Tired Dog? Priceless...

Ranger got to go to the park today. Since I now pretty much only have 1 day off a week, why waste it on trivial things like cleaning my house, doing laundry, or shopping for food? Hell, let's take the dog to the park! Seriously, I have been feeling bad about the dogs not getting out of the house as much as they used to, so I committed to getting them out today. Well, Gwen woke up all stiff and sore today so a marathon park trip was out for her. She got a pig's ear, which was cool by her. In her book a pig's ear is actually better than traipsing around a barren, sun-scorched field in the mid-day heat until the sweat runs down your back and makes the waistband of your jeans all damp and yucky. Or maybe I am just projecting...

So, the park was fine, the park was great. Then on the way back to the car we see them. Sprinklers. (Insert a chorus of angelic voices, and a golden shaft of light shining down from heaven.) Yeah, one of us is a total sprinkler whore, and it ain't the one in the sweat-soaked jeans. Needless to say, frolicking ensues.

Is it worth hauling a huge, soaking wet, smelly dog home in the back of my car just to give him the only few moments of pure, blissful fun that he's had in weeks? And then letting the still damp, still smelly dog fall asleep on my couch in total relaxed contentment?

I don't know, you tell me...

Separation Anxiety

So, Ranger went to get his teeth cleaned a few days ago. For him it was a relatively simple and painless procedure, but not so for me - I was a wreck...

This is the first time that I have had him anesthetized in the 4 years that I have had him, and I was crazy paranoid and worried. When we got to the vet, he was fine until he realized that he was supposed to go off with the vet tech, and then he was like "Oh, HELL no". And, by the way, he weighs 105 lbs. And when he does not want to do something (i.e. get his nails cut, or go with an unfamiliar vet tech) he goes Ghandi and practices passive resistance. So, Ms. Well Meaning Vet Tech? That little shoestring of a leash you have just placed around his neck is not going to be sufficient to drag my dog's floppy, limp, flour sack of a body across the waiting area and into the back room...

Of course his reluctance to go with the vet tech broke my heart. Then when I got home, I realized that I have never been in this house without him here with me. Yeah, I was a little stressed. Gwen tried to make me feel better by being extra barky, smelly and annoying. But it wasn't the right kind of barky, smelly and annoying. So, I had perhaps just a touch of separation anxiety. (OK, OK, I got into the trash, and chewed the corner of the couch. And I pee'd a little. And Cesar Millan had to come put me into a calm-submissive state.)

Of course, Ranger came through fine. When I went to pick him up, the vet tech did tell me that Ranger still had a bandage on his leg that they had left for me to take off later tonight. Why? Apparently, Ranger wanted NOTHING to do with any of them. In addition to the floppy, flour sack passive resistance, he also does this thing where he somehow manages to pull all four legs under his body at the same time. If you pull one leg out, he immediately snaps it right back in. Since no actual growling, biting, or shooting blood from his eyes was mentioned, I got the impression there may have been some of the turtle-legs going on. Yes, my dog is a big dork. And I, being an even bigger dork than my dog is, cried when he was back with me in the car.

The icing on the top of this co-dependancy cake? While I am picking Ranger up, the vet comes out because he wants to show me a picture he took of Ranger with his cell phone. Apparently, my dog tried to climb into the vet office's laundry bin. He was scared, and he tried to cram all 105 lbs. of himself into this tiny little bin under the dirty laundry in an attempt to hide from everyone.

And that? Is simultaneously the funniest, and most heartbreaking, thing I have ever heard.

The Starlight Barking

My dogs are involved in an evil plan to rule the world. I'm a little sketchy on the exact details, but it seems to involve systematically depriving me of sleep until I am so exhausted that I don't notice they are going online to buy weapons-grade plutonium. I am not allowed to sleep for any more than a couple hours in a row at this point, day or night.

Last night, during one of the brief periods of unconciousness I am allowed, one of the dogs politely informed me that they needed to go outside for a potty break. I let them outside and immediately Ranger (he's my slightly less fat, deeply weird, co-dependent, non-girl dog) begins to bark. Loudly and insistently. At 2:30 in the morning. Which is a little strange, because he is my "good" dog. (Hey, "good" is a relative term.) Since my screaming at him to be quiet at 2:30am is probably equally, if not more, annoying than his actual barking, I use my Whisper of Death to tell him to shut up. I have no clue what he's barking at - probably the dog next door, because he has only seen it 363 times or so. Apparently, there's still a shock factor. Gwen, (my grotesquely obese, completely clueless, couldn't-care-less-about-me, non-boy step-dog), is silent, which is odd because she usually barks at air molecules and the startling sight of her own feet. (Ha! As if she can see them!). I can only assume silence from her means she has died. But no, there she is - hauling her fat furry ass back up the stairs.

When I get up to feed the dogs at about 6:30am, and let them outside yet again, Ranger once more goes off. He never barks, so he really isn't just saying to the dog next door "Hey, what did you have for breakfast? Oh yeah? I had kibble. Yeah, my mommy's kind of a bitch. She could lose a few pounds, too". This is the WOHWOHWOHWOH bark. The "Seriously, WTF is that?" bark. There is NOTHING out there, you idiots.

Right before I go to work, I let the dogs out one final time. You guessed it - WOHWOHWOHWOH. I have just about had it now, so I race to the bathroom window at the back of the house to scream at the dogs. It is only then that I finally figure out what they are barking at.

The neighbors behind me have erected a teepee in their back yard. A TEEPEE. An actual wigwam. And, I'm not talking a couple broomsticks with a blanket thrown over them for the kids to play in. This thing is, like, 20 feet tall with poles and canvas and fluttering ribbons. It's full-on sweat lodge action over there. No wonder my dogs are freaking out! Hell, I want to bark at it! Ranger is just like "Yeah, I tried to mention that..."

It also has a skate-ramp, which I believe is non-traditional.

I bring the dogs inside and just before she steps inside, just now - after three trips outside to teepee land, after three major-league freak-outs by her brother - Gwen just now finally notices the existence of the giant teepee. WOHWOHWOHWOHWOHWOH! Sigh... She rides the short bus.

Now they will both bark at the damn teepee for the next six months until they finally get used to it. Then the neighbors will take it down. And my rocket scientists? Will then bark because it's gone.

Welcome to Hell

Welcome to my blog. Or, as I like to call it - my little slice of hell.

Using the magic of the internets I will talk about anything that interests me (mostly my dogs), post numerous pictures (of said dogs), and just generally share my thoughts and feelings with my readers. Which will be, basically... my dogs.

If you expect me to discuss politics, wax poetic on my thoughts on world peace, or address deep intellectual issues, maybe you should read the title of the blog again. Go on, I'll wait... Done? OK. Are we on the same page now? I have no life.

So, if you don't mind reading about how cute my dog's lips look when he sleeps, or what I bought at Target today, c'mon in.

Welcome to hell!