Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category

Nov 07 2011


Misplaced Aggression????

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Eat a palm tree!!!!!

First, locate a sizable palm frondy thingie…

Then stand on it to bully it into submission!

Start by gently ripping the leafy thingies off of the frondy thingie…

Remember to shake your head briskly so all of your pawrents’ pictures turn out blurry.

Do the humpedy-rumpedy as you flick it all about!

Dig in so you file your nails in the process. Less torture from your pawrents later!

Chew briskly but try not to swallow too much because……

You hafta be a happy poser in your mess after beating up that frondy thingie!

 

Next, find another steeeeeeeeeek!!!

3 responses so far

Oct 20 2011


The Dawg’s Den

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Dawgs! I hate waiting my turn for the puter. Mom is hawg-dawging today.  I have been waiting impatiently in my hidey-hole while I nap the day away.

Don’t I look scary with my glowing eyeballs??? BOO!

4 responses so far

Oct 03 2011


Bloomin’ Groomin’

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Dawgs! I have been away from the puter for a few days cause we were in a campground that barely had one of those signal thingies. (Rene, I told you I wasn’t gonna eat the internet again!!!) Anyway, mom and pop got fedded up with the crappy campground and I am glad. We moved to a better one a few miles down the road. It’s still corny here, but now I have a signal…and not in my belly! HA! (burp…)

Anyway, so I got tortured today. Mom says I have to practice good hiney-gene. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I try and hide my hiney when she digs in her drawers to get out all of her implements of torture. Check these out!!!!!

She sticks some of that stuff in my orifices….like my mouth and ears. I mean come on dawgs!  I really hate this groomin’ thing.

Every few days, Mom brushes my teefers and scrapes stuff off of them with that wicked pointy thingie. WTH? Mom and pop call me dawg breath – but I am a dawg. Isn’t that what my breath is sposed to smell like????

Oh, and mom says I mulch too much. But how can I be a German Shedder if I can’t mulch? Here’s all of the fur mom brushed off me today. But don’t worry….tomorrow I’ll have more for her to comb out!

I try and behave when mom tortures me. I only moan, and groan, and grumble, and fuss, and snarf, and squirm, and flop, and whine, and jerk, and roll, and twist, and wiggle, and grumble just a little more. Here’s what I think about this bloomin’groomin’ business…..

4 responses so far

Sep 23 2011


Clickin’ and Grinnin’

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REGRESSED

That’s what mom said I have gone and done. She says I have developed amnesia, forgot my camping manners, and regressed into a state of teenage-hood.

Well, I am not from the hood and I think my camping manners are just fine. Besides, I’m three and a half years old. Teenager? Pfft!

Here are my camping manners that I have been strictly abiding to since we got to Indianers last month:

1.  Bark at alllll strangers in my circle. My circle extends approximately 500′ in every direction from me!

2.  Bark at allll moving objects in my circle, except for cars, motorhomes, and campers, cause they are bigger than me.

3.  Bark at allll non-moving objects in my circle that were not in my circle 30 seconds ago, regardless of size.

4. Bark at allll dawgs in my circle.

5.  Bark at alll birds in my circle.

6.  Bark at alll cats in my circle, except for my own.

7.  The level and intensity of barking and growling increases with regards to the size of other dawgs in my circle. The bigger they are, the badder I hafta be!

8.  Bark and growl at the owners and managers of the campground, because they won’t let me run loose in the campground.

9.  Raise my hackles, growl, and bark like a mad dawg every time  I step out of the dawghouse, to scare off said dawgs, strangers, cats, dawgs, birds, spiders, and imaginary objects that MIGHT be outside the dawghouse or might be contemplating entering my circle anytime in the next year or so.

10. Bark before I poop to announce to the world to back off cause it’s gonna be momentous.

11. Grumble at loud noises….screaming kids, lawn mowers, diesel engines, car doors slamming, people laughing, doesn’t matter. Gotta show them that I am bigger, badder and louder.

12. Bark at any other thing as I feel the need.

13. Sniff the butt of every stranger I encounter in the pet stores. Because, well, they smell like arse!

Mom does not like my camping manners. What’s up with that?? She says my anxiety is gonna get us kicked out of a campground one of these days. I say that I’m just doing my job, which is to guard me, myself, and I, and mom, and pop, and the dawghouse. And to let mom know when something is scaring me   threatening her.

So, now she is clickin’ and I am grinnin’. You see, she read this book about how to HELP (HA) me gain some control over myself and my “anxiety”. So now, mom clicks this silly clicker thingy when she sees me do something right, say when I look at whatever is scaring me  threatening her, and I grin because I get beef jerky.

Little does mom know, but I’ve got this behavior modification thing down! You see, I just pretend to be good, then I get JERKY! I’m still on guard! Mom is such a sucker!!!!

5 responses so far

Sep 19 2011


For all you poo-eaters

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Instead of foraging in the grass for rabbit-raisins, digging thru the litter box for kitty-cookies, or rooting around for deer-dingleberries, just beg your pawrents for this!

4 responses so far

Aug 30 2011


Getting the 2nd Degree

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Burn, that is. CLUTZ. My middle name. Throw in dumbass for emphasis, if you please.  I am notorious for hurting myself. James doesn’t let me play with sharp objects for this very reason, but believe-u-me, I can still find a way to injure myself.

I had a hankering for some yummy 13 bean soup yesterday, after scoring a B-U-T-ful bag of soup mix at a heavenly little local bakery and bulk foods market here in Remington. So I went all culinary, mixed it up, and threw it in the crockpot (okay, so I only picked out a FEW lima beans. I’d rather eat chalk!) to cook all afternoon. I left the crock pot crocking on the counter, sitting on a couple of oven mitts because the legs are missing from our aged pot. The last time we used it on our shiny, new corian countertops, it friggin melted the corian. So come time for James to get home from work,and  guess what? My beans were still not done. Crap.

Out came the ingredients for a quick dinner of nachos. And since I had been nervous about leaving that hot crock pot on those cloth oven mitts, I decided to move the crock pot onto the wire rack of our stove top. (You too can prevent camper fires!) Me and my puny muscles hefted that crock pot up and over to the stove. Well, sort of. Half way there, hot water from the aluminum foil I have to use to seal the AGED crock pot lid dribbled onto my hand. And class, what happens when hot water hits the skin of a person with a healthy, intact neurological system? REFLEX. That’s right. My hand jerked in an effort to get away from that hot water. And when that hand jerked, guess what? The crock pot vomited BOILING HOT 13 bean soup all over the phalanges of both of my hands. And what did I do? I threw that puking, hot crock pot full of beans onto the stove. And sobbed like a baby over my scalded phalanges as I ran cold water over them for a little sweet relief from that horrible burning sensation that would have made me spew more cuss words than a sailor had I been able to utter a word between sobs and gasps for breath.

I sobbed and snotted over the sink for what seemed like an eternity. The pain lessened enough for me to find out what the first aid was for such a severe burn, as I could see my skin blistering as I sobbed. I managed to hold my trusty phone and peck in ‘first aid burns’ to see if I needed to go to the emergency room and meet that shiny new $3500 deductible. I managed to find out that cold water, antibiotic ointment, and pain relievers were really all that could be done for my newly identified 2nd degree burns on my fingers. Just as I finished reading, the severe pain came back with a vengeance. And continued for 8 FRIGGIN HOURS.

James came home to a sobbing, snotty wife. The only relief I could get was when my hands were under that stream of cold water and then slathered over and over with pain-relieving triple antibiotic ointment.

He finally felt so bad for me crying between soakings that he almost force-fed me a hydrocodone from my un-touched bottle that was my prize for enduring a root canal in February. (Root canal 5 on the pain scale. Burned phalanges – 9.5). And you know what? The hydrocodone made me drunker than a stoned skunk, and took the edge off, but it did not stop that kind of pain. Almost three hours later, and still stumbling back and forth to the sink to douse my finger-fire, James gives me another hydrocodone. So then, I was drunker than a stoned and inebriated skunk on a merry-g0-round. My phalanges still hurt, but I was more willing to consider self-amputation at that point. Seriously. I think cutting my fingers off would have hurt less. So I continued my trips back and forth to the sink until almost midnight, when I knew I either had to fall asleep, or I was really was going to start puking my toes out from the narcotics. I finally collapsed in the bed, and managed to pass out everytime my phalanges started flaming again.

Today those crispy critters mock me with their crunchy pants….    I am relieved that the burns aren’t worse than they are, and am hoping the skin doesn’t start peeling off of my crispier right thumb.

Time to eat some soup  . I think I earned it.

 

2 responses so far

Aug 30 2011


Pimpin’ My Beaches and Doin’ My Dunes

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Dawgs! Mom wasn’t kidding when she said we were going on a long road trip again. We are in this place called Indianers. Mom says it’s corny. I dunno about that, but I like our campground, ‘cept Mom won’t let me chase the gooses or nibble the bunny rabbits. And would somebody please tell me why I just can’t run freeeeeee? This whole leash thing really limits my pee-mail reading!

So this past weekend, Mom and Pop drove us to this place called Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore. And guess what? Not only did I get to romp on the dunes, but I got to pimp my beach at the same time!!! Dude! That place rocked! ‘Cept I couldn’t get in the water, cause mom said it pooted from the nuclear plant that was right next to the National Lakeshore (funny how THAT wasn’t in the brochure!). Check out the waves!

Here I am with Pop, on top of Mt. Baldy, all covered with sand…. It is the tallest dune in the park.

Here’s the view of the beach from the dunes. I was happy not to see any peli-can-eat -dawgs there!   And of course, I had to be a poser, and share exactly how I felt about that instead of zooming in the sand!   After we left the lakeshore, we drove to this place called Chicago.  The routey-woman in Pop’s phone sent us through a really scary part of town on the way to score our pizza, before we went to Pop’s office. Mom was adamant that she saw a drug deal go down. I dunno what that means, exactly, but I do know that pimpin’ my beaches is nothing like the pimpin’ that was going on in that neck of the woods!!!

 

No responses yet

Aug 29 2011


We’re going where?????

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“INDIANA? WTH is in Indiana?”

Ha! The universe has a very twisted and corny sense of humor. After a week and a half at home, filled with anxious anticipation of western-living, last-minute errands, long to-do lists, too many rental repairs, truck repairs, and unexpected ER visits and doctor appointments for my sick dad, the call came last Saturday afternoon as we were driving back from picking up MORE parts for Bertha (That’s a different rant). Completely unexpected, as James’ boss usually calls on Thursdays or Fridays with work assignments.

Fowler, Indiana. Home of, well, corn. Lots and lots of corn. And hundreds of wind turbines. I have to admit….not only was the call to work unexpected; so was the job location. But who’s complaining? (No, I’m merely whining a little. There IS a difference.) They are paying us to hang on in these corn fields. The job should not last more than another month. And it is much nicer here than, oh, say Arkansas. I do feel bad for James though, because he was sent here as the newly-promoted site-leader to deal with personnel issues resulting from a power-hungry leader who is now likely hanging out at home, being one with his remote control as he awaits the arrival of that first unemployment check. James has almost figured out how to deal with the guys who were stuck under Mr. Macho, corrected some safety issues, and is hoping for smooth sailing. But he has to work here. Seriously….no more napping, reading, or tossing some Angry Birds on the job. This isn’t a gravy job like Texas has been for the past year. My honey buns is working for a living again…and hard work this assignment is.

So anyway….late last Saturday night, after more last minute Bertha-repairs, errands, and visits with Daddy, we literally threw our things into our dawghouse’s various orifices. After a fitful night of not sleeping as we fretted over what we were forgetting, we hit the road at 7 am Sunday. Nine hours later, we encountered our welcoming committee.

We are staying at the Caboose Lake RV Park in Remington, IN. The park is extremely nice and very well maintained, and the owners are great. My only complaint is that it is located right on the interstate, at an exit with two major truck stops. So not only is the traffic loud from the busy interstate…we get a lot of noise from truckers and jake brakes as well.

I spent last week organizing the camper, dealing with rentals, trying to remember how to live in a camper, and figuring out how to run a business from afar. All while Riley naps , tortures the kitties,

, and soaks up all the love he can.

 

No responses yet

Aug 13 2011


The Best Laid Plans

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You would think we would learn not to plan…but being the overly-responsible souls we are, planning, replanning, and worrying seem to be innate character flaws.

I am free of my job and ready to hit the road with my honey buns. But low and behold, work has stopped at the wind farm, thanks to the horrible heat wave that is withering Texas. (Kiss my patootie, climate change and La Nina). So James drug the dawg house home early. While we wait to hear if we will be sent somewhere else until September when work will resume in Texas (assuming the 100+ degree days have ended), we are frantically working on our to-do list.

 And anxiously waiting our next road-trip…so we can both get some rest!

No responses yet

Jul 10 2011


Scoopy-Doopy-Doo!

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Dawgs! I am scooping as fast as I can! Here’s what I do know. Mom says that unless a cat-tastrophe happens, we going on a long roadtrip and are gonna turn into fulltimers with benefits. She’s gonna give a dawg a notice about our roadtrip next week sometime. But I can’t figure out when we are leaving. Mom said Pop is getting crowned at the dentist after he drags the dawghouse back from Texas in August. I guess the crown is his prize for all that dragging. She also said we might go to Texas early and ride back with pop while he drags the dawghouse home to stuff it with the kitty herd and all my toys! Anyway, stay tuned! I’m gonna keep snooping and scooping! I am hoping that we will go to the Texas coast so I can pimp my beaches!!

No responses yet

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