Informercial Hell

I think Dina has too much time on her hands. She's watching too much television at odd hours. Middle of the day, late at night, who knows...but on her last stroll through Target, she bought what she thought was an 'essential.' No, not toilet paper or towels or water. She bought this, an informercial 'essential.' And it's killing me. The command to me is "climb" and when they say it, I'm expected to prance up those stairs to the bed like a prat. One, I don't prance. Two, why do I need stairs to get into the bed when I have them to pick me up and put me there? But they are trying to train me to use it, and they use these little lamb/chicken treats to lure me up there. Because I'm desperate and a dog, I always try to go for the treat. But it's exasperating. The first two steps, no problem. Then things start to get a little rickety (as plastic stairs should be expected to be). Take a look at the picture. Doesn't the step closest to the bed a little high? I'm sorry, but this doesn't look OSHA compliant to me at all and I'm seriously debating whether to report this.

The kicker is on the front of the box, there's a picture of a beagle, one of my own kind (!), going up and down these stairs. And I just want to find that beagle, and kick its ass.

My Bad

Um, so, like, today when I got back from my doggie romp, I came home. Dina wasn't home. And you see, uh, the cleaners came, right? They cleaned up but they didn't take out the trash. They left the trash in the hallway. I don't know why. But doggie instinct took over, and well, uh, these pictures probably say more than a thousand words.
Do you think Dina and Joe still love me? It's not like I ate any of those cherry pits (just the carrots, bread, and kashi...).

Beachside Ruminations

So you all know that I go to Crissy Field every weekend to play on the beach. It's really about the best thing in the world, but each time I go, I leave ruminating about something. So here are some of my thoughts...

When some dogs run around, they slobber. Bigtime. I don't really slobber, I'm not a drooly kind of dog (and I don't have stinky breath either, but don't worry, my farts can kill brain cells). Anyhow, there are a lot of dogs on the beach that really slobber. And when you play with them, they whip their heads around, letting a rope of slobber loose, usually landing on my face. Now, that's gross right? Like Something About Mary gross, don't you think? Because that's what it looks like, too...

If a dog poops and the tide begins to wash it out, should an owner still try to clean it up? Even though after the first wave breaks, the poop disperses into dozens of little poops? Can an owner really get all of those? And is it really that offensive when you all know that humans pee in the ocean. I mean, you learn when you're little to swim away from the warm spot, right?

There are some big dogs out there, like Marmaduke sized dogs. Now, when you greet another dog, we don't shake paws. We sniff each other's butt. That's the polite thing to do. But when the dog is as big as Marmaduke and I'm, what, like a foot high, the only way I can take a whiff is if I stand up on two paws, lean my front paws on his butt, and get in there. I think that's a little more intrusive than a quick greeting is suppose to be, but what other choice do I have?

Why does Dina yell every time I drink the water? It's tasty, nice and salty! Or wait, does this have something to do with the peeing in the ocean thing you all do...

When dogs poop at the beach, it's like an unstated law that the owner should clean it up. Crissy Field even has all these little dispensers with free plastic bags just for that purpose. Plus, if you're a dog at Crissy Field, you definitely have an owner. It's not like you meandered there yourself, someone clearly brought you there. So then pray tell, why, oh why, is poop left on the beach to bask in the sun???

Finally, why does Joe run after me on the beach? Why doesn't he just stay in one place like Dina, and wait for me to come back when he calls my name. He's the only human on the beach chasing his dog. Seriously. Everyone else just stands around and watches. He's starting to embarrass me (never mind the fact he brings his camera to the beach to take pictures of me. I mean, oh my gawd, Daaaaaad, can you, like, be totally more embarrassing or what?!).

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner!!!

Move it, Jennifer-friggin-Grey, cuz I'M THE BABY!!!

So what is this that I hear about Joe getting one past the goalie and getting Dina pregnant??? Is that allowed? I thought she was spayed already! I'm finding this very socially irrresponsible of them...

But alas, it's true. Dina is good and fat and pregnant. Here's a pic of the little brat. And here's how I feel about the whole thing:
Quick digression. Here's a rhetorical question, if a pregnant woman asks you if she looks fat, what do you say back? Truth be told, she looks like a fatass. But fear and good sense would dictate that you don't answer that or you lie. But if you lie, you know she's going to catch you, because c'mon, we all know that she's getting fat (as she's supposed to be, since she's growing a little Qua To in her belly). And yet, she continues to ask you that same question, over and over again. It's like Chinese water torture. And really, sometimes, I wish I could just speak for Joe and say "You know the answer. But yes, for crying out loud, you are fat. In fact, you are more than fat. Your stomach is ballooning, your ass is getting wider and flatter, and your boobs are GIGANTIC. But please recall, you are also pregnant. And while Joe did this to you, which in time will be repaid (probably in the form of jewelry), is it really fair to ask the poor schmuck this question over and over again when you know the answer and whatever he says is really just going to get him a shitload of trouble????" Yeesh! Ok, end of digression.

So yes people! She's pregnant. And what I really want to know is, what does this mean for me? I'm the baby! We all know I'm the baby! I'm the spoiled little doggie that gets to sleep in the bed, that gets taken to Crissy Field every weekend, that gets treats whenever I actually just look at Joe and Dina. Let's face it folks, I thought this was a monarchy, not a democracy. I'm ruler of this kingdom right now, and I will not have some little burping/pooping/farting usurper taking my position. Or yanking my tail, for that matter.

Oh, how I long for the good ol' days.
So I'm pissed folks. And just a tad bit worried. But what I need is some strategery...Pee on the baby? Poop in the house more? Eat the baby's food? Make friends with the baby to infiltrate the new regime? Hmmm...maybe that's the ticket. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.......

My New Best Friend

I want to introduce you to my pal, Sophie. Sophie and I actually met when I was just a young pup, a mere 8 or so weeks old, when she and her family let me board there temporarily while Joe and Dina went away (yes, I, too, think it's incredibly irresponsible to get a puppy and then ditch her with some other family while they go gallivanting in Utah, New York, Las Vegas, wherever the heck they were...). Look at me at here, scared out of my wits (this was taken by Sophie's dad). Anyhow, let's put aside the issues of puppy neglect (is that a chargeable offense, Uncle David L. and Aunty Allison???)...So recently, Joe and Dina went to New York for a wedding. Actually, it was the wedding of Joe's friend Erik, whose ex-girlfriend Beth, who was a college friend of Dina's, who introduced Joe to Dina (and vice versa) and blah blah blah. Whatever, doesn't matter, they got together, happy ending, now back to me. Anyway, I spent the week at Sophie's and I learned a couple of things.

Generally speaking, suburbia is good. Dude. I was in a backyard with a kickass pool, grass area, and cemented play area. I had so many spots to pee on, I would need a year to be able to cover every inch! I didn't have some strange dogwalker coming to get me everyday (ok, Dave, I love you now, but at first, I was like "who the heck is this redhaired dude grabbing me by the collar???"). I got to chill in the backyard (near the pool and hot tub, eat your heart out Master P), run to my heart's content, and then stroll back into the cool house where both food and water awaited. Plus, when I let farts rip in the backyard, no one yelled at me about how she's dying and has been poisoned by my ass (ahem, Dina). So I don't know if you know, but Joe and Dina have been debating about whether to stay in the city or move to the burbs. I think we know what my vote is for....

More specifically speaking, I learned that Sophie is an awesome buddy. I also learned that Sophie can blow through (no pun intended) a bully stick way faster than I can. Sophie also has really acidic pee (accounting for the yellow spots in the backyard grass). Sophie also has long nails that need to be cut, but her parents, like mine, are too chicken to do it as often as they are supposed to. And I learned that Sophie loves me a lot. And I love her back. She's my best friend (cue in happy music here).