Boss Lady's Father all gather in the living room to relax. Usually the television is turned on, although they tend to multi-task and/or fall asleep. During these times when all the humans are gathered together in one room, I like to gorge on attention. I'm not overly particular about who gives me attention, so long as someone is. And I'm not overly particular about what kind of attention is it. Getting patted on the top of the head until my brain shakes out my ear is pretty much the same as having someone throw Mr. Green, as far as I'm concerned.
This evening, the sitting arrangement was somewhat changed. Boss Lady's Father was reclining in the ancient recliner, while Boss Lady curled up on the couch. The ancient recliner provides a better position from which I can chase Mr. Green, so I presented Boss Lady's Father with Mr. Green. He wasn't interested in playing toss, so he handed Mr. Green to Boss Lady, and she tossed him. I fetched Mr. Green and presented him to Boss Lady's Father again. Boss Lady's Father handed Mr. Green to Boss Lady, and she tossed him. I fetched him and presented him to Boss Lady's Father. Who handed him to Boss Lady. Who threw him. We continued with this game for several more throws until Boss Lady's Father finally informed me that he would prefer to not be poked in the crotch with a tennis ball one more time. Boss Lady told me I'd probably have more luck continuing the game if I eliminated the middle man.
I tried Boss Lady's version of the game, and found it somewhat lacking. Half the fun of the game is hearing all the odd little squeaks and squawks Boss Lady's Father makes when I poke him in the crotch. It's hard to poke Boss Lady in the crotch when she has a computer on her lap. And even when she doesn't have the computer, she doesn't make any fun noises; she just tells me to get my nose out of there. What with the fun of the game ruined, I decided it would be more fun to take a nap. Sometimes you really do need a middle man.
This evening, the sitting arrangement was somewhat changed. Boss Lady's Father was reclining in the ancient recliner, while Boss Lady curled up on the couch. The ancient recliner provides a better position from which I can chase Mr. Green, so I presented Boss Lady's Father with Mr. Green. He wasn't interested in playing toss, so he handed Mr. Green to Boss Lady, and she tossed him. I fetched Mr. Green and presented him to Boss Lady's Father again. Boss Lady's Father handed Mr. Green to Boss Lady, and she tossed him. I fetched him and presented him to Boss Lady's Father. Who handed him to Boss Lady. Who threw him. We continued with this game for several more throws until Boss Lady's Father finally informed me that he would prefer to not be poked in the crotch with a tennis ball one more time. Boss Lady told me I'd probably have more luck continuing the game if I eliminated the middle man.
I tried Boss Lady's version of the game, and found it somewhat lacking. Half the fun of the game is hearing all the odd little squeaks and squawks Boss Lady's Father makes when I poke him in the crotch. It's hard to poke Boss Lady in the crotch when she has a computer on her lap. And even when she doesn't have the computer, she doesn't make any fun noises; she just tells me to get my nose out of there. What with the fun of the game ruined, I decided it would be more fun to take a nap. Sometimes you really do need a middle man.
27 November 2008
I Think You've Got Your Story Confused
Boss Lady didn't have to work on Tuesday, and I desperately needed an adventure. She promised me a lengthy adventure. And then she reneged. She says it was because of the rain. Had it been snowing, we would have gone hiking. But with rain, we couldn't. She seems to think 40* is too cold for hiking in the rain. She told me we could both catch pneumonia and die. I suppose I agree with her, but I still would have liked an adventure.
So today, which was only about 40*, when she decided to get me soaking wet with a bath, I was a little bit confused. What happened to the "it's too cold for the dog to get wet" business? You won't let me play in the water. You don't take me adventuring in the rain. But, you throw me in the tub and force me to endure a bath? What are you going to do when I catch pneumonia? Huh? You're going to feel soooo guilty. I could even die. Yeah, how about that. You gave me a bath in this cold, cold weather, and now I'm going to catch pneumonia and die. That'll teach you to give me a bath when I don't want one.
And another thing, I may have missed that whole puppy kindergarten thing, but don't think I don't know what a "bad touch" is. And that, missy, is a bad touch. Bad, bad, touch. No. No no no no no. Soap does not belong there! Stop scrubbing. Definitely no scrubbing! I am going to glare daggers at your back until you release me from this controlled drowning. No amount of popcorn and cheerful "good boy"'s will appease me.
When the whole thing was finally over, and she'd released me to rub my face all over the kitchen cabinets, I asked her what possessed her to give me a bath today. I haven't had a bath since early summer. She replied that it's the holiday season, and lots of company will be coming to visit, and I was getting rather stinky. She thought it an ideal moment.
Wait a minute. It's a holiday? What holiday? Is there food involved? And all these people who are going to be visiting....will they be sharing any of this food? What are the chances that a handsome, well-behaved dog will get some good treats? Pretty good, I'd say.
As you can see, Loyal Readers, there are positives and negatives to the holiday season. The positives involve greater amounts of fabulous food. The positives also include a steady stream of visitors. Large amounts of food+lots of people=yummy food for the dog. The negatives, however, include baths and the possibility of being banished to one room in the house.
All I've got to say is the food better be damn good to warrant a bath and banishment.
So today, which was only about 40*, when she decided to get me soaking wet with a bath, I was a little bit confused. What happened to the "it's too cold for the dog to get wet" business? You won't let me play in the water. You don't take me adventuring in the rain. But, you throw me in the tub and force me to endure a bath? What are you going to do when I catch pneumonia? Huh? You're going to feel soooo guilty. I could even die. Yeah, how about that. You gave me a bath in this cold, cold weather, and now I'm going to catch pneumonia and die. That'll teach you to give me a bath when I don't want one.
And another thing, I may have missed that whole puppy kindergarten thing, but don't think I don't know what a "bad touch" is. And that, missy, is a bad touch. Bad, bad, touch. No. No no no no no. Soap does not belong there! Stop scrubbing. Definitely no scrubbing! I am going to glare daggers at your back until you release me from this controlled drowning. No amount of popcorn and cheerful "good boy"'s will appease me.
When the whole thing was finally over, and she'd released me to rub my face all over the kitchen cabinets, I asked her what possessed her to give me a bath today. I haven't had a bath since early summer. She replied that it's the holiday season, and lots of company will be coming to visit, and I was getting rather stinky. She thought it an ideal moment.
Wait a minute. It's a holiday? What holiday? Is there food involved? And all these people who are going to be visiting....will they be sharing any of this food? What are the chances that a handsome, well-behaved dog will get some good treats? Pretty good, I'd say.
As you can see, Loyal Readers, there are positives and negatives to the holiday season. The positives involve greater amounts of fabulous food. The positives also include a steady stream of visitors. Large amounts of food+lots of people=yummy food for the dog. The negatives, however, include baths and the possibility of being banished to one room in the house.
All I've got to say is the food better be damn good to warrant a bath and banishment.
26 November 2008
Green Energy? That's not what it sounds like to me
Have I told you about Boss Lady's latest plan for me? She dreamt it up the other night while we were walking. I've gotta tell you, this after work, after dark walking thing just isn't working out for me. All summer long, Boss Lady would take me for walks after work. Most of the time Boss Lady's Mother would accompany us. That's when it stayed light until 9pm. Now, it gets dark at 4pm and Boss Lady's Mother doesn't wait for Boss Lady to get home to take a walk. She walks as soon as she gets home. Which leaves Boss Lady and I to walk by ourselves. Or, more pointedly, it leaves Boss Lady walking with no one to talk to. When she walks with somebody else, they chatter away about this and that. When she walks by herself, by which I mean with me but without another human companion, she thinks to herself. She thinks away about this and that. The this and that are starting to get a little dangerous for me.
The other night it was a little chilly, but not nearly as cold as it has been. Boss Lady got to thinking about deep winter weather; the snow and ice and sometimes impassable snowbanks. She got to thinking about how she's going to get me enough exercise when we can't bike and it's just not possible to cover as many miles on foot. Whenever she gets to thinking about other exercise options for me, she comes back to pulling.
I must have told you about her original pulling idea. She's been playing with this idea for at least a year. She wants me to pull a wagon. Think Radio Flyer wagon. A really big one, though. Because she wants to put two garbage cans in the wagon. She figures I'll pull the wagon around town, and she'll pick up garbage. She needs two cans so she can separate the nickel bottles from the garbage garbage. We could have our own personal Green Up day every couple months. Yeah, that's her grand plan. She's yet to enact it for several reasons. One, none of the pet stores around here seem to have pulling harnesses. Being as Boss Lady's not entirely sure what a pulling harness looks like, or how it should fit, she's not comfortable ordering one online.
So, like I said, she keeps coming back to this pulling idea. And she had herself a light bulb moment on our walk the other night. "Wouldn't it be great," she thought to herself, "if I could figure out a way to create a doggie snow plow. I could make Colyn plow the driveway. We could plow the sidewalk as we walk after those big snow storms. Heck, I could rent him out and make money on his snow plowing." I lost her for a little while as she fell deep in thought engineering this doggie snow plow.
The engineering certainly slowed her down. She's no engineeer; she wouldn't want to be after all the years listening to her father (the mechanic who cleans up the messes made by the engineers) curse idiot engineers. The thing about a snow plow, is that it pushes the snow in front of it. And you've never heard of a dog who pushes. Dogs don't push, they pull. But, you can't put the dog in front of the plow because then the plow will cover the dog with snow. Not to mention the added difficulty of the dog gaining enough purchase to pull in snow that's who knows how deep. Nope, somehow you'd have to figure out a way to have the dog behind the plow.
Hmmm.
What if the dog was hitched up to something that he had to pull behind him? And that something behind him, was hitched to something in front of him? So, as he pulls whats behind him, it tranlsates the force to whatever is in front of him, which plows the snow? Yes, that idea has potential.
And, slowly, as our walk progressed, Boss Lady's Dog Powered Snow Plow took shape. In the end she'd decided that it would be a frame-type thing with the dog harnessed up inside the frame. The plow would be on the front. The whole thing would, maybe, be on wheels. She couldn't decide for sure about the wheels. Wheels would probably make it easier to move the plow, but would they get all clogged up with ice and snow and ultimately make it harder to move? Then there would be the question of the kind of plow. Should it be one of those double-angled, V-shaped ones that pushes the snow off to both sides, or should it be one that is angled in either direction and pushes it all to the same side? Probably a V-shaped one would make it easier for the dog, but then it would only be good for plowing sidewalks and walkways. The single angled one would be better for driveways. What about turning around and backing up, though? Aha! Put a plow on both ends, and then attach the harness to the top of frame in such a way that the dog can be easily turned around inside the frame and go in the other direction. Yes, the perfect solution to all of Colyn's winter exercise needs.
By the end of the walk, Boss Lady was all puffed up with pride at the thought of her ingenious invention. She imagined the first snow storm when she'd be able to use the Dog Powered Snow Plow. She imagined the people in the neighborhood coming out of their houses in curiosity to find out what this foolish contraption was. She imagined their loud ooh's and ahh's as she explained how the snow plow worked. She imagined them all exclaiming over her geniusness in creating the machine, and my amazingness in powering it. She imagined plowing all the sidewalks in our neighborhood, and how doing so would supersede the need for the regular sidewalk plow, which wastes gas. Oh, yes, she would win accolades and ride the coattails of the green energy movement.
Green energy? Green power? Are you colorblind woman? This isn't any green energy you're talking about here. You're proposing Black and Tan Power. As a Black and Tan myself, I'm not entirely sure I like it. Besides, who ever heard of a dog powered snow plow?
The other night it was a little chilly, but not nearly as cold as it has been. Boss Lady got to thinking about deep winter weather; the snow and ice and sometimes impassable snowbanks. She got to thinking about how she's going to get me enough exercise when we can't bike and it's just not possible to cover as many miles on foot. Whenever she gets to thinking about other exercise options for me, she comes back to pulling.
I must have told you about her original pulling idea. She's been playing with this idea for at least a year. She wants me to pull a wagon. Think Radio Flyer wagon. A really big one, though. Because she wants to put two garbage cans in the wagon. She figures I'll pull the wagon around town, and she'll pick up garbage. She needs two cans so she can separate the nickel bottles from the garbage garbage. We could have our own personal Green Up day every couple months. Yeah, that's her grand plan. She's yet to enact it for several reasons. One, none of the pet stores around here seem to have pulling harnesses. Being as Boss Lady's not entirely sure what a pulling harness looks like, or how it should fit, she's not comfortable ordering one online.
So, like I said, she keeps coming back to this pulling idea. And she had herself a light bulb moment on our walk the other night. "Wouldn't it be great," she thought to herself, "if I could figure out a way to create a doggie snow plow. I could make Colyn plow the driveway. We could plow the sidewalk as we walk after those big snow storms. Heck, I could rent him out and make money on his snow plowing." I lost her for a little while as she fell deep in thought engineering this doggie snow plow.
The engineering certainly slowed her down. She's no engineeer; she wouldn't want to be after all the years listening to her father (the mechanic who cleans up the messes made by the engineers) curse idiot engineers. The thing about a snow plow, is that it pushes the snow in front of it. And you've never heard of a dog who pushes. Dogs don't push, they pull. But, you can't put the dog in front of the plow because then the plow will cover the dog with snow. Not to mention the added difficulty of the dog gaining enough purchase to pull in snow that's who knows how deep. Nope, somehow you'd have to figure out a way to have the dog behind the plow.
Hmmm.
What if the dog was hitched up to something that he had to pull behind him? And that something behind him, was hitched to something in front of him? So, as he pulls whats behind him, it tranlsates the force to whatever is in front of him, which plows the snow? Yes, that idea has potential.
And, slowly, as our walk progressed, Boss Lady's Dog Powered Snow Plow took shape. In the end she'd decided that it would be a frame-type thing with the dog harnessed up inside the frame. The plow would be on the front. The whole thing would, maybe, be on wheels. She couldn't decide for sure about the wheels. Wheels would probably make it easier to move the plow, but would they get all clogged up with ice and snow and ultimately make it harder to move? Then there would be the question of the kind of plow. Should it be one of those double-angled, V-shaped ones that pushes the snow off to both sides, or should it be one that is angled in either direction and pushes it all to the same side? Probably a V-shaped one would make it easier for the dog, but then it would only be good for plowing sidewalks and walkways. The single angled one would be better for driveways. What about turning around and backing up, though? Aha! Put a plow on both ends, and then attach the harness to the top of frame in such a way that the dog can be easily turned around inside the frame and go in the other direction. Yes, the perfect solution to all of Colyn's winter exercise needs.
By the end of the walk, Boss Lady was all puffed up with pride at the thought of her ingenious invention. She imagined the first snow storm when she'd be able to use the Dog Powered Snow Plow. She imagined the people in the neighborhood coming out of their houses in curiosity to find out what this foolish contraption was. She imagined their loud ooh's and ahh's as she explained how the snow plow worked. She imagined them all exclaiming over her geniusness in creating the machine, and my amazingness in powering it. She imagined plowing all the sidewalks in our neighborhood, and how doing so would supersede the need for the regular sidewalk plow, which wastes gas. Oh, yes, she would win accolades and ride the coattails of the green energy movement.
Green energy? Green power? Are you colorblind woman? This isn't any green energy you're talking about here. You're proposing Black and Tan Power. As a Black and Tan myself, I'm not entirely sure I like it. Besides, who ever heard of a dog powered snow plow?
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