I am a chrusciki, just in time for Easter. All that's missing is the liberal dusting of powdered sugar. The human goddess says I am as fragrant as a Polish angel wing cookie. If you get really close, you'll notice the subtle top notes of rum and butter. That's amazing. How do I do it?
See the dilemma here? The patch of sunlight is moving gradually away, but this special place on the blanket is warm. Me, blankets, warmth... notice the recurring theme?
Labels: me
Or, The Persistence of Me. Remember the Hershey bar pillow? It's mine now. I knew they would give in and let me use it. I like to jump up on the bed and drape myself across the Hershey pillow just like the dogs in the picture are draped over tree branches. You know, like the melting clocks in the original Salvador Dali painting.
It's hard to take a picture of me stretched out lazily on the Hershey bar pillow because I snap to attention in the presence of a camera. Maybe someday I'll cooperate and strike the right pose.
DogHoroscopes.com has this to say about me:
You have intuitive powers, somewhat picky tastes, and are bold even to the point of being foolhardy. You have perseverance and through it overcome many difficulties. You are fond of outdoors and travel. Your adventurous nature seeks self-expression. Courageous, independent with quick responses, your adventurous streak may spur you to seek out unusual and exciting experiences. You are gentle, affectionate, fond of children and love your home and family. Remember you are meant to be happy!Pretty darn accurate, except for the part about picky tastes.
Labels: me
I should start keeping track of all the intelligent things I say.
Sometimes I say "Humboldt, a robber." This is probably the key to solving a serious crime. I guess I could call 911 and bark that phrase into the phone.
On occasion I will look at a human and say "You're horrible." Just to keep them honest, you know.
Today I said "waffle cone."
Take one fresh dog. Leave him alone with a folded blanket. Check after about ten minutes. If necessary, repeat step one and step two until dog burrows into blanket.
Enjoy!
Labels: me
The dictionary says a pillow is "a support for the head of a reclining person; especially: one consisting of a cloth bag filled with feathers, down, sponge rubber, or plastic fiber."
We have a pillow that looks like an enormous Hershey bar. It's probably three feet long. This pillow is very very very soft. It's fluffy and cushiony and the cloth is velvety. I reclined on this pillow once. It supported my lazy bones and caressed the exposed skin of my belly. I think I love this pillow.
The human goddess walked into the room. She was annoyed. "Get off that Hershey pillow! It's a decorative pillow. It's not made for a twenty-pound dog to sit on and squash."
What a meanie. And so misguided.
"Decorative pillow" is an oxymoron.
While I appreciate the sentiment, please keep in mind my sleekly muscled physique next time you're thinking up cute things to call me. Check out these palpable ribs.
Silly humans.
Labels: me
I do this sometimes. No, really. It usually coincides with the event called the Pile. Meditation happens when the male human listens to music. He lies on his back with his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest. He looks like he's about to levitate any minute, but he calls it "vegetating." Vegetate, meditate, it's all the same. We get into the relaxation zone. Heart rate slows, breathing becomes deep and even. It's something like pretending to sleep.
Other times I meditate alone. The best time is when the human goddess shuts the front door of the bedroom but forgets to shut the back one. I sneak onto the big bed and stretch out on the blankets with my feet up and my eyes closed. After a while I get into a trancelike state. It's relaxing. But if I hear someone at the door, I go from 0 to 60 in less than 2 seconds. Battle cry! Bark!
And then there is ...yoga for dogs.
Which of the following describe Z as a puppy?
Most of them are a waste of paper. A waste of trees. The humans get a lot of catalogs this time of year, and the recycle bin fills up fast. Catalog is not even a good word. Dogalog has a nicer ring to it.
Newspapers are better. Sometimes on Sunday mornings I grab a section and trot over to my bed and just sit there. One time I took the Sports section and jumped up on the couch with it. Very funny, evidently. My human goddess wanted to take a picture of me, but the camera needed fresh batteries.
The worst thing was the time I took a catalog into my crate. The humans laughed and teased me mercilessly. Well, pardon me for not knowing the Victoria's Secret catalog is funny.
Labels: me
I can hear it in the distance. It rolls up the street with its engine rumbling. The hyper-mega monster on wheels. The sound of the hydraulic brakes are a carefully nuanced threat. It's huge, it's mean, it's brown, and it's stopping in front of my house. Red alert! Battle cry! Bark! Someone is climbing out of the belly of this monster. He's wearing a uniform. He looks like he has evil intentions. He knocks on the door. Sister and I want to tear him up. We bark ferociously. We're protecting our territory. We hate this guy. He leaves a package on the porch. A bomb? Then he hurries away to bother someone else.
Oh. It's a package for us. Chocolate Nylabones, our favorite! What a nice man. I'm feeling conflicted, but I don't care.
I needed to go outside. The usual growl-bark-whine combination was getting me nowhere. The humans were ignoring me. After repeating the growl-bark-whine several times, I began to feel a creeping sense of frustration as well as an ever-increasing urgency to pee.
Then I said it. "Arf." It sounded just like you spell it. "Arf." It was a total cliché. Conversation stopped for a second. Then, "Did he say Arf?" "Next thing you know, he'll be saying Bow Wow."
Very funny.
I'm a dog. Sometimes dogs say Arf.
My specialty is the early morning high-pitched whine. But I can say arugula. I can say "Humboldt, a robber." And one time I said "road map of England."
We watch dog shows sometimes. There is way too much cooing over the French Bulldogs. I wonder when Puggles (that hybrid of Pug and Beagle) will show up in the competitions.
My papers say I'm a Dachshund-Terrier mix, but according to my humans, that's not accurate. In reality, I'm a Dachshund-Terror, sometimes even a Dachshund-Derriere.
My sister is an exotic blend too, but she's also a Privacy Hound, so I won't divulge the details of her lineage.
