'Nuff Said

'Nuff said? We think not.
It is incumbent upon us, the literary geniuses of dogLOG, to inform you that

"We're smarter than Dad is. We're smarter than Dad is. Nanny nanny boo boo."

Ahem. 'Nuff said.

Bella and Orsa

Non il mio film

The movie is NOT about me. Io abbaio Italiano, non Spagnolo.


B.

Missing Kitty

It's pretty clear to me where kitty went missing.

O.

Fetch and Flies

I had a great weekend! The weather was beautiful - just perfect for rolling around in the grass and yawning and stretching out under the sun. And Dad seemed to agree.

Although he didn't join me in the rollin', yawnin' and stretchin', he did play fetch with me several times each day. He seemed to have found his inner dog. He wasn't in any hurry to go anywhere or do anything. It was a growlin' good time. Then today came.

The temperature dropped, and darkness was upon us before Dad got home, which means fetch is usually out the window. But fortunately the field we play in has some street lights lighting things up. They give Dad confidence that I'll find the ball when he throws it; otherwise he won't bother throwin' it at all.

So, we had an abbreviated fetch session tonight, which is better than no session, and Bella spent the whole time doing her best imitation of a cow - grazing on grass and swattin' her tail back and forth to keep the flies off her backside, even though there were no flies around.

O.

HOWL-o-ween Horror

Gasp! I did it. I finally ate some asparagus. And the part I'm having the most difficulty with is that I did a trick for the treat. Scary!

I'm not sure why I took the stalk. I've turned the offer down hundreds of times before, even when I've been ravenous. And this morning, it wasn't just once. It was twice. I ate two stalks.

What am I becoming?

O.

Crazy Dream

Check out the crazy dream Dad had.

He sure worries a lot. Doesn't he know I can take care of myself.

B.

The Neighborhood

We've lived on Dogbar Court for two months now and have made the acquaintance of several neighbors.

Jack lives behind us. He's a chocolate lab doofus - very young and dumb if you ask me. "Duh! Which way do I go? Which way do I go?"

Macy lives directly across the street. She's a little toy poodle thing who thinks she owns the neighborhood, but me and Bella are helping her redefine that assumption - not that we need to be in charge, but little dogs with large attitudes can be so annoying. Actually, she's not so bad. She just has to temper her excitement a bit.

Four or five houses down from Macy is Cletus and his new brother Husker. They're basset hounds, and Uncle Cletus - that's what I like to call him - brays like a ship lost in the fog. And the bass he broadcasts with shakes my insides like popcorn. I hope young Husker, 12 weeks old, isn't like that when he grows up.

Husker arrived two days ago. I gave him a quick sniff, nothing too close because I wanted to get on with fetch, but he seemed alright. We'll see how he develops.

O.

Snow!

Snow! Snow! Snow! Winter is here even if the calendar doesn't think so. Six inches of snow fell yesterday, and me and Bella got to run and roll in it a few times throughout the day. It wasn't for as long as I would've liked, but Dad wasn't prepared for the cold. He never handles the first snap too well.

This morning's temperature was an invigorating 26 degrees - Ruff! - but by the time Dad got home from work it had climbed into the high 40s. If it's colder than that I notice a significant drop in fetch time, which happens to be a lot harder with snow on the ground. The ball gets swallowed with a Whumpf!, and I can't ever find it. I try, but Dad gives up too soon. I'd get more time if he wore a coat.

O.

Asparagusting!

She eats asparagus in addition to barkccoli. That's disgusting, in an asparagusting way! Now her pee is gonna smell, and who does that affect? Me.

Why we continue to sniff each other after almost six years of living together, I don't know, but we do. Good grief!

O.

Coming Home

There's nothing better than the greeting Dad gives us when he comes home after a trip. Jumping up and down and twisting in circles while telling Bella to "Gitcher bone! Gitcher bone!" It's something uniquely and weirdly Dad, and I love him so much for it. I can tell he missed us a lot the past few days in Chicago.

O.

Chase

After five years Dad and I finally had a game of chase. It felt great to share that. I'm not sure why we never did it before, other than it seemed kind of pointless. He's never going to catch me, unless I let him, but he seemed very excited that I was interested in playing tonight. I think I may indulge him again.

He was laughing and barking at me with his "I'm happy, I love you Bella and I'm having a good time voice," which was very cute, until I let him catch me. We didn't know what to do at that point. The whole wrestling thing felt awkward, so we just hugged for a little bit, which is always nice.

B.

He's on the Computer

Dad said that me and Orsa can't have DogSpace accounts, that we're too young. What's he talking about? We'll be six in January! That's too young?

I think it's because he doesn't want to share the computer. He acts super alpha with it, like it's a bone or something. When we want to play, he's on the computer. When we want to go for a walk, he's on the computer. Bathroom time? Computer again. And of course, when we want to use the computer, he's on the computer.

B.

Purr-sessed

I don't know what's growlin' on, but lately, I've felt compelled to sniff and shred all the tissues in the trash. When Dad's not looking, I'm growlin' to town, and I don't give a woof how exas-purr-ated he gets.

Wait a minute! Exas-purr-ated?

This house is starting to freak me out.

1. I live on DOGbar court, as in dogs are barred from the premises, not like the sitcom, Cheers, where every dog howls your name.
   
2. I live in a house that smells like a cat.
3. The floor is made by Purr-go.
4. And my behavior is changing.

I think I'm purrsessed.

Pant for the Camera

The picture doesn't show it well but we're sitting on a little rock bridge. We can walk under it and on it. And you get a glimpse of ColoDOGo Springs in the distance.

B.

How Are We Related?

Dad laughs at the most inappropriate things.

"Bella. Why do you have a fruit sticker on your tail? Ha ha ha!"

"Uh, hello. It's not like I know. I didn't I put it there."

And this morning he was laughing at Orsa.

"Orsa. What's that thorn doing in your nose?"

"Probably causing pain Dad. I'm pretty sure she didn't get the thorn in the house, which means she got it outside and had it stuck in there all night long."

Tell me how we're related again?

B.

Dog Gone Crazy

Barkccoli? Is she crazy?

O.

The Kitchen Dance

Papa got a brand new stove. And he fixed himself a meal tonight, which reaffirmed this kitchen thing ain't working.

He opens a cabinet door, and I gotta move. He opens the dishwasher, and I gotta move. He opens the big cold food box where the cheese lives, and I gotta move.

When is that old dog gonna learn to keep everything open so I can find place to plop down and wait for the manna to fall from the counter?

"DAD! Can you hear me? Keep everything open so I don't have to keep moving. Woof!"

Happily, the kitchen dance did bear fruit tonight. But maybe I should say it bore vegetables - raw barkccoli. I've never had it before, but I'll eat it again; although, it's not my first choice.

Like I said, barkers can't be choosers.

B.

Innocent: A Tale of Vomit VinDOGcation

5:00 a.m. The air is still. A stomach rumbles and roils, and a man leaps out of bed.

"Noooo! Don't throw up!"

A dark dash across an unfamiliar room. The lights are thrown, and there, under the glare - of a prematurely awakened papa - a criminal is caught in the act.

"The bitch set me up," she woofs. But the truth is that retchers are creatures of heaving habit - same bat place, same bat time.

The truth will set you free.

O.

I Will Not Blame My Sister for the Mess I Make

I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.
I will not blame my sister for the mess I make.

B.

What Goes Downstairs Must Come Up

I refuse to go downstairs. There's no point. Bella follows Dad around like a needy puppy. Up. Down. Up. Down. When is she gonna figure out, that what goes downstairs must come up. The doors to the outside are upstairs. And the doors downstairs lead to rooms with nothing in them.

O.

Barkers Can't Be Choosers

Dad finally went to the grocery story and stocked the refrigerator, which means he was able to make a meal for himself rather than dropping dough on a burrito or a buffet. It's no fun when he eats out because Orsa and I get left in the back of the truck while he feeds his face.

We've been in this house for two weeks with no people food, so I just discovered that our new kitchen isn't as "cooking together friendly" as the old one. There's nowhere to lay down while I wait for Dad to make a mess.

The minute I got comfortable, Dad needed to open that specific cabinet door. Then once I moved, he needed to open that cabinet door. It was agGRRRvating! What am I gonna do? I look forward to those vittles from heaven.

Then again, I doubt he'll pick up anything that drops on the floor. I just have to be patient, like earlier, when he spilled some coffee beans.

Why he puts food in a vase and thinks it smells good is beyond me, but I'm glad he does, because a few of the beans provided me an afternoon snack. They started pleasant enough but finished with a bitter taste. I'm not complaining though; barkers can't be choosers.

B.

Now It's a Home

A soiled house means home. And this time it was Princess Orsa in the stairwell with a Bleh! Too many weeds as an after dinner snack, I dare say. Good on ya sis!

B.

Gimme Some Attention

I'm sooo glad we're out of that hotel. And I'll be more glad when we're unpacked and settled in. I want my Dad back. He's been very preoccupied and dutiful lately, and dutiful isn't fun.

Last night, we went for a walk in the new neighborhood. It smelled nice. We saw some rabbits on the walk, but we didn't find any places where we could run. Dad kept us on the leash the whole time. That chafed.

Today, we hopped in the truck to see if there was a place to run nearby. We drove and drove and drove some more. Dad didn't know where he was going and was just making random turns. It worked out though. He found us a nice stream, and I got to fetch the ball.

And just so you know that I'm a dog too, and I have feelings, one time when I brought the ball back, I dropped it in the water, rather than on the sand. Dad encouraged me to bring it to him, but I pretended not to know what he was talking about. He then scrambled after it, slipped on a wet rock and dunked his foot.

I'm not proud. I just want some more attention.

O.

Purr-go

I don't know what's up with the floor in this house. I can't get any traction on it. When Dad came home, I went to get my bone as usual, but when my legs moved, I didn't. It was annoying.

And Dad's laughing didn't help. Then again, maybe it did. I didn't get punished for enjoying his work gloves from Ruffwanda.

If he's gonna leave the entire contents of our house strewn about, even the most well-behaved pup, which I am, is going to be tempted, which I was.

I'm pretty sure Dad thought I ate an entire glove, because after he finished laughing he wandered all over the house with a "where is the other one" look on his face. I had it the whole time cause I couldn't get to my bone.

I heard Dad call the floor Purr-go, which would explain the cat smell in here and, now that I think about it, why I can't go.

B.

Peanut

Our new house smells like a cat lived here. Smells like a cat named Peanut. Peanuts are tasty. Come here Peanut.

B.

Running

Running! Running! Running! I'm running. Dad let me run today. Woo hoo! It felt so good. Although, he did stop me short a few times to check on the stitches, but I forgave him. I just wanted to run.

The stitches come out Friday, and then I'm totally free to be me.

B.

Life's An Itch

The bandage is off. Five days of no running, playing, jumping, climbing stairs . . . no living at all. But now it's off. Woof! And I have to wear this thing for nine days. Aargh!

These stitches itch sooo much. How could they not? s-t-I-T-C-H. Might as well spell d-r-i-v-e-s-m-e-c-r-a-z-y.

B.

Mo' Meds

Gotta keep this short. Eyes are droopy. Much morphine still in me.

Had my leg stitched up this afternoon. I cut it on some barbed wire. Gonna be taking Amoxicillin for the next week. Looking forward to that tastiness in my food . . . and to the follow-up vet visits. WOOF!

B.

Whole Lotta Nothin' Goin' On

Orsa is still fetching her tennis ball with a fervor, and she's about to graduate to ball number three. But other than that, the past week had a whole lotta nothin' goin' on.

B.

Whole Lotta Sniffin' Goin' On

We went walking through downtown Colorado Springs today. Dad wanted to check out Art on the Streets, and since it was Sunday, the place was a ghost town, which meant we had the keys to sniff the city.

And there was a whole lotta sniffin' goin' on, but Dad wasn't doing any of it. He was snapping pictures.

I wonder where this portkey would've taken us.

B.

Gasp!

What's with the gasp? Why does everyone gasp and shut the door as we walk down the hall? Dad is on a leash. And he's not even that big. I've never known him to bite anyone. So what's the deal?

I just don't get the gasp.

B.

ChuckIt!

When I was a puppy, I hated tennis balls. They tasted like brussel sprouts. And fetching . . . that was a mindless sport. But now it's incredible fun.

Dad bought me a ChuckIt! last night, and I already need a new tennis ball. He said I'm finally becoming a dog and that he is so happy.

What does he mean by that?

O.

All About the Hunt

This past week was all about the hunt.

Dad went house hunting and found us a new kennel, and me and Bella were hunting for the lair o' the hare whenever we got the chance.

Hares beware 'cause we found you. The chase is on. WOOF!

O.

I Saw A Hide

I saw a hide! I saw a hide! I'm not sure what it was a hide of, but I saw a hide.

B.

:-(

Dad went back to work today. I missed having him around.

O.

But What Dad Didn't Say

But what Dad didn't say in his first mobile blog post, and what is not conveyed by the serenity of the picture, is that . . . is that I've been accused of woofing too much about this subject and because I love my sister I will stop.

Besides, it wasn't her fault. She has a tendency to drink too much immediately after exercising, and that's what happened tonight, but Dad usually waits to feed us. He knows better.

I think he was preoccupied with getting ready for his first day at a new job. I bet his preparation plans didn't involve you know what, especially since it's more difficult to clean things up when we live in a hotel.

O.

No Chows Allowed

While we were out and about today, Dad stopped at a nice looking Tuscan-style apartment complex about a mile from his new office. The stop wasn't long.

The community accepts dogs but is a bit elitist regarding which breeds are acceptable. They have a no Chow rule.

Dad explained that me and Orsa are half Border Collie and a mix of Norwegian Elkhound and Chow. Apparently, any Chow in the blood is a black mark . . . on the tongue.

Not that I want to live in an apartment, but this rule got me thinking. People say I'm part Chow because I have a black tongue and curly tail. That's weak.

Lots of dogs have curly tails. Akitas, Keeshonds and Alaskan Malamutes do. And there are over 30 known dog breeds that can have black pigment on their tongues. Oh, look. Akitas and Keeshonds are on that list.

And WOW! The Chow is part of the Spitz family of dogs, along with Akitas, Keeshonds, Malamutes and lo and behold, Norwegian Elkhounds.

I may have Chow in me, but I'm more than a black tongue and a curly tail. My "Chow-ness" doesn't define me. Woof! I'm starting to sound like Dad.

Do I look more like a fat cow of a Chow (top), or the noble Elkhound?

B.

Dogs With Blogs

LinkedIn is a professional networking site for people, but the dog world is linked too. And me and Orsa are networking with Dogs With Blogs.

If you nose around on this page, you'll see us listed. It's easiest if you sort by state.

B.

Neither Hide Nor Hare

There's nothing to chase in the new field. Even sniffing is boring. How can a field have neither hide nor hare in it? Where's the hares?

O.

Bring On The Rufftine

Dad jokes about getting older, but this is no joke; I feel like I've aged seven years in the past 12 months. And maybe another seven in the last 24 hours. I'm not liking this move.

Our new den seems okay, especially now that Dad unpacked the kennels. There's a field behind the hotel that we can run around in, but it doesn't seem to have any rabbits in it. Maybe I'll get lucky tomorrow.

I'll consider myself lucky tonight if I can get a good rest. I woofed twice last night because of noise in the hallway, and I had a bad dream about getting trapped on the bella-vator. Is that what it's really called? If I find out Bella lied, I'm going to nip her good.

I can't woof until things settle back down. Bring on the rufftine.

O.

Packing Day

Boxes, paper and people everywhere. Escape routes are blocked. No place is safe. Where's a dog to go?

O.

I Have a Condition

I have a condition! And I've had it for years. I can't help it. I puke. For no apparent reason. I don't need the world to know my every retch. Get on with life Orsa!

Why do I have a sister who writes more about me than she writes about herself?

B.

BLEH! Again

Bella did it again. Woke Dad up with her roiling stomach and BLEH! into the kennel. Thankfully, it was her kennel this time and not mine.

O.

Sweet 16

Dad hogged the computer all day yesterday and didn't give me a chance to post anything. I asked him several times, "Ahem! Woof! When can I post something?" but he just cooed at me and gave me some lovin'.

He can be so one dimensional at times. Yes, I like lovin' - and I love lichen, just kidding! - but I am a dog, which means I have limited ways of communicating. Barking is not allowed, and Dad thinks everything else I do is cute. People have a hard time understanding me as a dog. They can't get past my beauty. Life is ruff!

On Tuesday, the fam climbed Torreys Peak, the 11th tallest mountain in Colorado. Orsa and I had climbed it once before, back when we were pups, but it was the first time Dad ever did it.

We've bagged nine separate peaks but have climbed to the top of some 14ers more than once. Torreys was the 16th time Orsa and I have been over 14,000 feet. SWEET!

Dad has climbed a few more than us because he's older, in case you didn't know that.

B.

HOT!

Today's temperature tied the record high. 100 degrees. I must say that's a bit hot! Even if it's not humid.

Thank goodness for air conditioning. And for the river!

O.

Vacation Hugs

I like vacations. Every time we get back home, Dad smothers us with hugs. It makes me want to take vacations more often, especially to Aunt Monica's; she's a good hugger too.

O.

Vac8shun

Hello. This is Bella and Orsa's Dad. The girls are on vacation until July 1, and they're probably hanging pool side right now. I expect they'll update you on all their goings-on shortly after they return. They told me to tell you that they'd love to update dogLOG while on vacation, but then that wouldn't be a vacation.

Oh yeah. They also said that Winky didn't show up during this morning's hunt. So much for the brazen rabbit.

The Audacity of Hop

This morning, during our daily rabbit hunt, Bella took a break to munch on some grass, which in my opinion she does too much of. I think she's a chlorophyll addict because there is no reason to waste prime rabbit hunting time, pretending to be a rabbit.

While Bella has her head buried in the roughage, a rabbit saunters out from the tall grass five yards away and stops. He looks left. He looks right. And a second passes. Bella looks up, and the rabbit winks at her.

She said he actually winked before taking off. Of course, the audacity before the hop is vintage Bugs Bunny, so I asked if Winky also said, "Wassup dog?" I got a growl in return, which became a nip when I called her Elmer Fudd.

O.

Throw a Dog a Bone

What's a girl gotta do to get some love these days? Guests in the house. Eating on the couch. Not a single crumb shared on the sly. I mean, come on, I'm begging here. Throw a dog a bone, why doncha?

Tricks? You want tricks? Whaddya want to see? Sit? Rollover? Just give me something, THEN I'll let you pet me. You scratch my back, and I'll let you scratch my back even more. Behind the ear is good too. Woof!

B.

Fresh Hare

"At last, the long arm of the law is weaching out and closing in on you, you scwewy wabbit." - Elmer Fudd

Father's Dog is June 17

Dad is taking a nap, like any good Papa dog should do several times a day, especially when said papa is an unemployed dog.

Now that he's asleep, we can do some Father's Dog shopping. I wish he bought a laptop with a doggernomic keyboard. This thing gets my dogs barkin'.

Bella! Come here! I think we should get him this. Waddya think? Think he'll let us play with it?

O.

Truckin'

Yesterday was a relaxing, pajama-wearing, listen to rain falling type of day, but Orsa and I didn't get to chill at home. We spent the day getting trucked around town with Dad, in case someone wanted to take a look at our house. Dad said buyers don't enjoy being greeted with barking and butt sniffing, which is something I don't understand, but when I told him I don't like being cooped up in the truck all day and that he should consider what I want more important than what some stranger wants, he just gave me a hug. He's so frustrating sometimes.

B.

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

Sure enough. My dollop had a crunchy core. And if that was a peanut he was a lonely old nut. Big too!

B.

P.S. It's mao - like the Chinese communist leader - and it means to eat vigorously; to devour food with exuberance; to bury one's face in a meal and hoover with gusto

M-I-C-K-E-Y

I think Dad has been slippin' a medical mickey into my meal each morning . . . and evening too. I've been getting a dollop of peanut butter in my kibble and Orsa isn't getting anything, which is strange. And after he gives us the green light to mao our chow he plunks down and watches. Now I appreciate that he wants the family to share our meals together, but this is not normal. How's a chow to mao with a pair of eyes on her? It's that peanut butter I'm telling you. There's something about it. At my next meal, I'll just pretend to eat it and then take it back to my kennel to see what the dilly-o is.

B.

Giddy Up Gobble

I read my sister's post from yesterday and want to set the record straight. She tries to give the impression that she has people sensibilities, but when it gets right down to it, she's definitely a dog. Once Dad wasn't looking, she giddy up gobbled the tasty in her kennel. How about them kibble apples?

B.

ColoDOGo Springs

Dad took us for a walk today, which immediately told me something was up. He usually takes us to fields and parks and lets us race around while he strolls. But today was serious business. Leashes and collars and everything. Sure enough, he had big news. He got a new job, and we're moving to ColoDOGo Springs. And soon! He starts his new job on July 16.

The last time we moved wasn't so fun for me. Everything got disrupted for a while. Dad said I acted really sad and he promised not to move us ever again. I think he was relieved when I woofed it was okay.

Honestly, I don't really want to move, but there'll be a bunch of new 14ers to climb this summer, and Dad super promised that there will be rabbits to chase too. Unfortunately, ColoDOGo Springs is at a higher elevation than DOGver, and I expect to feel the effect on the first few chases.

O.

Growlin' Good Looks

I'm not a fan of going to the groomer, but with the type of results I get I can't growl too much. Besides, I have my public to consider. Monsieur Christopher has outdone himself again. Grrroovy!

B.

BLEH!

My sister can be such a female dog sometimes. What'd she have to puke in my kennel for? She's says she's sick, but she sure doesn't act like it. Appetite was normal this morning, at least until she smelled the meds Dad put in her food for the pee pee problem. Then she gets all doe-eyed and sad. Phaw! She's her same old bone chewin' self. There was no reason to share her stomach contents with my blanket at 3:00 in the morning. We had eaten over seven hours before. She hadn't exercised and then gulped down a bowl of water, which tends to get her insides on the outside. We'd been asleep for two hours by that time. I just don't get her sometimes.

O.

Love and Memories

Dad went to a wedding yesterday and came home talking about love and memories. He started poking through our puppy pictures and said these two would have to be part of some sideshow . . . I mean slideshow, when Bella and I get married. I BARKED that I don't intend to marry my sister, and I woofed that Bella and I aren't even sniffing anyone right now so he shouldn't be planning any weddings. But I did agree that the pictures he chose are quite cute.

O.

Wait and See

No definitive answers came from my medical team, other than I don't have a urinary tract infection. They suggested I take 100 mg of Phenylpropanolamine each day for a month and "see how that works out." I'm not so sure I want to pump my body full of something that may cause excitability and restlessness and which may adversely affect my liver and blood pressure. I spoke with Dad about this, and he agreed that we could monitor the situation and see how serious my condition actually is before doping up, especially since nothing has happened since Wednesday.

B.

Three Seconds of Fame

Pause the video around 18 seconds.

That's Dad on the right, me in the back and Bella in the front. I'm disappointed that they didn't get Bella and I winning our two free Chipotle burritos, which Dad ate, with our stellar bag of dog tricks; shake for me and rollover for B.

The archived footage aired on CBS Channel 4 last night, as part of the local news, but it was filmed in 2002.

O.

For Immediate Release

I wish to thank everyone for the encouragement, support and love you’ve shared with me since my tooth extraction last week. I have some additional news regarding my health.

Yesterday, I began experiencing complications with my sphincter, the band of muscle that controls my piddling. Prior to last week’s surgery, I had never wet the carpet in my sleep. During the surgery, I received a substantial amount of fluid to ensure I remained hydrated, and while recovering that evening, I had an accident in my sleep – a normal occurrence given the amount of fluid I received and not necessarily indicative of a larger problem. My recovery progressed normally for five days with no further accidents until the dam burst yesterday. Now if I doze off, I leak.

I hope that by speaking up I will help other young, spayed females to confront the stigma associated with this embarrassing condition and get treatment. I will be consulting with my medical team on Friday to determine what my options are and will keep you informed. Again, thank you for your support and love.

B.

Spring

It's been quite the spring day. I can't imagine a better start to the Memorial Day weekend. Slept in. Chased a few rabbits. Upset some birds. And took a lakeside stroll, where Lucia basked in the attention of every child in the area. That girl will befriend anyone. Unfortunately the kids then want to pet "the black one," and I have to run for my life. Why do they always think that I'm inviting them to chase me? "Hey kid, I'm running to get AWAY from you. Get a clue!"

Once we got home, Dad got about some Mac business; he bought his first Apple today, and we soaked up lots of rays. Aaahh!

O.

Huntin' Wabbits

Memorial Day Weekend. Let’s wait and see what it delivers. Cousin Lucia is staying with us, or maybe we’re staying with her . . . I can’t figure it out. Dad has us shuttling back and forth every time I turn around. Who’s to know what he’s thinking? All I can do is love the man.

Anyway, we’ll have to see if the ‘Dorable Dane helps us catch any rabbits. That would be something worth memorializing, especially if Lucia seems to be aware of what’s going on. She always insists on running through the flora like she’s auditioning for The Sound of Music.

See what I mean. This photo was taken last August, and I can still here her woofin' "The hills are aliiiive with the sound of barking."

Love the man. Love the Dane. I sure would love to catch a wascally wabbit. Five years of chasing and only once have we gotten close. Would’ve had the bugger too, if Dad hadn’t called us off. Sometimes I question how dog he really is.

O.

Delicious Kibble

Tasty! Very nice! Kibble. Delicious kibble. And the gravy, it’s so positively poultry. Did that can say Kickin’ Broth? It must have. It made things quite flavorful and Goldilocks soft – not too hard and not too mushy.

I may not have felt like eating the past few days, but that stuff Dad kept trying to feed me wasn’t helping. Stewed tomatoes and cottage cheese. That’s hospital food. Baby food? What was he thinking? I’m five years old for dog’s sake.

I better go hide before he comes around with another blue pill. He may say that its auntie bionics, but I want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes. I do believe that rabbit would be tasty. Indubitably!

B.

Bella Thinks She's so Alpha

Gotta post first. Whoopee doo! Who's got the 42 canines?

That's my little sister for ya. She looks good - nice pretty coat - but in the things that matter, she's been trying to catch me ever since we were born. She runs like a prissy girl. Fights like one too. Get a good nip in there and WOOF! What a temper.

I can't believe she let the marinated kibble go to waste. Dad flavored it to perfection. It was a chicken meal, rice, cheese and yogurt medley. Delish! Oh well. Even when she had all her teeth, she was a bit particular about what she ate. Up-turned nose to canned food. Gotta have that kibble. She doesn't know what she's missing. Fancies herself human. I've seen her eat zucchini, tomatoes and olives. What's that about? It certainly doesn't make her refined, not when she prostitutes herself with that rolling over freak show to get treats. I get just as many as she does, and I just lift my paw. Occasionally, I'll throw in a roll if Dad insists. Gotta keep the peace.

Anyhow, I hope she gets better soon. It's not the same when she's in a funk like this. All she does is sleep. When are we gonna go get some rabbit? Yip!

O.

Vet Vent

I’ve heard many people say that they’d love to be a dog, and their voices always convey a longing for what they perceive to be a simpler life. It just really twists my jaw that they think being a dog is easy.

Come on people! Get over the “sleeping all day” thing. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Anything in excess is too much. If you don’t agree, try wolfing down thirty pieces of bacon and tell me what your belly thinks later. I have it from a good two-legged source that there is a price to pay.

A dog’s life is not all chasing rabbits and squirrels. Our scourge is spelled V-E-T. Yesterday’s lovefest robbed me of my best bone gnawing tooth, and now my mouth is throbbing. Last night’s dinner was mush laced with a foul smelling powder – not that I was in the mood to eat - and since I didn’t eat it I had Big Pharma stuffed down my throat for breakfast. Thanks Dad!

Don’t try to compare your root canals, prostate exams and Pap smears with a visit to the vet. You walk in there of your own volition. We get lured in. Sometimes the whammy comes. Sometimes it doesn’t, but whatever comes, it happens with the wah-wah-wah of Charlie Brown going on around us. I hate that noise!

B.