We fought the law

Looks like the law won.

I’m just kidding. Nobody was fighting anybody today….except for Wootie and his perpetual war against Mad Teeth ™

On Friday, I spent hours fighting guilt. Guilt because I thought I had blinded my dog. We were at the dog park, and I was winding up for a mighty throw of the Wootie Toy Du Jour (read: Kong On A Rope) when I whipped the damn toy and nailed innocent bystander Tweed smack in the eyeball.

It’s amazing how far your stomach can drop at the sound of one dull THUD.

Oh the screaming! The writhing in pain! The guilt cookies I doled out at lightning speed! Then there was the hysterical sobbing of Food Lady at the vet clinic as she watched Tweed’s head swell and eye recede into his tiny little thumped brain :(

But no worries. I didn’t blind him at all. A little pain killer and some steroids and he is as good as new. Possibly a little fatter, as I gave him pretty much a whole pizza by way of apology.

On Saturday, I fought with Mapquest, which lead me horribly astray as I attempted to navigate my way through the Bowels Of Hell (aka Port Coquitlam) to retrieve one of my dog kennels for my co-worker, Mr. Pickles. The bastard will probably repay me with Peeps ™.

After driving around aimlessly (read: swearing) for a couple of hours, I finally called Uncle (actually, I called Fiona) for help. And eventually found my way to my destination in PoCo/Hell.

And guess what greeted me?

Do you recognize this 17 year old face?

Sporticus!! My man! I am told that when I called “Yoohoo, hello!” through the carport to the backyard, Sport rose like Lazarus from his more or less permanent spot in the yard and did his version of running, just to greet me. I am told that Sport never moves at anything other than a snail’s pace.


My old dude remembers me! And he bit Wootie! Yay!! Sport is still alive and kicking!!

Good boy, Sporty.

This is the dog that Will Not Die. I can’t believe how old he is!

Perhaps his siblings keep him young.

He lives with Barney, another old geezer of 14, who is TDBCR alumni. He’s a border collie X munsterlander, affectionately nicknamed “Satan.”

And Max, le Spotty Reserve Dog.

And the very handsome Eric The Red, another TDBCR dog.

(and before ya’ll say it – he doesn’t actually look anything like Wootie, he just happens to be orange as well).

We all went for walkies along the dikes. Sport lasted about 45 feet, and then had to go home, exhausted, with Dad. But hey, at least I got to walk with Sporty again :) :) :)

The question is – why oh why did I drive all the way to Poco/Hell for a dog kennel? Certainly, Mr. Pickles does deserve to be crammed in one for leaving the ungodly number of Peeps ™ in my life, but really I was getting the kennel for his new puppy.

Envy. I haz some! Mr. Pickles adopted a doberman puppy (from rescue. Good boy, Mr. Pickles!) and I am envious. Because who doesn’t love a puppy? Especially a doberman. They are so photogenic:

Umm, okay, well … at least they are super graceful!



…which I think this sheltie must have eaten. Because why else would he be so fat?

Take a picture, asshole, it lasts longer.

The other thing Poco/Hell has is wolves. Or at least, an old old wolf hybrid. ZOMG! You should have seen the size of this dude’s paws. Feet like a camel.

I asked his owner what this old gentleman weighed in his prime and she said “Ummm, about 120lbs.”

F*ck. So did I. Except he has lost weight. How depressing.

Tweed is unimpressed with Food Lady’s jokes about her lost youth.


And so, with wolves and Sportys and Mad Teeth(tm) (oh my!) another weekend comes to an end.

This is shocking news for Miss Piper.

ZOMG! I died.

What really killed Piper??
Maybe it was Colonel MacDonald at the Beach with 400 lbs of sand (forced down her gullet)

Check back later this week for photos of dobermanpuppycuteness. If I can unsnuzzle myself from the new puppy for long enough to pick up the camera, that is.

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