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Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts

Friday, March 18, 2011

Extreme Sports




FETCH-1 (fech) v.t. 1. to go and bring back, return with, get.

FETCH-2 (fech) noun. a game played with dogs to retrieve.

EXTREME (ik strem') -tremer, -tremest. adj. 1. exceeding the bounds of moderation, normalcy. 2. going to the utmost or cvery great lengths in action, habit, etc.

EXTREME FETCH (ik strem' fech) n. 1. any game played with Sam in muddy, wet, or dark conditions. 2. any game played with Sam in which I become extremely uncomfortable, e.g., cold, wet, etc. (see picture)






















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Sunday, February 27, 2011

I Promise

Boy, I just have not been in the mood or had the time to blog lately.  But I promise I have some in the works:
  1. I Can't Make This S**T Up
  2. Extreme Fetch
  3. (Goats) Breaking Bad
  4. Woman Makes Scientific History on March 1, When She Actually Becomes Younger than Her Son.
Film At 11.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

A Modern Day Mystery

The oddest thing happened today.  I took a book and went out on our deck to enjoy the sun and read.  Much to my surprise, our Domestic, Interior-Dwelling Weiner joined me.   Not only did he join me on the deck, he went down the steps and BEYOND.

And he did not come back.

SO I went to look for him....and I could see ... down the hill ... a tail ...




... so when I investigated further...
...I saw this...


and this.....

...which turned out to be  this...


....then a closer inspection revealed this....



...and, yes, this....

'nuf said.



Monday, November 15, 2010

A Rare Sighting of an Endangered Species.

There is a little-known animal skulking the La Mesa area.  Not too many people have ever seen it, because it rarely goes outside.  Here's a rather grainy photo of a recent sighting...


and a slightly closer view as we sneak up on the elusive animal....




Because it's difficult to make the above photos, we were lucky enough to get a slightly closer view:





These photos are, in fact, some of the few known substantiated photos of the Domestic Interior-Dwelling Weiner, which is also known as the "asblik plukker" (Afrikaans) or the "selector de basura" (Spanish). Here in the US, the slang name for this dog is a "parlor pooper," due mostly to the difficulty in housebreaking these dogs and the common occurrence of finding, well, poop in in the parlor.




These dogs are thought to be descendants of the Dachshund, but are probably not closely related as this particular dog abhors cold or inclement weather and remains indoors for long periods of time. (which may explain the poop in the parlor)

We do believe that one of the founding sires of this breed was a dog by the name of "Gaw-Da-Mitt," because so many of these dogs have that as a first name.  (as in "Gaw-Da-Mitt Ozzie," our own Domestic Interior-Dwelling Weiner)

Below are some photos of the DID Weiner in its natural habitat:




As depicted below, these dogs are quite often ambidextrous...



and spend much of their time in a horizontal position....










These animals are also amazing singers.....




While these dogs are known to be docile, gentle animals...



...one should never forget that these Weiners are predators...
...and once they sight their prey...
...they attack viciously...
...using both teeth and paws...
...they are known to recruit help...
...and they blindly attack...
...over and over...
...snapping, snarling...
until nothing is left but the tattered remains

Sunday, November 14, 2010

A Post That is Not for the Faint of Heart

The worst part of owning an animal is the time when you're faced with make the ultimate life-or-death decision:  the one that ends in Death (euthanasia).  The second worst part of owning an animal is what to do with that animal after you've made that God-awful decision.

I had Justy euthanized yesterday.  Even though I logically knew it was the right thing to do, I was still a basketcase all day, until Greg (the vet whom I have known for 20+ years)  finally showed up.  Then the question became:  What do you do with a 60-pound dead pygmy goat?



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when Annie died


I had her cremated...
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when Stuffy err.....  Fluffy died....
I brought her home to be buried in the backyard.

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Toby was cremated and is, I think, still in the hall closet...


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After her dramatic demise, we buried Maria
because she was awfully special (to no one but me!)

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But what do you do with your animals when you've run out of burying holes and it costs too much to cremate them (not to mention having enough room on the mantel)?  Well, I discovered two options here in San Diego: one was D & D Disposal Services.  They pick the animals up and deliver them to a rendering plant.  The other was ThaniCare, who calls ahead to our local landfill to have them dig a hole, and then he buries them there.

The latter may sound rather undignified and kind of gross.  But let me say that I am not a bleeding liberal. I am not a card-carrying member of PETA. I am not a vegetarian, much less a vegan. But I do believe that these animals deserve fair and honest treatment and -- whether they are beloved pets or food animals destined for the table -- a quiet and pain-free death.

 That said, do you have ANY IDEA what a rendering plant does?    This gets a little graphic here... use some discretion as to whether you want to read on. 

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Excuse Me, Young Man, May I See Some ID?







So Liz and I took Nate and
 Sam.............







to Happy...er....Yappy Hour at a local tavern
where they have outside seating and serve dogs, too!
On the menu that evening were "Puptini's"

a lovely (if you're a dog) concoction of chicken broth garnished with a hot dog on a pretzel stick.

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Sam U.L. Fraser sips his first puptini...













But decides to hell with the chicken broth...pretzel be damned!  Give me the hot dog! (bars are notorious for encouraging bad language in puppies)








Oh, my aching puppy-head.  I'll never drink like that again!











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Tuesday, May 18, 2010

The Hurrieder I Go, the Behinder I Get.

I am late nearly everywhere I go.  Not hours late (usually), but often somewhat late.  My mind seems to come up with some sort of mathematical formula regarding how late I can be.  I can be three minutes late to work.  I can be an hour or two late to watch Jess ride at a horse show (shows last ALL day long for three days).   Dinner invitation, fifteen minutes; party, thirty minutes to an hour.

I'm not saying there is any justification to my tardiness, just  stating how my brain seems to work.  I think my inability to be timely stems from two things: (1) my complete lack of ability to entertain myself, so I HATE being anywhere too early and having to WAIT.  (2) My inability to accurately gauge the amount of time it takes to do things.

In order to get to work on time, I need to leave at nine-thirty-five.  Nine-thirty-three is too early; nine-thirty-eight is suddenly too close to nine-forty and that is too late.  In my mind, if I need to leave at nine-thirty-five, I start towards the car at nine-thirty-four.  It can't take more than a minute to get in the car and turn it on, can it?

So this morning at nine-thirty, I did a final check on the animals and started toward the car.   I hollered at the dogs, grabbed my purse and my keys, and went out front.