Coyote Ugly

(That’s the short version.

The long version goes: GODDAMN COYOTE MAKING FOOD LADY MAKE UGLY FACE!  But first)

*waves* Oh hai!  Food Lady has been taking Santa and Bumble photos like a damn fool the past few weeks and didn’t want to pick up a camera or edit any photo ever again for a little while there.  I had the sleep deprivation too, from trying to get the photos all out in a timely fashion.  We did photos for SAINTS and TDBCR and for SARC (where I work) and while the photo sessions themselves are SUPER fun, now every time I see the Bumble suit in the back of my van, I give it the finger.  That probably looks weird in parking lots.

They turned out great though.

Next year I would like to try something a little different, as we’ve been doing to the Christmas-Character+Photoshopped-background thing for several years now.  I’d like to try something “artier” without a character in the shot, with a holiday themed background and some elegant props.

I also have the Winter blahs a little bit – dark when we get up, dark when I get home, forget what my dogs look like in the daylight and boring as f*ck standing in the cold, raining dark throwing the ball for an hour.   Or at least it WAS boring until the resident chicken eating coyote, you know, shot out of the bushes at the back of the lower pasture and tried to eat Ender.

Jesuschristonacracker, did it scare the shit out of both of us.  Damn thing grabbed him by the Hurtta coat and tried to run off with him, but Ender is all long and pointy legs and he can spin ‘em around like a windmill when he needs to (and when he doesn’t need to as well – STOP KICKING ME IN THE FACE ENDER!) and he started yodeling and sproinging around like Kicky The Happy Deer which probably confused the coyote, who likely thought he’d gotten ahold of some carrion (ie a skeleton).

Confused him long enough for Super TWoo to save the day.  The little butterball shot over faster than you would believe, pile drived the coyote in the ribs and proceeded to do his damnedest to kick tens kinds of holy hell out of the yote.


TWooie has been wanting to take down a coyote since the dawn of time and he was so excited.  The coyote dropped Ender and took off, with chubby little Aussies and two VERY amped up terriers in hot pursuit.  The border collies – of course – never took their eyes off the dumbball.  As far as they are concerned, if they can’t retrieve it, it’s none of their business.

The four terrors came back all full of themselves, and TWooie was still super angry, stalking around with his chest puffed out and making these HUFFing sounds.  Ender was fine, just a lot of saliva on his coat (and you mock me for dressing up my little dogs!), and lots of whimpering and yodeling in my arms (where he leapt as soon as he was coyote-free) but we all went inside anyway, cuz I was freaked right out.  It all happened so fast!

So that sucked.

So naturally two days later, it got much worse.  We were out again playing ball, though I was sticking closer to the house than the lower pasture.  I felt reasonably confident the coyote wouldn’t try again, having been run off by the Four Dogs of the Apocalypse.

I was, of course, wrong.

Although I was keeping the littles close by with the magic of a pocket full of cookies, Ender wandered part way down into the lower pasture and then all of a sudden he leapt straight in the air and started yodeling frantically.  The Usual Suspects took off after something I never saw and this time the Littles – Ender included – went after them.  I started screaming for the little dogs, because everyone was disappearing into the scrub at the back for the property and I could only envision never seeing the tiny dogs ever again, and miraculously they all came back … and I was gathering up little dogs like a 10 year old at a pinata party when suddenly I heard Spring screaming and screaming from somewhere in the dark.

I was screaming back like I was screeching for the Olympic Gold; too scared to put down the Littles to crash blindly through the bushes to save her, too far from the house to throw them safely inside and go find my girl.  The most horrible, terrible, no good, very bad, heart sickening, I’m-dying, 2 minutes of my life.

I started running for the house with an armload of small writhing canines, dropping them and scooping them up again like I was looting a store in a riot and fleeing from the riot police, when Spring came crashing into the back of my legs and trying to climb up my body.  We all threw ourselves into the house, most of us crying, and I grabbed my terrier and checked her for all her parts. Which she had, except for some F*CKING HOLES IN HER THROAT!

I think startling Ender was the decoy move by the coyote and he then took off and lay in wait for the other dogs to chase him, and he grabbed her (much more satisfying meal than a skeletor) by the throat.  I don’t know if she fought him off herself, or if her friends helped, but thank doG she got away.  The punctures were not bleeding, but she had blood all over her feet and legs, so I hope she got him good.

To add insult to injury, about three days after that the coyote broke into my hen house and ate all my remaining chickens.  ALL OF THEM.  I am now chicken-less, for the first time in years :(  And no point in getting more, since I really don’t want to feed the bastard coyote.

We’ve been running up and down the dead end road instead of playing ball in the dark, but a massive windstorm on Thursday night blew a couple of giant trees across it, and now we have nowhere to go for exercise.

AND I had my nails done today and she made them pointier than I like them.  EVERYTHING SUCKS!!!

So … yeah.  It’s been that kind of month so far.  We obviously are not playing ball on the property in the dark any more, and I have these camo-clad fellows creeping all over the property with big guns trying to find the asshole coyote and kill them.

(they do not look like this.  Sadly.)

I would like a do-over on December please.

What’s that?  Did I hear something?

A coyote?  Can I eat it?

Are you going to pick me up and start screaming again?


Today I went to Wholesale Sports (way to unleash my inner SHOOT ALL THE THINGS goddess, btw) and bought a bear banger in case I see the bugger again.


Anyone had success scaring off coyotes with one of these?  And not, you know, have the cops called on you?  Or scared the shit out of Dexter?

Bah humbug.  Seriously.


Maybe Tomorrow I’ll Wanna Settle Down…

…until tomorrow, I’ll just keep movin’ on.

Oh hello, “Terminal” Gemma, who ran off up the road this afternoon and only came back because I yelled “I HAVE COOKIES YOU HATEFUL LITTLE WENCH!”

If you facebook, probably you’ve seen this woman’s photography cuz it’s been shared like mental.

A friend posted one of the pictures to my timeline, specifically this one:


and demanded I recreate it.  Or best it.  Or something.

I like a challenge.

My dogs do not.


AHHHH!  What the f*ck was that??

Shut UP Piper!!

I’ve got to teach my little dogs to do adorable hugging things (without biting each other’s heads off) and photograph them in little miniature cities made of origami or something.  Instead of weeding the lawns.

Besides, that photographer doesn’t have dogs who are POSSESSED BY EVIL SPIRITS.

(Actually, what the little bastard is doing is stealing all the firestarter from the bonfire pit.  My landlord also had a surveyor come for some reason, and Wootie dug up and stole all the survey sticks too.  I’m totally pretending I  have no idea what happened to them.)

If you pay me in cookies, I’ll keep your secret.

So maybe my dogs won’t do threeways on camera for doggie porn.  But I think they still take a pretty fine photo when the stars align :)

I bet your dogs take a fine photo too!  prove me right; come out to our Pet Pics with Santa and/or Bumble next weekend at Triple Tree in Maple Ridge!

pet pics

Where Oh Where Has The Food Lady Gone

Nowhere, that’s where.  I have too many damn dogs to be able to afford to go anywhere!

Haha.  I stole your freedom and ABSORBED IT INTO MY SOUL.

F*cking Ender.

I am on “staycation” this week, having un-entwined myself from my all-encompassing job for 9 glorious days.  Except for like 6 texts from staff and a brief visit to work yesterday (gah).  It’s hard to be the boss of everything sometimes.  Although I am not the boss of this:

This itty bitty she-demon is the bossiest thing on the planet (except the Sadist )!  Meal time?  Demands food with ear-splitting shrieks.  Nail clipping time?  CHOMP THE FOOD LADY!  HARD!  Am I trying to enjoy popcorn and a movie?  Loooooong whiny sounds that are approximately 20 seconds in duration.  Poke her with your socked foot to get her to shut up?  CHOMP THE FOOD LADY!  HARD!  Gemma is bad ass.  I think she scared the “terminal cancer” right out of her body, as it’s been nearly a year since I brought her home to “make her comfortable for a few weeks, feed her a cheeseburger and send her to Heaven.”

I am fairly confident that Heaven is not where she is headed.

It’s true that the smaller the dog, the bigger the attitude.  Take, for example, this:

Cute right?  (Heart melty, kick yourself in the teeth dreamy, head over heels in love with smushable adorableness, try to adopt her over my cold dead body and I’ll haunt you with everything I got, if you prefer).

But also, The Devil.

Bring it, bitches.

She’ll take on all comers with fight left over to kill one of my slippers. With gusto.  She’s absolutely hilarious!  She wants to Kill All The Things, but not in the terrier way where a black and white dog *coughWINTERcough* kills your baby chicken that was stupid enough to squeeze through the fence, but in that I DECLARE THIS SOCK MINE IN THE NAME OF TINYDOG AND I WILL SHAKE THE LIFE OUT OF IT IF I PLEASE kind of way.  Last year I made a flirt pole out of a lunge whip and a holey roller ball and none of my dogs maintained any kind of sustained interest in it for more than a couple of minutes.  They all just eyeballed the lunge line up to my hand, worked out I was f*cking with them, and were all “if you don’t want us to actually have it, we won’t bother chasing it then.”  Stupid Einsteins, my pack of dogs.

But Fae made the flirt pole her bitch.  She’ll run that thing down to the ends of the earth and when she catches it, it’s on!  She growls and snarls and tugs and whips her head from side to side so hard I think her brains are going to fling out of her ears and go splat! against the fence.  She’s HILARIOUS.

(On like night three of her being with me, she busted out of her crate in the night (the door is broken, she’s not The Hulk!) and climbed up into bed with me, and that’s where I found her in the morning, with her chin resting between my neck and shoulder while she spooned my back, snoring gently into my ear.  *swoon*  And yes, this is where she has slept ever since.  Shut up.)

I tried to get photos of her playing with the flirt pole, but my zoom lens is all but useless at this point, refusing to focus and just generally undermining my attempts to photograph anything.  I’m getting about 1 out of 10 shots in focus, and that seems to be mainly luck.  It’s utterly useless in anything other than the bright sun too.  So it’s a little more challenging to get blog fodder for you all these grey wintery days.  The majority of my photos are only turning out if my subject happens to be standing still.

And posing gracefully, a la me?

Stupid zoom lens makes me crazy.

A la Dexter.

Makes me crazier when I hear/read stuff like “you don’t need expensive equipment to get amazing photos.”  Don’t believe it.  Photographers don’t drop thousands of dollars on gear because they have all this extra money they don’t know what to spend on.  Bah.  The zoom lens I wish to replace mine with is $2200.00.  Screw you, Canon!!!!

So until I figure out a complicated scheme to bilk some old person out of their fortune, I’ll have to just keep grumbling on with my lip dick telephoto lens and hoping to land a shot now and then.

Do I hear a baby chicken begging to be eaten?  But only with my left ear, because my right one is listening for the Food Lady who is going to kick ten kinds of holy hell out of me for eating a baby chicken.  I’d better just really still and pose for the camera.

Or better yet, appease the huffing and puffing Two Legger by posing with food on my schnoz.

I am NOT posing with food on my face.  And f*ck you very much for suggesting it.

Ah TWooie, my little ray of sunshine.

He and his slightly less FAT brother Wootie are going to be 9 years old next week(ish).  Nine!  I have been prattling on about my dogs for almost nine freaking’ years!  How are you all not tired of listening to me yet?

And Miss Piper, the Ageless, is going to be 12 around the same time.  12.  Gah.

I thought *I* was the ageless dog?

Well you are, Tweed.  Although gravity seems to be winning the war against your mouth there.

He is doing remarkably well for a 14.5 year old dog, I think.  I’m not entirely certain, as I have never before owned a 14.5 year old dog before.  But he still plays ball every day, even if he has to kind of put on the brakes a bit prematurely, as otherwise he is prone to running right past it, because he can’t stop or corner like he used to.  His eyesight is still fantastic and he can still hear me most of the time.  For a while I thought he was practicing ‘selective deafness’ – you know, that privilege of ornery children and the very aged – but it seems that he can hear me most of the time just fine.  Sometimes, maybe in certain registers, or where there is lots of extraneous noise, or if he is concentrating on something else and/or sleepy, he seems to miss what I am saying … but for the most part, you wouldn’t ever guess he was going on 15.  He hasn’t even greyed at all.  The only real difference I have noticed is that at paw wiping time, he can’t seem to coordinate standing on three legs if I lift up a back foot.  He’s okay with the front ones, but if I lift up a hind paw the whole back end just seems to give up and decide to sit down, often to the surprise and irritation of the front end.  His back end is still strong, it just doesn’t always talk to his brain apparently.

But hey, at least he’s GOT a brain.  Just sayin’.

Just kiddin’.  When it comes to paw wiping time (can you tell that wiping muddy feet is a consuming part of my life right now?  I only wipe 44 paws at least three times a day, so go ahead, call me obsessive compulsive!) he is brilliant.  He lifts them for me, without being asked, in order of paws needing wiping.  How wicked smart is my Big Black Beast?  Of course, he also hugs my REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR every morning whilst I am blow drying my hair, but I hear genius is also quirky.

It’s Day Three of Staycation 2014 and I am going to go laze around and do nothing for a while. Maybe admire my dogs some more.  I am sure your dogs are cool and everything, but Spring has 3 extra legs and a spare tail, and Winter is shaped like one of those bi-articulated transit vehicles, so ….