My Wisconsin Nose

For once, life is throwing me a bone: I'm in Wisconsin for the weekend, and even more bonus, my cousin Izzy is here!

Obviously, this is great, but even better than normal, now that it's summer, there are TONS of great smelling things out here in the country. For example, my grandparents have a fountain that gets leaves and stuff in it that makes it smell great. Unfortunately, last summer, my grandma realized that if she empties it before I get here, I can't lie around in it and obtain its perfume. So she emptied it out before I got here. What she didn't count on was that it was going to rain, which meant there is plenty of water to help make me smell just perfect.

The bouquet of this fountain is particularly lingering. For the serious connoisseur of stinking water holes only.
My grandpa had some fish he caught earlier this week that he was cleaning as well. When he wasn't paying attention, I grabbed some guts and rolled in those - also showing my cousin Izzy what's what when it comes to smells.

These particular bluegill remains were of a most excellent vintage, nose-wise.
But last night, I thought I saw the holy grail of smells: a skunk. I'm making it a goal for the rest of the weekend to catch the thing.

Does Anyone Know a Good Hit Man?

There has to be some way I can kill Sarah and make it look like an accident.

This whole thing started off with something quite nice. You see, Sarah bought me a little pool, so I can cool off during the hot summer months. If you had to wear a fur coat all summer long, you'd appreciate this as well.

Most shocking thing about the pool? It's not pink. Seriously, Sarah, not everything you buy for me needs to indicate that I am a girl dog. Or, at least, that I was a girl dog, before you had the vet unceremoniously rip my girl parts out of me.
Sarah knows I like pools like this, because my grandparents have a fountain at their house which I LOVE. When I am not chasing their cats, I am typically lying in the fountain, which is often full of leaves and crap that smells fantastic (at least to a dog).

Now, I should have known Sarah would not do something so awesome like get me a pool without somehow ruining it. You see, Sarah couldn't just get me a pool. Oh no, she had to do something else, and couldn't leave well enough alone. Something so, so horrible that it needs to be seen to be believed.

Fuck and no. (Sorry Grandma, the foul language was appropriate. Do you see what she did to me?).
Oh yes, Sarah bought me a swimsuit. And a swim ring. And kiddie arm bands. And goggles. Something is seriously wrong with Sarah.

First, there is no way I am going to drown in four inches of water. I don't need seventeen things to keep me from drowning. Second, I'm a dog! I don't need swimming accoutrements. I just get in the water and paddle away (which, once again is NOT NECESSARY in a kiddie pool because it's FOUR INCHES deep). Third, seriously, who does this to a poor dog?

This is so, so wrong, I don't have words. If, however, you know of a way a dog could kill a human and make it look like an accident, please let me know. I would appreciate it.

Maybe if I shut my eyes, this whole thing will turn out to be a nightmare...Nope. All too real.
And if anyone asks, I didn't say anything about wanting to off Sarah for this.

A Saying Does Not a Fortune Make

Now, I've already discussed the fact that, until Project Runway ended, I had awesome Thursday nights - two of Sarah's friends would come over and watch Tim, Heidi and Co. It was a welcome respite from Sarah prior to the weekend.

Unfortunately, Project Runway has ended, so I no longer have a weekly chance for this relief from Sarah. Sometimes, though, Sarah still has people over. Like this week, the very, very awesome Kaylan came over to watch some TV with Sarah and eat Chinese food.

Now, that alone would be great, but then, the Chinese place gave them THREE fortune cookies. It's like the cool people at the Chinese restaurant just knew that I would like my own cookie!

Cookie for me? Hells to the yes.

Unfortunately, when I got my fortune, I was not pleasantly surprised. Here it is:

He who knows he has enough is rich.
First, what kind of a fortune is that? It's not a fortune at all. It's just a saying. A fortune would be something like, "You're going to find unknown riches in your backyard."

Second, it's a stupid saying. I mean, there are certain things I could never have enough of, like squeaky toys. Obviously, whoever wrote this is content with far too little.

Lastly, and most importantly, there is one thing that I have had enough of in my life: Sarah. Now, let me tell you, having enough of Sarah does not make me rich. It just makes me pissed off. Definitely not rich. Stupid fortune cookie.

The Truffle Shuffle

So, it has been awhile since I got back from Wisconsin, but I totally forgot to remark upon something that Sarah tried to make me do while we were there.

You see, it turns out that the Midwest has its own version of the truffle. It's called a morel. Supposedly, there are things called truffle pigs, which are basically pigs that search for truffles.

Now, obviously, Sarah doesn't have a pig (oh Lord, please don't ever let Sarah think that getting a pig is a good idea). However, Sarah, in her infinite capacity for stupid ideas, decided that a dog (Yours Truly) is probably an adequate substitute for a pig in the realm of mushroom hunting, and that I should become a Morel Dog.

I really wish I was kidding about this.

At the beginning of Sarah's quest to make me a morel dog. If I look happy, it's probably because I am thinking of ways I can thwart Sarah's efforts. Sarah's failures never cease to amuse me.
Of course, I was NOT going to put up with this sort of thing. I mean, really, why in the world would I want to find morels for Sarah, who would probably sell them and use the proceeds to find some new way to torture me. Like I'm going to let that happen.

So, instead of letting her attempt to teach me to hunt truffles, I ran off. It was a most excellent decision. Because, really, if I'm going to hunt something, it's going to be squirrels.

Here I am, headed off into the woods to search for squirrels. The last thing Sarah saw of me was my butt. I find this appropriate.

Sarah Can Take This Lei . . .

I swear, Sarah is coming up with flimsier and flimsier excuses to dress me up in stupid outfits.

Now, Sarah has some very, very bad taste in music. For instance, she seems to think that Jimmy Buffett is the end all, be all of the music world. Saturday, Jimmy Buffett was in Indianapolis for a concert. So, of course, Sarah went over there to see the show.

Now, if she had just gone over to the concert, that would have been cool. I mean, she didn't take me, which meant that I got to spend the evening without her (and one of Sarah's cool friends even came over to let me out part way through the evening, which was AWESOME).

Unfortunately, Sarah didn't leave it at that. Oh no. She had to dress me up in honor of her attendance at the show.

I look like a tool. The least Sarah could have done was give me a margarita to ease the pain. Did she give me any alcohol? Of course not.
So, Jimmy Buffett, if you're reading this, please: Do a dog a favor, and stay out of Indy for awhile. I'd really appreciate it.

Cats: My Natural Enemy

Now, as much as I love my grandparents and Wisconsin, all is not rainbows and puppy dogs at their house. Far from it. You see, they have five - yes FIVE - cats.

One of the little cat bastards. This one is named Sonny and is 15 years old. Don't let her age fool you - she has 15 years of experience taunting dogs.
I don't know what possessed my grandparents to get all of these cats. I'm hoping it was temporary insanity.

This one is named Peaches. She was a stray that my grandparents decided to feed, and she just stuck around. So, so wrong. I mean, look at her. Obviously devil spawn.
Sadly, as my grandparents seem to feed any old cat that shows up at their house, I think this is more of a permanent affliction. They should probably seek professional help for this problem.

Would you want to hurt this cute face? Of course not. You're not a cat.
Sadly, I don't have the monetary resources to help my grandparents learn that cats are nowhere near as cute as dogs, and Sarah is too cheap to fund this herself. Plus, obviously, she likes to torture me, so she's perfectly happy to subject me to the cats.

Sonny the cat, on the other hand? Definitely has it out for me.
I'm holding out hope that my grandparents realize how much I hate the cats and decide to get rid of them. After all, I'm so much cuter and more awesome - they really should just do what I want.

I Don't Need a Leash

So, last Tuesday, Sarah took me to Wisconsin - it was great! We stayed through Sunday. This was far, far too short of a time to spend there, but what else do I expect from Sarah? If I like something, she can't stand to let me do it. Jerk.

Among the many cool things about Wisconsin is that my grandparents (who are so much more awesome than Sarah) live out in the country, which means that, the whole time I am in Wisconsin, I never, ever have to be on a leash! I get to run around to my heart's content, chasing squirrels, and cats, and whatever else I want.

On a leashless Wisconsin walk. It's great to be leashless, but one must always be attentive. Sarah might be sneaking up with a leash, or (even worse) a cat. Oh, you only think she wouldn't sneak up on me with a cat. I know her better than that.
Of course, one super bonus part of not having to be on a leash is that I can run far, far away from Sarah whenever I want!

See that little black speck? That's me, running away from Sarah and giving her the finger. OK, maybe not that last part, because I don't really have fingers. But you get the point.
Unfortunately, now that we're back in Indiana, I'm stuck on the leash again, being dragged around wherever Sarah wants to go, which sucks. I mean, that's how I end up doing things like looking at the white squirrels. I swear, Sarah must sit around all day thinking of ways to torture me, because she certainly finds great ways to do so.

See this? This is me in happier, leashless times. Ah, the memories...

Happy Cinqo de Mayo!

Sarah really has a thing about dressing me up for the holidays. Normally, this is where I would link to all those posts, but seriously. I look like a tool when she dresses me up. If you want to see the other ways she has humiliated me for the holidays, I'll let you figure it out on your own.

Here's what she did to me for Cinqo de Mayo:


You know, the least Sarah could have done was choose a picture where my eyes were open. But nooooo, she had to choose one that made me look drunk, even though (a) Sarah never gives me any booze - she hoards it for herself, and (b) I look even more like a tool this way than if she had just put a sombrero on me and called it a day.

And also, for the record, who puts a sombrero on a dog? I'll tell you who: Sarah. Hate. Hate. Hate.

Dogs in the News: Never Gonna Happen Edition

This? This is a dog mansion:


Yeah, that's never gonna happen in my lifetime. You suck, Sarah.

A Mistakenly Identified Chew Toy

I feel the need to complain about something.

You see, back when I was a younger pup, I did some things that I now feel were quite immature, and of which I now wish there was no record.

Take a look at this:

This? This is what a puppy brain hyped on rawhides thinks is a good idea to chew up.
If you're wondering exactly what this is, it's Sarah's cell phone cover. Back as a younger puppy, I mistook this for a toy, and as a result, it looks like something the dog chewed up (because, you know, it is something that the dog chewed up). Now, as you know if you read this blog regularly, I would normally not only find the chewed up cell phone cover to be OK, but actually something awesome, as it makes Sarah quite angry. However, that's just not the case here.

You see, a normal person would see this, and throw it away. Sarah? Not a normal person. Instead of throwing away the cover, Sarah kept the thing and is still using it, even though I chewed it up over a year ago! Even worse, Sarah got this for free, so it's not like she paid a bajillion dollars for it and somehow feels obligated to keep it because of its cost.

And the worst part? People are always giving Sarah strange looks about the cover, and asking her about it. And you know who she blames for this? ME! It's so wrong - I mean, Sarah is the one who insists on carrying around an old and busted cell phone cover, when it would be super easy to go get a new one. Sarah should get the blame here, not me. But, as usual, I'm the one who gets the short end of the stick.