Monthly Archives: May 2014

The Lilacs

It’s my favorite time of year again! It’s warm, the sun is out, we have 4 months worth of warm temps in front of us and most of all…..MY LILACS HAVE COME IN!!!!


Actual photo of my lilacs

Actual photo of my lilacs

I only have about 2 weeks of being surrounded in my purpley loveliness and each year I make sure to enjoy it to the fullest.

These sweet-smelling flowers are beneficial in many ways:

1.) The backyard smells awesome.

2.) The lilac bushes are full and leafy so I don’t have to see my sweaty, shirtless neighbors.

3.) I pick the flowers and bring them inside to use as a natural deodorizer. Mack crop dusts the house about every 10 minutes on the 8’s, Peterbilt manages to forever smell like a wet Sasquatch and my husband punctuates his sentences with farts:

“I’m hungry” (toot.)

“What’s for dinner” (rip?)

“Peterbilt jumped the fence and is running amok in the neighborhood again” (POOT!)

Although to be honest, Peterbilt escapes so often, it’s more commonly punctuates with a “toot.” than a exclamatory “POOT!”.

Just let the dog run. He’ll be back and if not, well, then that’s cool, too.

4.) I can sit underneath the bushes and pretend I’m in a magical forest. I’m the queen of Pinot Grigio-land.

So yesterday, I was out snipping more lilacs to put in a vase. I noticed what looked to be like two, upside down bird’s nests made of grass on the ground, with a large tuft of gray fur, balled in on top of it.

“What kind of bird would make a nest out of fur?”, I wondered.

I used my scissors to lift the nest and peek inside,expecting to see eggs. Instead, I saw something small and furry, move inside.

Bunnies. Two bunnies. In a small hole in the ground by the root of one of the pine trees in our backyard. Just out in the open! What type of unfit mother leaves babies vunerable to such beasts as an always-hungry, possibly diabetic, 13-year old bulldog and a 5-year old, spawn of Satan bulldog? Doesn’t she know? Doesn’t she read my blog?

Oh the poor things! How are they going to survive? How will I protect them? They were about the size of golf balls.

All sorts of scenes are starting to play through my head:

-Mack gulping the bunnies down and devouring their nest. Seriously. The dog would eat the nest.

-Peterbilt ruthlessly murdering the babies for the pure sport of it, his blood-stained face peering through the back door asking to come inside to vomit them up on a bathroom rug.

-Hubs mowing over them, a brief, red spray of blood, mama bunny looking off in the distance with tear in her eye

I didn’t want to disturb them too much, so I did not take a picture.

I brought Hubs out to the backyard to prove to him these were rabbits and that I was not crazy.

“Well”, he said. “We can take care of that.”

“NO!!!”, I yelled. “Please don’t kill or move them! Help me think of another way that we can keep the dogs away and keep them safe!”

Google it, he says. Find out how long bunnies are helpless for.

So I did:

So Mama Rabbit isn’t a deadbeat mom after all! And now I can move them so Mack won’t turn them into appetizers!

Here’s hoping Mama Rabbit doesn’t come tearin’ ass out of the bushes at me and gnaw my nose off. Because then I wouldn’t be able to enjoy those lilacs.



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Happy Birthday Mack!

This past week, Mack turned the ripe old age of 13. Yep. Fucking old. But he still has an ass like a dog of 9. Macks words. Not mine.

Although physically Mack is in superb shape for a dog his age, Mack does display some characteristic behaviors of his now geriatric age bracket.

For example, he is somewhat hard of hearing. I say somewhat because it’s an unknown ratio of  age and selective hearing. it seems Mack’s ability to hear is directly contingent upon my proximity to food.

Mack is also turning into a one of those old men who just doesn’t give a fuck. About his actions, his appearance or what people think of him. He now begs at the dinner table, licks the dirty dishes in the dishwasher rack as I rinse them after dinner and rips ass frequently and without care. Oh wait, that last part has always happened. You can yell at him or shoot him with the sprayer from the kitchen sink but you’ll get the same, shit-eating grin of his every time. “What you gonna do? Spank me like a puppy? I DO WHAT I WANT!”, Mack seems to emanate.

On Saturday, we planned to celebrate with Mackie during the afternoon. By the time we got all of our errands taken care of, it was after 1. I found Mack in a deep, afternoon slumber on his raggedy-ass couch in our basement. I woke him up by the same old ‘treat under the nose’ trick that just never gets old. I love watching him go from sleep to eat in under 4 seconds. God damn that dog loves his food.

Then it was time to let him take care of his business in the backyard before we left. Mack is a pro at stalling when you want him to move. There’s a lot of dawdling. First, Mack hates exercise, so going up the stairs takes about a minute. Then he makes a point of drinking all of the water out of Peterbilt’s dish. Mack really gets a kick out of that.

I let Mack out, went to find my phone and my purse and heard Mack’s big boy bark coming from the yard. Mack rarely barks. I ran out to see, figuring there was a deer in the backyard or that autistic kid got loose again. Nope. The neighbors had a small, white tent set up in their back yard. How frightening. Fur mohawk city.

I reassured Mack that white tents are not alive and stroked his fur back down, all the while, Hubs has been waiting in the car the whole time. i coaxed Mack back in house and to the driveway, Mack resisting the entire time.

We recently bought a 2-door Chevy Cavalier, which replaced a 4-door Ford Taurus. Both bulldogs have not been fans of the 2-door car so far. Mack refuses to squeeze into the backseat with the front seat folded down. It takes both me and my husband to force him inside, where he further protests by standing in the footwells. At this point, we unfold the passenger seat and move it back, physically forcing him to jump up on the backseat. Mack let out a grunt at his unceremonious birthday send off.

We are finally on our way. The birthday ritual of a car-ride to the “buffet” (Chuck and Don’s Pet Food Outlet) for Mack.

photo 1 copy

Since Mack’s been double-digits, we usually pepper the birthday car ride with sarcastic remarks about his age. “Was Jesus cool?”. “What was your favorite dinosaur?” “Mack, tell us again about your cocaine days at Studio 54.” We just can’t help ourselves.

We arrived at the pet food store and a line of female employees gathered to pet the birthday boy. With each one, the same process repeated: Mack’s ears would pin and his nub would wag, he’d check both hands for treats, find nothing and walk away disinterested before they could even pet him. Because fuck pets and kisses. In a store full of food, Mack fully expects to get his ‘ugly eat’ on.

Mack then did his usual gorge of the open bins of dog treats:

Overeaters Anonymous called, Mack.

Overeaters Anonymous called, Mack.

You’ll notice my husband pulling very hard on the leash, Mack trying to dig his heels into the smooth tile floor.

"To hell with both of you! I'm starving!"

“To hell with both of you! I’m starving!”

Mack is so much more easier to drag on tile.


At one point, I had a treat in my hand while taking a picture. Mack almost ate an iPhone for his birthday:



We ended up paying for all (most) of the treats he gobbled down and managed to win a bag of treats from a Plinko game they had up and running. We even bought him a new rope toy that came with an chunk of antler built into it.


Mack, exhausted from turning down bitches, willingly got into the car and napped the rest of the way home.

Happy Birthday, old man dog.


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Mack’s Staycation

It may seem that Mack has it real easy, but if you ask him, he’d say that he gets just as burnt out as you or me. I mean c’mon….you sleep 8 hours, get up, woof down your food, shit, climb back up onto your couch and sleep 8 more hours, get up again, woof down your food, shit, shriek for an hour or two, chew on a toy, grumble through a walk around the block and climb back up onto your couch and sleep for 8 hours.

Modern Bulldog Life. It’s stressful.

Mack appreciates an occasional escape from the daily rigors of being a dead-beat father to Peterbilt. And one of his favorite places to stay is at my in-laws house.

As soon as the last mound of snow melted, my in-laws showed up on our doorstep, just in from Arizona, ready to spend the next 6 months in their Minnesota home. Within minutes of their arrival, they had already asked to dog-sit Mackie for a few days. Here’s how that conversation went:

In-Laws: “Hey guys! Good to see you! Long time no see!’

Us: “Good to see you guys, too! How was–”

-and then they rush over to Mack to say hi.

So on Sunday, my husband dropped Mackie off at his parents (or Mack’s grandparents) house so Mack could chill with them for a few days. As always, Mack could care less about you when you turn to leave. The minute he’s at his grandparent’s house, you’re now chopped liver. Not even so much as a good-bye glance when you head out the door. He’s already on to bigger and better things.

I like to think that to Mack, going to his grandparents house is a lot like a taking a weekend trip to a beach or some other relaxing place. I like to think that if there were ever a travel a brochure about staying at my in-laws that would be intended for a target audience of old, crotchety bulldogs, it would like a little like this. Enjoy:

travelbr1 travelbr2


After a few days, I decided that the in-laws were probably tired of being endlessly berated by a 4-legged creature.

Even though Mack loves his grandma and grandpa, Mack was sure happy to see me yesterday when I came to pick him up.

I’ve never received such a welcome. From the dog who’s typical first reaction to when I come home for the day is to shoot me a look and walk off in the opposite direction, I got the full 5-star treatment. Full-on nub-wagging, twirling, marching of the paws. Ears pinned and everything.The grandparents had to restrain him every time I went out to the Jeep to load up his stuff. By the time I was ready to load Mack up, he was running at full speed towards me, which is something that Mack reserves for only special occasions.

“Get me out of here!! These people never sleep! They’re always home!!!”, Mack seemed to say.

Oh, did I forget to mention that my in-laws have more energy, more plans and have bigger social circles that we do?

I suspect Mack had his fill of constant company, bright, sun-filled rooms and not being allowed on any couches, whatsoever. Because what kind of shit is that?!?!

Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you got, til it’s gone?

Mack may shriek when left by himself in his downstairs apartment, but that room also comes with his very own, scrubby-ass couch that he gets to lounge around on.

He may be left alone all day long while we’re at work, but our finished basement is ideal for sleeping: always dark, cool, quiet and comfortable.

Our ice cubes may be inferior, but we are fully stocked with dog treats.

Peterbilt may be totally annoying, but Peterbilt is totally annoying. I got nothing on that one.

Mack, feeling very happy about being at home and very sleep deprived, didn’t hesitate climb onto his ratty old couch and fall asleep when he got home.


“Oh, couch. How i’ve missed you”

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A walk around the lake

Sunday was a perfect day for a walk around Theodore Wirth Lake in Minneapolis and we figured the bulldogs would be just dying to get out and run around. Well, Peterbilt anyways.

So we got Peterbilt all dolled up in his choke chain, dusted the cobwebs off of Mack truck and threw both of their asses in the Jeep.

The lake had several people already walking their dogs, walking with their kids and playing volleyball. A few kids were already running wild on the beach. Peterbilt could barely be contained the first 1/2 mile or so, pulling and zig-zagging around the trail, here and there, almost taking a jogger or two in the process. Mack employed his normal stalling tactics of smelling random patches of grass and peeing every 50 feet.

We all had a pretty good walk. Peterbilt ran in and out of the recently thawed lake, the cold water acting like rocket fuel, propelling him out of the water and sending him careening down the trail at full speed until the retractable leash reached its limit. This repeated itself about 4 times.


Mack’s highlight was when he found a pregnant woman eating string cheese on a bench and proceeded to panhandle her for food.

By the time we reached full circle, we found someone to take our portrait. Notice Peterbilt’s wide grin.


All and all, it was a good day. Many laughs. Many smells. Many dumps. Mack even jogged a little. Peterbilt would have loved another lap, but Mack was waving his white flag around so we have to give the old guy a break. He’s going to be 13 years old in just 10 days, you know.




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God Made a Peterbilt

God Made a Peterbilt

House of Farts

God Made A Peterbilt

And one day God was bored and in need of entertainment. As he looked down on his wide eyed children, he spotted a couple named Justin and Sarah. God said to his angels “You guys wanna see something funny?” So God made a Peterbilt.


God said: “Things are going too well for these two. They haven’t enough hardship in their lives. I need a creature willing to wake up them up at 3 AM because his Kong stuck under a couch, 20140502-140841.jpgpee on their hardwood floors, sleep all day and wake up and bark at the neighbors having a nice quiet dinner in their own house across the street. Then stay up until midnight chewing on the loudest, most annoying squeak toy he can find.” So God made a Peterbilt.

God said:

“I need a being willing to eat Justin and Sarah’s shoes, shit the remnants…

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Categories: Dogs | Leave a comment

God Made a Peterbilt

God Made A Peterbilt

And one day God was bored and in need of entertainment. As he looked down on his wide eyed children, he spotted a couple named Justin and Sarah. God said to his angels “You guys wanna see something funny?” So God made a Peterbilt.


God said: “Things are going too well for these two. They haven’t enough hardship in their lives. I need a creature willing to wake up them up at 3 AM because his Kong stuck under a couch, 20140502-140841.jpgpee on their hardwood floors, sleep all day and wake up and bark at the neighbors having a nice quiet dinner in their own house across the street. Then stay up until midnight chewing on the loudest, most annoying squeak toy he can find.” So God made a Peterbilt.

God said:

“I need a being willing to eat Justin and Sarah’s shoes, shit the remnants out days later, then eat said remnants, then vomit those double-digested remnants up on the only patch of carpet in the house. I need a dog who can break wind without a first care or a second thought, right into the faces of his owners as they scratch his rump.

A dog sturdy enough to bulldoze a kitchen table and walk away without a scratch, but flimsy enough to tear his ACL slipping off of an icy curb. Who can make his owners look like dicks when he picks a fight with the loveable Labrador at the dog park, but who runs away frightened from the 10 lb pug. A creature so foul, that no matter how well you shampoo him, or what brand of shampoo you use, or how many dead birds you stop him from rolling in, will still smell like low tide at a south Jersey beach”

So God made a Peterbilt.

God said:

“I need a creature with the strength and ability to pull sleds and find bombs,

yet instead chooses to to hump babies and dig holes in the backyard.

An animal who would give his right testicle to spend all day on his owners’ bed, dragging his filth, vermin and chew toys into the blankets, rolling around, and fall asleep smack dab in the middle of the bed come nightfall”


So God made a Peterbilt.

Now, God knew that he would have to make this Peterbilt very cute in order for this to continue on.

A dog who could look so sorry and submissive that it would pluck at the heartstrings of this owners. A dog who would use this face to his advantage, time and time again.


A dog who would occasionally be snuggly, come when he was called, make up funny faces and dances on a whim and who’s hypervigiliant watchdog mindset would pay off from time to time.


A dog who despite getting his ass beat just about everyday, would wag his nub-tail at the first sign of his owners pulling in the driveway…..and the nub-wag turning into squealing and leaps of joy

when Justin and Sarah say — “let’s go for a ride in the car”.

So God made a Peterbilt.


Based on the poem “God Made a Dog”, which was based off of the poem, “God Made a Farmer” by Paul Harvey





Categories: Bulldogs, Dogs, Funny, Pets, Potty Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

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