Monthly Archives: November 2013
Pee-soaked bath mats yay!
9 to 5 is a long time
for an anxious dog.
We learn to not to take things for granted, at our house. What is here today might be gone tomorrow. So enjoy today because it’s like a gift or something. Wait, how does that go again?
I really should know better.
I found this vase at Target the other day on the clearance end cap for LITERALLY $2!!!! I couldn’t not buy it:
Excited with my purchase, I hurried home and set it up in the perfect spot. I stepped back to appreciate my sense of design and patted myself on the back for such a good find. “I’m so awesome. My husband doesn’t know how lucky he is”…………Then, my gut sank. This vase is short-term, as much as I hate it to be. Eventually, could be tomorrow, next week or if I’m lucky a year from now, one of the bulldogs will break it.
I can probably tell you how it will happen, too.
Scenario #1 (and the most likely): Death by Bilt
Peterbilt goes on one of his excitable, nimbly-bimbly streaks and tears ass across the house in glee. Unable to start or stop very well on the hardwood, Peterbilt takes out the vase like a bowling pin. And he’s the giant, furry, psychotic bowling ball.
Scenario #2: Assed to death
Mack strolls across the house not giving a fuck. Walks by the vase to peek out the window….yep…front yard is still there, and swings his fat ass around and knocks over the vase. And then farts in feigned guilt.
Scenario #3: Runaway Toy
Peterbilt plays catch a lot by himself. He tosses and catches his own toys. That’s what happens when you’re a weirdo. No one wants to play with you. Those odd shaped Kongs bounce in unpredictable directions. One, slippery Kong bounces into the vase, shattering it.
Scenario #4: Husband.
This one I probably won’t know about when it happens. I’ll just be sweeping one day and noticed the vase looks like it was glued together at some point. Then I’ll ask him about it and I’ll get some mumbled response. And then he’ll fart in feigned guilt.
So I am enjoying the vase now, while it is mine and in one piece. Mack inspected it when I brought it home. He sniffed it briefly and looked at me and farted: “I permit this, Treat Lady”.
But it one thing life has taught me, when life gives you lemons, get some vodka and make a drink out of that shit. Other words, I’m taking bets! Comment below to give me your estimated day, week or month of projected breakage. I’m taking week of New Years, but I will post once it has broken, and don’t doubt that it will. Person who comes closest will be mentioned in the blog!
The majority of my weekend was spent in the company of my two bulldogs. With my husband up north all weekend for deer hunting, I was on the receiving end of many vocal complaints from 2 very needy bulldogs, one of which is complaining to me now as I type. I feel like a court jester called to entertain at bulldog’s whim.
Anyways, I usually let one of the bulldogs sleep in the bed with me when my husband is not home. I go in thinking a movie in bed will be the perfect time for us to bond and snuggle, me with a glass of wine. I come out sleep deprived, sore from being kicked all night long and needing to wipe drool off of some part of me. Sharing a bed with a bulldog is not for everyone. Here is a list of things you may hear, see or smell in the night to determine if in fact, a bulldog might be in your bed.
YOU JUST MIGHT HAVE A BULLDOG IN YOUR BED IF:
- You can’t fall asleep before 1 AM because of Kong chewing noises
- You get hourly wafts of fart throughout the night
- You hear a deep, throaty growl every time you change sleeping positions
- The bed is shaking with enough turbulence to wake you up
- You hear a jowl flap in exhalation at 2 AM, and you laugh
- You wake up at 3 AM to slurping noises
- Kicks to the junk in the middle of the night are not infrequent
- You feel your feet getting licked at some point
- You have the sensation that someone is watching you sleep. The hot breath gives it away
- You get up to pee in the middle of the night and your pillow goes missing
- and finally, you just might have a bulldog in your bed if: it’s 10AM and there’s a snoring mass underneath the covers that grunts when poked.
Both of my bulldogs are to the point that they avert their eyes when I bring out my iPhone. Their perky ears suddenly hang low and their cute faces droop with disappointment: “Mom’s been drinking again.” They hate it when I want to take their picture. It’s because they know I’m making fun of them in ways they can’t understand.
I’ve been chasing around my two clowns for the last 5-ish years and have snapped several thousand pictures of them both, most of them are for my own amusement. When I can’t sleep at night I take out my phone and flip through all of the stupid dog pictures and cackle to myself.
But… I’ve captured some gems over the years and I would like to share the best with you. Like Awkward Family Photos, these pictures are awkward, squirmingly embarrassing and borderline incestual.
Pete’s stinky (and naughty) by nature.
So last night, the bi-monthly task of bathing Peterbilt, went as expected. The process is almost the same every time. We sneak towels into the bathroom with ninja slyness. Justin hides behind the bathroom door in silence. I, nonchalantly take a piece of beef jerky out of the fridge and pretend to walk around the house eating it, verbalizing how great it tastes, all while totally ignoring Peterbilt. This grabs Peterbilt’s attention right away. He drops whatever thing he’s currently destroying to follow me and tries desperately to make eye contact. He’s so focused on beef jerky that I just tossed into the bathroom, he totally forgets that we’ve played this same trick on him about 30 times before. He runs into the bathroom get the treat, Justin pops out from behind the door with an “Gotcha!” and together we muster all of the strength we can to lift a now deadweight bulldog into the bathtub.
For now, we have a pleasant smelling dog, though that will only last another few precious hours before the Stench of Bilt lingers in. Within 4 days guaranteed, we will be back in full on “Stinky Petuh” mode.
I am at a loss as to why this dog cannot stay clean and fresh. Bulldogs are indoor dogs. We wash his dog bed frequently. We keep the backyard free of dead squirrels. It’s not a dental issue. His teeth and gums are in fairly good shape. We clean his ears often. Hell, even Mack takes at least 3-4 weeks before he needs a bath.
Peter’s special musk is ever changing but is usually one of the following: low tide at the beach, inside of a teenage boy’s gym locker, stinky feet, or sometimes Fritos. (I can’t eat Fritos anymore) Peter loves every stink-filled second of it and loves to “spread the wealth”, meaning he basically gives our entire house a fragrant dry rub:
Pete loves a good “roll in the sheets”, meaning he enthusiastically rolls all over our bed and blankets. We are constantly chasing him off of our bed and our shooing usually ends up turning into trampoline time on the bed. I don’t think the mattress warranty covers that.
The worst is when he rides in the car with us. We can run inside a store for 5 minutes and come back to a warm, concentrated smell, humid from his incessant panting. It’s like walking into a sauna that was converted from an old Porta-John. And a fart would be the cherry on the sundae. And that’s during the fall and winter months. With the windows cracked. Sometimes we dab Vicks under our noses. He’s cadaver ripe.
You’re thinking: “Easy solution! Just bathe the dog more often!”. Yeah no. We don’t hate ourselves enough that we can bathe this dog weekly. Our wounds haven’t even healed from the last bath.
I’d like to be able to wrap this story up by telling you how I figured out how to keep the dog semi-clean, but this is an ongoing situation. Does anyone out there have any recommendations on certain dog shampoos or dog hygiene products? Has anyone has this same problem and found that certain foods help? Any input is appreciated.
Our UPS delivery driver has created a monster.
It started about a year and a half ago. Justin and I were going to be married in a few months and the steady stream of wedding gifts had begun. I was in the front yard watering my geraniums. Peter was sharpening his fangs on stick when the UPS truck hauled ass past our house, pedal to the metal. Upon hearing the truck, Peter dropped his stick and starting chasing after the truck, like full on, fast as he can go, down the block. Shit. After my shoeless sprint in the street, I managed to catch up and threw him back in the front yard, this time with his invisible fence collar on. “Great. Now he’s chasing vehicles. Because he doesn’t have enough bad habits already”, I thought
The next day, around the same time, I was inside when I heard Peterbilt tear ass to the front door and sit at the window, silently and intently staring. Quivering, even. Then, after a minute, he slowly walked away. I looked outside, nothing was there.
This had process repeated itself a few times when I finally I brought it up to my husband, in an attempt to make conversation one evening during an awkwardly quiet dinner.
“Yeah, the UPS driver throws him milk bones sometimes when he drives by.” Justin also admitted that it even took him a while to figure out what was happening. Peterbilt normally gets to chill in the front yard by himself for 15 minutes or so when Justin gets home from work and that coincides with when UPS makes deliveries to our neighborhood. I laughed when Justin told me this. Peterbilt had a secret.
Shortly thereafter, I witnessed a few of the treat-throwings. The UPS driver wore a safari hat and when he’d fly down down the street, he’d tip his hat at me, smile, reach into his pocket, and flip me the bird. I keed, I keed. That’s what I would do if I was a UPS driver. No, he’d reach into his pocket and pull out a Peterbilt-size milk bone and chuck it into our yard. Peterbilt would gleefully run and quickly scarf down the treat, scouring the driveway for crumbs.. I’d wave to the guy and he’d drive off into the sunset like a lone, brown, safari cowboy on a diesel horse.
“That guy is cool”, I thought to myself. It was such a heartwarming thing to watch. Here’s a guy who probably spent a good $30 a month on large breed size milk bones, just to make a dog’s day brighter and bring a smile to their owner’s faces. And yes, I do realize the ulterior motive in this. Sonny (I named him this. He looks like a Sonny to me) doesn’t want his face eaten off by the Jones’s German Shepherd while he’s trying to deliver their Sky Mall eyebrow trimmer. Sonny likes having a nose. I get that. Give a dog a treat repeatedly and you have a friend for life. Makes sense.
Except in the case of Peterbilt.
As the package deliveries increased, so did the treats. The driver started leaving milk bones on the packages that would deliver when we weren’t home:
Equally as cute at the time, but then we’d get home from work, we’d open the front door and get mowed down by a 85 lb dog who had spent the last 2 hours staring at his treat though the window, panicking that some other random neighborhood dog would eat it before he would have a chance. I could picture Peterbilt, picturing those two assclown border collies running and chaotically barking into his yard, gulping down his treat, simultaneously take shits in his yard and then run away with the UPS man into the sunset to live happily ever after, all while he’s behind a pane of glass. The humiliation. The heartbreak.
Things declined from there. The summer came and went. We got married and the package deliveries significantly decreased. Fall came, and Justin started working on his car. He would order car parts from various places but most of those packages delivered with FedEx Ground and our FedEx driver delivered packages sans treats. This did not go over well. Not only did we get mowed down the same when we opened the door, we had a upset bulldog to deal with. He would scour the package and front step, no stone left unturned and would whine and whimper when the realization that there was never a treat set in. Peterbilt did not understand why one gray guy left treats but the other slightly darker gray guy did not. If fact, the darker gray guy was kind of a asshole. I call him Biff. For packages left by Biff at the front door, we started tossing out sympathy treats on the front porch when Peterbilt wasn’t looking. Yeah, my husband and I had succumbed to the sad bulldog face once again, but the worst of it still had yet to come.
Recently, Justin and I were in the driveway heading towards our car to go somewhere, I think a friend’s birthday party. We hadn’t even gotten in the car yet and saw the UPS truck come around the corner. My husband had been waiting for a package all week, so we opened up the garage and let Peterbilt outside to get his freebie treat. It had been a while since we had a UPS delivery.
Sonny saw us and walked up to us in the driveway to deliver the package. Peterbilt was a star-struck fan, twirling and play-posturing like he just met Paul McCartney. The UPS Guy, dug into his pocket and gave Peter his usual milk bone. We signed, said thank you and went to put the package in the garage. We called Peterbilt to come inside, but he wasn’t listening. We could actually feel what was going to happen next. The dog bolted from the driveway, across the street and jumped into the parked UPS Truck while our driver was in the back, sorting his packages. He ran into the back of the truck, and starting rummaging around in there for treats like “C’mon you stingy bastard!!! I know you got more where that came from!” We ran to the guy’s truck, apologized profusely, wrangled a spoiled rotten bulldog out of there and sheepishly walked back home. I could tell Sonny was annoyed, but he had no one to blame but himself. Give a bulldog an inch and he’ll take a mile.
So now every time a delivery truck, mail truck, Schwann’s truck, pick up truck, Prius or anything motorized drives by, we now have a bulldog, optimistically looking out to the window. He looks and acts well behaved behind that window, but beware. All it takes is lousy milk bone and that spoiled rotten monster will rear his white, wrinkly head. Handle with care.