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Archive for the ‘Dog Stories’ Category

Dogs Days of Summer

My pomeranian is 9-years-old. He doesn’t do much…
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Stella, Disgruntled

Little Miss will attest to the fact that chihuahuas insist on sleeping under the covers, like way under. Her Lily does the same thing. Lord only knows how they breathe under there but we’ve given up trying to figure that out.

Well, Stella slept late this morning and when she woke up and discovered she was alone in bed she became very pissed off. Does anyone else’s dog do this?

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David (Thoughts-0-Dave) has an adorable dog named Oliver who regularly hijacks my attention with his canine cuteness. But I can’t help being reminded of a similarly irresistible young dog named Wishbone who starred in his own TV show on PBS a few years back. Could it be that Oliver and Wishbone were separated at birth? You decide:

                                                                          

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Stella In Politics

As many people know, Brian from In Repair is the leader of Stella’s Fella’s. He designed this T-shirt over here on the left.

Well, Brian sent me an email this morning with a link that was so shocking, I spit my coffee out onto my keyboard.

He wrote something like, “Call me crazy but isn’t that Stella?” with this link. I clicked on it and then spit my coffee onto my keyboard.

If you haven’t already, go ahead and click on it. I’ll wait here.

Can you believe it? It is Stella, by God! On the Interweb! In the sweater I knit her last winter! With that sanctimonious look she always has on her face. And it figures it would be the leader of Stella’s Fella’s who would somehow sense she was out there whooping it up without having issued a press release to her fan club.

Of course I was aghast. I didn’t really know what to think of it so I just started screaming, everyone in the house came running, and then Buck busted out laughing. He thinks it’s hilarious.

Once I thought about it I didn’t mind at all. After all, I take photos off the Internet all the time. But of all people to sneak herself into politics it would be Stella. She’s such a betch!

Maybe I should be grateful to her, because it does afford me the opportunity to post once again this favorite photo of myself over here on the right, the photo I have vowed to run for the rest of my life and beyond.

The thing is, Stella showing up on a political website isn’t even that shocking, really. She has a power over people that is just downright weird. And what I think of her doesn’t seem to matter to anyone, least of all her. It never has.

So now I’m left to wonder where she will turn up next. Nothing would surprise me. And wow, Brian, what a find. Points to you! I’m sure this will secure you as permanent leader of Stella’s Fella’s. I need to make you a widget.

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Sidney, Lord of the Dance

 

 

This is Sidney, Lord of the Dance. His legs are like Bambi on ice. And he can also bounce straight up into the air, springing up on all fours, to great heights. Though I’ve never measured how high can jump he usually  bounces straight up to look me in the eyes.

Sweet and silly, he’s also timid, tends to be hyperactive, and is considered by most people to be rather brainless. People don’t actually like him, and other dogs don’t like him either.  I am his only advocate on this earth. I got him when he was almost six months old and had lived all that time in a small pen with his entire litter of eight puppies. The puppies hadn’t sold. When I found them they were about the same size Sidney is now, so you know that pen was crowded. And sad.

I normally get my dogs from home breeders when they’re only a few weeks old, and training them has always been time consuming but successful. Not so with Sidney. Buying a dog from a “puppy farm” type of place was a whole new experience for me. Although I always hear how wrong it is to buy dogs from these places, I can’t help but feel sorry for the dogs that are already there. I felt so bad when I saw this half-grown litter living in a little pen, I felt compelled to give at least one of them a home.  I chose Sidney, not realizing that I’d never be able to housebreak him no matter how many books or DVDs I’d purchase on the subject of training what they referred to as an untrainable dog, or that he’d always be insecure, that the tear stains under his eyes would never wash off no matter what shampoo I’d use, or that he’d have separation issues that would prompt him to howl like a wolf whenever I leave the house. Or the room.

I love Sidney because he is my responsibility/mistake, and like all dogs he deserves to be loved. Life with him isn’t easy, though, and as often as I’ve secretly wished I could just give him away and let him be someone else’s problem, my conscience will never allow me to do this, dear reader, so don’t even suggest it. I’ve had him for three long years,  and because I know that he’s probably going to live for another 10 or 15, I try and look at each day as new beginning for him. I try and make each day a clean slate and I think, this will be the day I thank God for Sidney. So far, this hasn’t happened.

 

Me: Sidney looks fine, I don’t really understand what happened. What the hell are you talking about?

Buck: After you pulled out of the driveway you apparently stopped out front.

Me: I had to, the stupid trash men left a bunch of trash out in the street. It wasn’t even our trash but I stopped to pick it up because it looked like it was ours. It was out in front of our house. I was afraid we’d be blamed for it.

Buck: We were blamed for it, I’m sure. Someone in this neighborhood saw it and blamed us.

Me: What does it have to do with Sidney?

Buck: I was out back painting the closet doors, putting the last coat on. And when you stopped out front, all of a sudden Sidney came running over and in his stupidity he literally jumped into the roller pan of paint and started doing his crazed howling and Irish jig-dancing over you leaving. Paint was just going everywhere and he was making sure with his jumping that he was totally getting plenty of paint on his body before he went running —

Me: [laughing] Oh my God —

Buck: — and in that stupid spaz way of his he started doing that stomp dance in the paint. His legs were flapping and twirling. He looked like Michael Flatley.

Me: [laughing] Oh, jeezus.

Buck: The shit was flying everywhere. And he’s howling the whole time like he had an arrow stabbing him in his side. And of course then, being the spaz that he is, he’s gotta run from one end of the property to the other. He thought he would somehow find you as you’re driving away with other people’s trash in the truck thinking [in falsetto meant to be my voice] I’m getting squash! I’m going to make apple pie! And a turkey! And oh, I need some of those chewy calcium caramels for my bones!

Me: [laughing] I was thinking that. It’s true. [laughing] But not about the caramels because I have a full box of those. Cody told me about them, she said I should start taking them —

Buck: And while you’re riding around in Thanksgiving Land I was spazzing out with spaz boy, WHO COVERED THE WHOLE PATIO AND THE CARPORT PATIO WITH FLYING PAINT AS HE RAN BY.

Me: He banks when he runs. He banks at a curve in a happy run —

Buck: He was happy alright. He was out of his head. He was killing me. And I couldn’t catch him —

Me: You were probably shouting at him, he hates that.

Buck: So I gave up on trying to catch him, and focused on the paint because there had to be, I mean, literally a hundred paw prints … and I’m not exaggerating, at least a hundred paw prints were everywhere. The place was absolutely covered.

Me: I don’t understand why he wasn’t covered in dirt and cactus burrs like he usually is.

Buck: ‘Cuz he was running so fast, he didn’t even think to go over on the dirt. He kept thinking he was gonna find you somehow … [in falsetto] And I’m gonna get some cranberries so I can make cranberry nut bread!

Me: Wow. Sounds bad. What the hell was Timmy doing —

Buck: Timmy somehow transported himself into the house, and I don’t know how because none of the doors were open. But I didn’t find that out till later when I came in here and he was standing in the corner like a shadow dog.

Me: He was hiding. He didn’t want Sidney to get him dirty because he’d just had a bath yesterday and was still all fluffy.

Buck: Yeah. That was probably his reasoning.

Me: Yes.

Buck: Anyway, because Sidney’s stupid legs were covered with paint up to about ten inches and were still dripping —

Me: He has really long legs. Like a lamb. [laughing] He looks like a lamb.

Buck: Don’t try and cover up for him.

Me: [laughing] That’s not covering up for him, I just said he looks like a sheep, a lamb. He has shockingly long legs.

Buck: Well … if anyone wants him, he’s available.

Me: He probably just needs to be on drugs. Like Prozac or something. I’ll find out.

Buck: No. After that incident, I’m the one who needs to be on drugs. Find out about that.

Me: Turn around and smile really big, so I can take your photo.

Buck: No.

Me: I’m gonna take it anyway.

Buck: Yes. I’m sure you will. [laughing]

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Dog Lovers

Dog Lovers Fair held at El Paso Saddleblanket Co.

 

This is my friend Raging Storm (his online name) and I got his permission to post his photo. I’ve mentioned him often, because he’s my only friend here in El Paso, and the only writer I know in the Southwest. I met him through MySpace, so although people are really down on MySpace for many reasons lately (and rightfully so, I’m afraid), I have to be thankful for it because in our case it worked as it was meant to, as a networking site to make friends and meet people with whom you have things in common. Had it not been for MySpace, Buck and I would have no one in El Paso that we could pal around with, or who would get our jokes. Raging Storm shares our sense of humor (he’s rather East Coast in that respect) and he periodically forces me to leave the house, which is a good thing, because without him coming up with invitations to book fairs and lunches of Chinese food and shopping etc., I’d probably go months without stepping foot out the front door.

     In addition to being a magazine writer who is currently at work on a book, he’s also an artist, and an animal rights activist. He invited me to a Dog Lovers Fair held at the El Paso Saddleblanket Co. last Saturday, where he was selling his etched glass artwork and raising funds for animal welfare and adoption groups. Buck says RS should be humane and adopt Sidney, but I don’t find that to be very funny. Speaking of Buck, he had to work on Saturday, but I happily went into the city to spend the day with the dogs of El Paso. I took too many photos (90-100) and I didn’t know how to begin organizing them, so I’ve bunched a few together for the dog lovers out there.

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 Links: To contact Raging Storm regarding custom designed images on glass, email him at dreamsonglass@yahoo.com

Humane Society of El Paso

El Paso Saddleblanket Co.

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It’s Some Kind Of Cult

T-shirt designed by a member of Stella’s Fellas at the blog In Repair 

     Soooo. As utterly preposterous as it seems, and as misguided and lost as so many people have become, Stella of all people has become a media darling. That’s right, the same Stella Marie who treats me so shabbily, but more often ignores me, has been catapulted from “oddly popular cur” to Super Popular Princess. And I still can’t for the life of me figure out WHY?

     It’s sickening, I know. In a brief 24-hour period the Stella Freaks, as I’ve always affectionately called them, have re-grouped and are now legally known as Stella’s Fellas. And they’ve already chosen a uniform (see T-shirt, and add “a studded dog collar necklace and rabies tags for earrings.”).

And over at Moonbeam McQueen’s blog, plans are already underway to clone Stella and use her as an integral part of a new 10-Step Program To Becoming A Badass. But the thing is — and this is very telling —  just look at the expression on Moonbeam’s face over there on the left. Sure she’s all ripped and everything, fully immersed in the Thug Life and this Badass Program of hers, but my God . . . she looks like she’s in a trance. Am I right?  She’s all peaceful and calm and everything, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s been the victim of Stella’s mind control. And Stella is nothing if not proficient at mind control. How else could you explain this? And what exactly is this?

     IT’S BULLSHIT! That’s what it is.

     It’s obviously some kind of cult. Am I the only strong-minded person in Stella’s orbit, the only one who can see through her facade? The ship is sinking, people, so why am I the only one screaming?!

Everyone seems to be under some sort of Stella-induced spell and is happily joining this cult of hers. Well go ahead, you’re all adults. Follow her wherever you please. BUT SHE’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK SHE IS. She snores. And she’s sexually active . . . with herself. Her weight goes up and down like a yo-yo and she has a tendency to be FAT. And she’s moody, in my opinion. So just consider yourselves warned, all you Stella-ites.  And don’t drink the Kool-Aid.

That last shot really burns my ass. I swear she did it on purpose.

 

 

Up Next: When Insane Asylums Were Known As “Nut Houses”

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