Sheer Heart Attack

Why?  WHY does Wootie hate me so?  Why is he trying to make me drop dead in terror?
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This, my friends, is Wootie chasing a coyote this afternoon at the dykes in Maple Ridge.

You will all please keep in mind that this was shot with a telephoto lens and is heavily cropped.  What I really saw was more like this – but STILL shot through a telephoto lens, so imagine it even freakin’ further away.
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Lord have mercy on my now sold-to-the-devil soul.

Why was Food Lady taking photos of it instead of trying to catch him, you ask?  Well – YOU try to catch a Wootie on the move, who is a whole football field away.  All the screaming in the world did not stop him from sprinting after it as soon as he saw it, and by this point, I don’t think he could even hear me anyway.  The only thing I could do was stand there and pray to doG that the coyote didn’t glance back and realize Wootie was half his size, and decide to make him a snackable.

We tried to send the biggest dog in the bunch out to save Woo, but Tucker’s no fool.

Nuh-uh, I ain’t runnin’ after no stinkin’ ky-ote!
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And the one dog who can generally be counted on to run after strange canines with all his teeth showing?  Was he any help? Yeahno.
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Hate!  HATE HATE HATE!!  BAD WOO!
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What’s your problem?  I came back, didn’t I?
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There’s only ONE way to punish a dog this rotten.
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hahahahahahaha! And, you know, since we already had the bunny ears out ….

Happyplacehappyplacehappyplace
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Why am I being punished?  Why?  I didn’t chase any coyotes!
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Why’d you spring me from the shelter just to send me straight to Hell?
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Predictably, TWooie was a buttface on our walk, so he spent much of it on leash.  He made several credible attempts to bite both Tucker and Nyxie, but wisely steered clear of the Blind Landshark.

I can’t see him, but I can still fit him in my mouth.
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I may be a jerk, but I’m not STUPID.  You’re stupid.
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However, back at Jenn’s house, TWooie was remarkably content to let Nyxie and Dexter wrestle (which they did, for about 4 straight hours) without being inclined to interfere or boss anyone around.  As a reward, he was allowed to be in the Bunny Ears Family photo.

Yeah. Super. Thanks.
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(As an aside, if you have a friend who doesn’t bat an eyelash when Dexter and Wootie get up on their kitchen table, consider yourself blessed.)

Maybe next time you’ll go save a little brutha in need, Tucker!!

I’m so ashamed.
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Happy Easter :)
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It’s My Party

and I’ll look goofy if I want to!

Today a miraculous thing happened.

Tweed turned NINE YEARS OLD. 9!!! ZOMG!

And I he did it without me throttling his evil little red neck too. At least, not fatally.

Australian Shepherd people tell me that it takes 3 years for an Aussie to grow a brain, and 3 more for them to figure out how to use it. “And add a couple more years if they’re boy Aussies!” they squeak cheerfully. Oh brother. I thought the border collie half of his brain would have kicked in sooner, but I was wrong.

Just a little less than 9 years ago, a rescuer in Washington State sent me this photo:

Gadzooks! I was smitten. I had The Puppy Fever (and look what happened! Now you know why I don’t indulge in the puppy lust anymore).

But he sure was cute. He wuved his big brother Briggs.
And I had the handsomest pair o’ red collies this side of the Rockies.

Of course, Tweed is evil. For many years he has defied me, tormented me, sassed me, embarrassed me and generally made me pull out my hair on too many occasions to count. My friend Elisha commented on a photo of him recently, where he was cocking his head in typical Tweed style and said “he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do, so he can do the opposite!”

My friends know him so well.

But I wouldn’t trade him for the world. He is hilarious, ridiculous, willful, defiant, keen, scary-smart and a character like no other.

So to celebrate, I threw him a party. Complete with a cake made of ostriches. AND I PUT THE GODDAMN MR. PICKLES NEVERENDING PEEPS TO GOOD USE TOO!!!

This cake was made by the FeelGood Treat Company and cost me twenty motherflippin’ dollars at Tisol. Usually I get a personalized cake from ThreeDogBakery. I think next time I’ll go back to them, because their cakes are better. For starters – no chisel required to slice the thing, and I never have a pile of ostrich confetti in a ziploc bag after it thaws.

But the dogs did not complain.

NOM NOM NOM

Even though we made them wear a goofy hat before we gave them the cake.

This is not happening. This is not happening. HAPPYPLACEHAPPYPLACE!

Even Sofa* got into the spirit of the party, with a little help from his dad.
*Sofa? YES! Because this big gangly puppy is everywhere, usually crashing into the back of my knees as he gambols around the office, and I end up sitting on him about 7 times an afternoon. And accidentally riding him around the office. So we have renamed him Sofa – a big, squishy, drooling fast moving Sofa.

But what kind of dog owner would I be if I didn’t torment my dogs with the cake first, for your enjoyment?

But pshaw. I do this every year. Time to shake it up a little.

Cue two more dogs to torment.
Tweed got a little anxious about the competition for the cake. Piper refused to believe I had the balls to do this. Sofa didn’t even understand why he was supposed to be there.

Yeah, it was good times.

BUT NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

It’s not a real party until you bust out the whipped cream in a can!

hee hee!

I cannot believe my good fortune!

Turbo was having none of the hissy can of edible oil goodness, but he politely slurped some off Auntie Food Lady’s sticky fingers.

As for Sofa … oh the life of a puppy. This was Sofa’s first experience with whipped cream.

You want me to what?

Oh I get it! I get it!!

Epitome of a good party:

Yay! I like to rock the party!

Happy 9th birthday to my Special Little Guy!!

Here’s to 9 more great years! If I last that long.

For his birthday this year I am taking Tweed to the AAC Regionals in Campbell River on the May long weekend. Wish us luck!!

What are you, some kind of genius?


Have you ever tried these contraptions for your dogs? The “Leos” by Canine Genius are tricky magical cookie dispensers designed to evilly toy with the K9 mind, or at least that ballcookieeatscritch space between their ears.

My dogs come to work with me nearly every day, and they sometimes get a bit bored, since I won’t let them answer the phone. So I dug the Leos out of the toy basket and brought them to the office for some doggie distraction.

Mmmm. Genius tastes good.

Woo may not be a genius, but he has a lot of sproing. He at least aspires to genius level.

Tweed is, simply, not a genius.

What?

Of my 3 dogs, only Piper has reached genius level. She can empty her Leo in about .071 seconds. Give her three minutes, and some Mad Teeth ™ …

… and she can empty Mr. Woo’s and Tweed’s Leos as well.

She says there are cookies in here.

Mrfghhh! Come out come out cookie!

Half a second before The Barkscream of Frustration that scared all my coworkers:

Piper really is a genius. She gets her entire lower jaw jammed into the “X” and then waggles the Leo around until all the cookies basically fall onto her conveyor belt of a tongue.

Tweed chases his Leo all over the office with his nose, hoping it will get scared enough to shit cookies.

Mr. Woo comes to me and whines – “remove cookies for Wootie consumption please Food Lady“- and Piper empties his Leo behind his back.

It’s a ton of entertainment. You know, for me.

But Wootie is a genius when it comes to being cute at lunch time.

Are you going to eat that?

I think he’s going to eat that. Bummer.

You’re a genius Piper. High five!

On another topic …

While I think it’s great that all of you nice people love critters great and small, I think it’s kind of less great that some of you assume the worst and feel the need to waggle your morality finger at The Food Lady. Listen folks, MC Hamster is in no danger from my dogs and I’m kinda miffed that anyone would suggest otherwise.

I suppose some of you have not figured this out yet, but a surprising percentage of my photos are – *gasp* – set ups for the purpose of the photo session. Contrary to what some of you might believe, my dogs do not wear hats all the time and/or of their own volition. They do not really see dead people. Mr. Woo’s tail did not actually come with its own name. To whit – “Hamster TV” is a convenient prop for some fun entries, but Hammy is never in any danger. Period. Full stop. End of story.

Hammy’s cage sits on a shelf that is not accessible by dogs; the doors are held extra-securely shut by clips I purchased for that purpose and the cage itself is bungie-corded to the shelf so that it cannot be knocked down by any beast.

When I take photos of the dogs standing on the coffee table staring at Hammy, I put a squeaky ball behind the cage to generate doggie interest for the photo ops. When Hammy is out in his ball, the dogs are in a downstay on the sofa and not allowed to touch the ball, or there is a babygate up. Piper put her paw on the ball ONCE for the purposes of the photo because I asked her “Where’s the ball?”. And my “small animal killing” dog Mr. Woo is the least interested in Hammy of the 3 dogs, because Mr. Woo is kind enough to know that animals that live in our house, like cats and hamsters, are not for consumption. My – ahem – ‘terrified’ hamster has, on his own steam, walked all over my dogs on the sofa and lived to tell the tale.

So please folks, rein it in okay? It kind of takes the magic out of the entries if I have to qualify that I am not an animal-killing sadist every time I make one. I adopted little hammyman because I wanted a pet that would fill up his funny little cheeks with enormous piles of food. I did not get him specifically to torment him, or the dogs.

Except, you know, for the one time I stuck him in the Canine Genius Leo and let the dogs go to town.
Kidding, kidding! Yeesh.