Thursday, September 15, 2011

PITA?

I have been a bad dog blogger. I don't know what is wrong with me. Perhaps my obssession with The Orange One's manuevers? No one can make me as mad as Orange Effer does! No one. He came by my sliding glass door, stopped, and lingered for a moment, and made eye contact with me before darting off. He is a brazen fool!

I am up to Stage 3 on the glucosamine joint tablets. I feel like they are helping me, but WHO makes cherry flavored anything for dogs? They taste like, ugh, I cannot stand them. Brad makes me eat them. Next bottle, he promises will be something more palatable, like liver, cow ass, or chicken lips, anything but cherry. Blech!

This morning, Julie said I was a PITA. Perfect, intelligent, talented, animal? Why thank you! Heh heh. Actually, I think she meant, well, I'll let you figure it out. She was up early for work, got called off, so she stayed up. I took advantage of the opportunity. I wanted outside. I barked like I saw satan in the backyard. I wanted inside. I barked at her for a treat. Then I wanted my water bowl refreshed, so I panted like I had just run a marathon, next I needed food. Let me outside again! I needed to poop. Barked for a treat when I was back inside. She ignored me. She got her toast and coffee and sat down. Well, I needed to poop again, so let me out! Barked at her for a treat, and, again, I was ignored and told to go lie down. When Julie tells me to do that, she has had enough!

At least I know my boundaries. Unlike certain orange felines around here.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Bow Chica Wow Wow!



There is an old man who walks the park numerous times a day. He wears a plaid cotton fedora, and looks like a cool cat. He was probably a surfer dude back in the day, hittin' the waves at Rincon, driving a woody, and dating a girl with a bushy bushy blonde hairdo.

How he ended up in the godforsaken central valley is completely beyond my imagination. Maybe he had a run-in with a shark? That is the only logical explanation. Nevertheless, he walks three different dogs around the park, one at a time, rain or shine, without fail. He walks each dog at least once...sometimes more. They are all red retrievers. There is one hot babe that he walks who carries a toy newspaper in her mouth the entire route. Bow chica wow wow!! I like her.

So when Brad tries to get out of our evening walks, I just give him "THE LOOK." The look that says, "Red dogs owner walks HIS 3 dogs TWO times a day and all I ask for is ONE time a day so get up off of that couch and take me for a walk before I make your life a living hell!"

Oh, and I will too. I will bark and pitch a fit, pant, scratch, turn in circles, scratch, pant, bark, bark, bark, and bark. I have my ways of getting my point across, and Brad knows it! He does.