I have a confession to make: I've started another blog. I'm cheating on Kibbles and Knits. My other blog is dedicated to my diet, exercise and weight loss program, which began in an official capacity today. I am not ready to go public with this blog yet, but after I lose a bunch of weight and look fabulous and am ready to capitalize on my success, then I will let you all know of the address and you can go read my musings over there as well.
In the meantime, I come to you today with a plea. I have two dogs for sale.
Oh, wait. Did I say for sale? My bad. What I meant is, I will pay you $50.00 to come get these dogs and take them. They are naughty. They are rotten. They cannot behave to save their lives. They do not listen. They smell and they shed all over the house.
They'd make someone a great pet. Please come and take them. I will write you a check, or if you come now, I will give you $60 - cash money.
In the past week, the following occurrences have taken place concerning these 2 dogs.
I come home to find a small pile of vomit in the bedroom. Upon inspection, I notice something white and fluffyish in the vomit. Thinking this is strange, but not completely unusual, and because it's only a small pile of vomit, I don't worry about it. As I step further into the bedroom, I discover 2 more piles of vomit. Rather, I discover one more pile of vomit, and one giant mountain of vomit, which contains a partially eaten and digested man's sock. Further investigation reveals a partially eaten pillowcase from our BRAND NEW BED SET.
Not sure which dog is the culprit, I promptly get them both outside, and clean up the vomit before The Cowboy comes home and I have to clean up more vomit (he has a weak stomach, I've had to clean up both dog vomit and or poop and Cowboy vomit before...it wasn't fun and I don't want to have to do it again any time soon). Later we notice that Sam, the yellow Lab, is licking everything non stop. The carpet, the bedspread, my feet, The Cowboy's hair, you name it. She starts hacking and gagging. We deduce that she is The Mystery Vomiter, and conclude that she had gotten into the trash and eaten something she shouldn't have (unsure as to what), and then proceeded to eat anything in sight, including dirty socks and Brand New Pillows, which I can't imagine tasted anything alike. BAD DOG.
Aggie, on the other hand, rarely does anything wrong. She's just as sweet and nice as she can be. Her only fault is a big one. She's a Husky, which means she's a sled dog, which means she wants to RUN. Our backyard isn't fenced in, and I generally put her on a leash when I let her outside. She runs off from time to time, and I learned my lesson the hard way - right after I moved down here and I let her out in 105 degree weather and she ran off. 2 streets away. And I had to chase her down. In 105 degree heat, did I mention? And my neighbors were laughing at me, and also trying to help me. And I had to carry her home because I didn't have a leash. And it was hot. So, from that day forward, leash. Backyard. You understand.
SO. Saturday night, The Cowboy lets them outside to potty at around 12:30. It's worth noting here that the weather in Texas the past week or so has been the exact opposite of 105 degrees. It's been in the twenties and teens at night, which for Texas is what I like to call Freezing Fucking Cold. So naturally, Aggie chooses this moment to run off. I am sound asleep in the bedroom and I can hear The Cowboy trying to cajole her back inside. I can hear him going in and out of the front door and the sliding glass door in the back. I can hear him saying "Aggie, get in here! Aggie, c'mon!" I hear all this from the comfort and warmth of my bed. I let it go on for 5-7
minutes, no longer than 10, and then I decide that I'm being a big douche bag by not getting up and helping him. She comes back faster if we tag team her.
So I get up, throw on a sweatshirt, a coat, my warm boots, a hat and some gloves, and ask The Cowboy where she is. "In the neighbor's back yard." is his tense reply. Our neighbor's backyard is fenced in, yet they have no dog. We should probably switch houses, or at least yards. The Cowboy is standing in our backyard, and can see Aggie next door at the fence, and she's looking at him, but the dumb dog has no idea how to get back into our yard. The idiot got herself over there, but now she can't figure out how to get back. So I leave The Cowboy in the backyard and tromp around to the front yard, and over to the neighbor's driveway. I don't go into their backyard, and I don't speak too loudly - I don't want to wake them up. I stand there for a minute and call her. Nothing. All of a sudden, I see a light behind me. A flashing light. A red and blue flashing light.
That's right. The law. John Q. The po-po.
The cop walks up and says good evening. Through my chattering teeth (a combination of shivering from the cold, and being nervous about the cops), I tell him that I live next door and my dog is in their backyard and I'm trying to get her out. He's pretty cool about it. Asks me a
few questions about how the dog got out, how she got next door (I'm guessing he has cats), calls it in on his radio that I am not some crazy lady in her pajamas outside trying to kill my neighbors, and helps us get Aggie back. We thank him, and head home. BAD DOG.
And today. This actually is kind of funny, as opposed to naughty, but it just goes to show you that you never know what's gonna happen with dogs. I'm walking Sam through the neighborhood, and I happen to live in the neighborhood right next to school. So I see a kid I know from school and he says hello and asks if he can pet my dog. Of course! I say. And at that exact moment, while we are smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk, Sam decides to take a dump. A giant, green, smelly, nasty dump. As this kid is attempting the make nice and pet her. POOP.
Of course I didn't have any bags with me. So I tell the kid we have to go, turn around take her home, leave her there, get some bags, go back, clean up the crap, turn around and walk home with my little bag of dog poop. I think my pride was in there too.
So, if you want a dog that eats socks and pillows, craps on the sidewalk while you're trying to talk to someone, and gets you in trouble with the police, well then have I got the dog(s) for you!
Of course I'm only joking. Please don't go all ASPCA on my ass and think I'd really give you my dogs or get rid of them for being, well, dogs. I love them, but they sure do piss me off sometimes.