I Don't Do Dog Snuggies

I cannot stress how much of an idiot Sarah can be. Let's discuss yesterday as an example. Now, yesterday was a beautiful day in Terre Haute, where we live. We're talking 80 degrees and sunny. Absolutely beautiful.

Sarah being cheap, there is no way that she turns on the air conditioner until it's 90 plus outside. So, the house is really, really warm today - definitely warmer than the 80 it is outside. It's so warm that the only comfortable way to deal with this sort of heat is to lie around doing nothing (btw, I am excellent at this).

So, when Sarah gets home, what does she think is a good idea? She thinks it's a good idea to put a Snuggie on me. Yes, a dog Snuggie.

I can't stress enough that Sarah is a tool for putting me in a Snuggie.

Now, the Snuggie even in cold weather is stupid. But in this weather? Truly moronic. And you know why she made me wear it? Because she wanted to read this book she got, called The Animal Review, and wanted me to sit with her looking cute. Newsflash, Sarah: I look cute whether or not you put me in a Snuggie. And you're just sitting at home reading, like anyone is going to see you reading and make a judgment about the cuteness of the scene.

Here I am with the book. Personally, I enjoy the Animal Review website.

Happily, Sarah eventually took off the Snuggie. Now, I am going to plot a way to destroy the thing. I never want to wear it again.

Choppy Evens the Score

So, last week, I detailed my problems with Sarah teaching me to act like a monkey. Unfortunately, Sarah got me on that one.

But I have discovered a way to deal with this - I can just ignore Sarah!



I realized that Sarah knows that I can catch a frisbee just fine. So, when Sarah wants me to catch, I can just ignore her, like I did in the video! When other people are around, I can impress them with my mad frisbee catching skills. It's a fabulous plan - piss Sarah off by not catching, yet show off for other people, so that they can see how smart I am. It's a perfect plan!

Developments in America's Dairyland

So, Friday, I got to Wisconsin, where I proceeded to have an awesome time. It was shaping up to be my typical weekend here in America's Dairyland - running around the countryside, chasing cats and other animals, and just generally having a blast.

But Saturday morning, there was a development. You see, Sarah's brother brought something he got last weekend - a puppy named Izzy. Also known as my doggy cousin.

Adorable? Maybe. Competition for food and attention? Definitely.

Now, here's the thing about another dog, especially a cute one like this. While it's a lot of fun to play with it, it means that there is another dog to eat table scraps, and hog all the attention that should be paid to me. Plus, this Izzy character is, like 4 months old, so she sits and people act like she cured cancer. Has anyone seen the sort of talent that I exhibit on a regular basis? It makes sitting look like nothing.

You see this sit? World class.

But, at the end of the day, it's pretty cool to have another dog around. I mean, I'm bigger than her, so I can totally muscle her out of the way to get the best food. And having another dog around means that I don't have to find Sarah if I want to play with my toys with someone else. This Izzy character was definitely happy to play with me for hours on end.

Look, I share! Sort of. I mean, I totally pulled it away from her about two seconds after the picture was taken, but I shared a little bit.

Plus, I got to show this Izzy character some fun things to do, like how to bark at and chase after cats.

Here, I am, barking at one of the cats, and setting a fine example for the doggy youth of our country.

Plus, at the end of the day, it's nice to have someone else around who isn't allowed on the bed and can sleep on the floor with me and keep me warm.

Yeah, I know how adorable this is.

All in all, I have to say that having a doggy cousin around is not entirely bad. But if she gets big enough to muscle her way in and get the best food, I reserve the right to change my mind on this Izzy character.

America's Dairyland? More Like America's Awesome-land!

One of my few and far between joys in a usually craptastic life is taking trips up to Wisconsin. Now, let me tell you, Wisconsin is AWESOME. Sarah grew up there, but I'm pretty sure the powers that be in the state realized it was a mistake to let her live there, so they kicked her out, because she was bringing the cool people factor way, way down. Unfortunately, I now have to deal with the consequences of this action, and only get to go up to Wisconsin for holidays and such.

This being Easter, on Friday, Sarah packed up the car and we headed for awesome Wisconsin to celebrate the holiday. Now, one of the consequences of Sarah not living in Wisconsin is that it takes FOREVER to get there in the car.

This? This is me about an hour into the drive. Still excited.

This? This is me an hour later, after realizing we still have several hours of driving before I get to enjoy Wisconsin. Not a happy camper.

Eventually, we got to Wisconsin, which is always a miracle at some level, because Sarah seems to have learned how to drive from a Southeast Asian cab driver (for those not in the know, this is not a positive reflection on her driving skills - or, to be more specific, her lack thereof).

Ah, Wisconsin. Living up to stereotypes since 1848 - this is right down the road from my doggie grandparents. Shortly before this picture, Sarah went to the grocery store and picked up beer, brats, and milk. I wish I was kidding you about this.

There are many joys to be had in Wisconsin, not least of which is getting to spend an entire weekend wandering my grandparents' house without a leash the entire time, while Sarah just sits around ignoring me. It's like heaven.

No Sarah, No Leash, No Problems.

So, for, like, 18 hours, I was totally doing my own thing. You know, chilling, chilling, minding my business. Just generally wandering around in a blissful state, thinking all is great with the world.

And then, this showed up:

What fresh hell is this?

Yesterday Was a GREAT Day!

Oh my gosh! You have to hear about my AWESOME Wednesday.

I knew it was going to be a great day, because Sarah (my AWESOME owner) woke up early, and took me on a nice, long walk. I had just gotten to the park, when I saw my dog friend, Brownie. Brownie's Mom gave me TWO treats, just for me being cute little me.

Then, because there was hardly anyone in the park, Sarah let me chase some squirrels! I totally almost caught two of them. Next time...

Then, we went to see the park's caretaker, who gave me not one, not two, but THREE treats! Just for me being cute little me!

Look at me! I sit so well! No wonder people give me treats!

When we got back home, Sarah gave me both a treat, and a rawhide! I took care of eating that before Sarah left for work, then took a nice, long nap until Sarah came home for lunch. At lunch, we played a little (I have some cool new toys that I already de-squeaked, but they're still fun to tear apart). Then Sarah went back to work, but it was OK, because I knew it was nice outside, and we would take a nice long walk when she got home.

And guess what? We did take a nice long walk! Then, even better, we got home from the walk, and Sarah cooked STEAK on the grill. Sarah even gave me a big piece of her steak (and I think she's saving a little bit more for me to eat some other time).

After that, Sarah hung out in the backyard with me, and when it got dark, we went inside and hung out there. Yesterday was a GREAT day!

APRIL FOOL!

Like my life is ever this good. Of course, Sarah probably thinks this is how I feel about my life every day. Because she's not just an April Fool, she's an Everyday Fool. Yesterday sucked. It was just like every other day in my life.

I Am Not a Monkey

Sarah operates under the misguided notion that I am a creature put on this planet solely for her amusement. Of course, only she thinks of it as "amusement" - I tend to categorize what she considers amusing as humiliation, degradation, great indignities, or some combination of the three.

Take one of her winter projects, which was to teach me to catch a Frisbee. Now, on the one hand, I really don't want to learn to catch a Frisbee. I mean, it's just humiliating on so many levels. It's like she wants me to be her trained monkey, and do whatever she wants me to, whenever she wants me to. That? Not cool. Not cool at all.

On the other hand, if I don't do the trick, it suggests to Sarah that I'm stupid, and unable to learn the absolutely inane things that she wants me to do. The last thing I want is for Sarah to think is that I'm stupid, because, obviously, I'm not (unlike Sarah, who does so many stupid things on a daily basis that she could have a blog devoted entirely to the subject: "Stupid Things Sarah Did Today." A stupid name for a stupid person).

It's quite the conundrum, actually. Do Something Degrading vs. Looking Smart. Ultimately, I chose looking smart. I mean, catching a Frisbee is SOOO easy. It took me, like, no time to become pretty decent at it.

What I didn't count on was that Sarah would put evidence of my humiliation on the internet, for the whole world to see:



Of course Sarah would humiliate me by putting this on the internet. I should have known better.

But I do have one trump card that's not in the video. Even though I look all nice and obedient, I refused to give Sarah the Frisbee back. So, while I do catch the Frisbee all nice, I proceeded to run around the yard and chew on it, preventing Sarah from throwing it again and humiliating me further.

I'm calling this one even. But next time, I'm figuring out a way to get the upper hand.

Who's the Most Popular? Choppy!

I meant to mark the occasion when it happened, but thanks to Sarah (the asshole) giving me other things to complain about, I didn't get the chance to mention this until today. You see, I am officially more popular than Sarah! As of last week, I have more Facebook fans than she has Facebook friends!

Who rocks the Facebook socks? The Chopmeister, that's who!

Now, I know some may consider Facebook a poor method of judging popularity. Those people are obviously assholes and should be ignored.

Unfortunately, Sarah falls squarely into this category of assholes who consider Facebook to be a poor method of judging popularity. But of course she would think this, because by this method, she's much less popular than me! And she's less popular than me on Facebook even though she has at least 20 "friends" who hardly qualify as such, because they're people she has met once, or is even unsure of how she actually knows them. These people hardly count as friends. But because I'm a sweetie, I would even give her these people in this contest. And she still loses!

So thank you to all my Facebook friends! And Sarah? She sucks. She gets no thanks until she acknowledges my superior popularity.

A Squirrel-y Road Trip - Part 2

Continued from yesterday...

As I discussed yesterday, Sarah (the asshole) decided that the best way to spend Saturday morning would be to go on a road trip. While this would normally be cool - we might go to the pet store, or a dog park, or Wisconsin - yesterday, the road trip was definitely not cool. Not cool at all. You see, Sarah took me to a town called Olney, Illinois, which is known for its white squirrels.

The first thing Sarah made me do was get out of the car to get my picture taken in front of the town sign. Even though the road by the sign was super busy, Sarah managed not to get killed getting out of the car by some semi passing by at high speed (though had this happened, I would have gotten a new owner, which would have been cool). Then, she made me tramp through some swamp-y ditch, just so she would have a picture me in front of the sign.

It's the same picture from yesterday.

Now, in addition to the cars passing at high speed, thanks to the swamp-like conditions near the sign, I had to traipse through mud, hoping not to get bitten by some water moccasin or other dangerous swamp creature. Thankfully, after a couple of pictures, Sarah let me get back in the car, where I felt somewhat safe (as long as I ignored Sarah's shitty driving skills).

Now, I had hoped that Sarah would find my picture with the sign to be adequate, and we would turn around and go home to Terre Haute. My hopes were sadly misplaced. Instead of going home, we went into town to look for live white squirrels.

It did not take long to find those white bastards:

A demon bastard and a regular bastard squirrel look at each other. Probably making plans to taunt me as I sit inside the car.

Now, it turns out, white squirrels are just like regular old squirrels, except with white fur and red eyes. So, basically, they're demon squirrels (as if the regular ones aren't bastards enough). Now, instead of Sarah letting me out to kill these abominations of nature, she forced me to stay inside the car.

Does a regular squirrel taste different from a white one? I will never know, thanks to Sarah.

I totally could have caught at least one of those bastards, even if it had just been a regular one. I mean, those things were everywhere!

A bastard buffet, if only Sarah would let me out of the car.

But did Sarah let me out of the car? Of course not! Instead, she drove to some stupid lake nearby, and made me run around there, where there were no squirrels to chase after, of either the regular or demon sort. So, I jumped in the lake and got back at Sarah by getting the car all dirty when I got in to go home. It wasn't as cool as catching a demon squirrel, but it was something.

A Squirrel-y Road Trip

Sarah (the asshole) really outdid herself today.

This all started when she woke up early this morning, which never happens on a Saturday. Most Saturdays, I have to start whining to get Sarah to wake up and let me out. She seems to think that I can hold it a lot longer than I actually can. I can't help my bladder size.

So, I knew from the first thing this morning that something was up because of this whole waking up early thing. Then, when she put me in the car right after our morning walk, I was definitely sure something was up.

Now, I LOVE the car. I can stick my head out the window and feel free, like Sarah isn't even there. It's great! Plus, with the exception of the vet, car rides always end somewhere awesome.

Is this heaven? No, it's the car.

Oh, how wrong I was about car rides always ending somewhere awesome.

After driving for what seemed like FOREVER, Sarah finally let me out of the car. It only took me a few seconds to realize that Sarah had brought me somewhere horrible. Somewhere infested with vile creatures. Somewhere called Olney, Illinois.

Home of the white squirrels.


To be continued...

The Vet Is Not My Friend

As I have detailed before, I am not too fond of the vet. Lucky for me, I haven't had to go in several months, so nothing has been poked into me or pulled out of my butt recently.

I should have known that my luck wouldn't last forever.

On Wednesday, Sarah (the asshole) took me to get my shots and a check-up. This seemed pointless. After all, I'm a healthy young pup. What could possibly be wrong with me? Plus, some of the crap that goes on at the vet is completely pointless. Like, the vet had to draw blood for a heartworm test, even though Sarah makes me take these super gross heartworm pills once a month. If the heartworm pills work, why the hell do I need to have the blood test? For an animal that has found its way to the top of the food chain, humans can be real morons.

Only Sarah would see me acting so sad and still make me get my shots.

Of course, I did not willingly submit to this stupidity. Sarah had to pick all 62 pounds of me up and carry me into the exam room, because I wiggled out of my collar when she tried to drag me in there (seriously - who voluntarily goes into a room where you know someone is not only going to drain your blood, but stick a spoon up your butt to pull out poop?).

The least Sarah could do if I am going to be forced to go to the vet is schedule all of my shots at the same time. But no, Sarah can't do that. So, in May, I have to go back to the vet for a second set of shots. Thanks for nothing, asshole.

Dogs Need Beds, Too!

Sarah (the asshole) is perpetrating a great injustice against me. You see, while Sarah gets to sleep on a nice, comfy bed every night, she forces me to sleep on the hard, hard floor, with only a bedspread to soften my sensitive self:

This is what Sarah considers a bed. This? Not a bed.

Now, I can totally see how Sarah would want the entire bed to herself. I mean, who doesn't like to spread out and take up as much room as possible when sleeping? I am certainly guilty of hogging space.

Here's the problem. You see, Sarah makes me sleep on the floor of her bedroom every night, with only a blanket, even though she has an entire, empty, spare bedroom, complete with a bed, that I could sleep on!

You know who sleeps in this bed? No one. You know who should sleep in this bed? Me!

Now, it's one thing to be an accidental asshole. I mean, some people are born as jerks, and don't even recognize that they are the way that they are. But with Sarah, it's like she takes pride in being as mean to me as possible. I mean, if I so much as smell the bed in the spare bedroom, she freaks out! Seriously, Sarah, take a pill! It's just a dog sniffing a bed! Calm down!

Unfortunately, in cultivating her assholishness, Sarah not only won't let me on the spare bed, she doesn't even let me in the spare bedroom when she is not around. It's like she doesn't trust me at all while she is out of the house. OK, yes, I spend lots of time on the good couch when she is at work. And I have been known to counter surf every now and then. But come on! It's just a bed, it can be cleaned. I need my beauty sleep! Stupid rules. And stupid Sarah.

Gloves: Part of a Nutritious Diet

You know, if Sarah (the asshole) doesn't want me to chew up things, she shouldn't leave them lying somewhere easy to get to, like inside a backpack on top of a counter. Take today, for example. Sarah did just that with her gardening gloves.

Now, her gardening gloves smell wonderful - a combination of dirt and manure. Those are just the sort of things that I LOVE to chew up.

The destroyed glove - note the chewed up thumb. So much fun!

Of course, even better than the joy of chewing up Sarah's gardening gloves was bringing them to her and showing off my handiwork. She was so pissed off at me! She took them away from me, and put them right back in the backpack where they had come from. So, obviously, I went right back and got them out again to continue chewing on them.

Unfortunately, this time when I brought back the gloves, Sarah took them and put them away in a drawer, which I have (so far) been unable to figure out how to open up. It's kind of idiotic of her, though, because what is she going to do with a glove with a chewed up thumb? It's no good any more, she might as well let me continue chewing them up.

But before she did that, she made me take a picture with the fruits of my labor:

These only cost $2, yet Sarah is still pissed off at their demise. Not just an asshole, she's cheap to boot.

So, so mean to me. I hate Sarah.

Counter Surfing Is the New Hotness

Among Sarah's insane number of arbitrary rules are about a million rules related to food. One of the most annoying is her rule against counter surfing.

For those of you not in the know, counter surfing is when a dog - such as myself - puts his or her paws up on the kitchen counter to see what sort of goodness is being hidden up there.

I'm only 2 1/2 feet tall. How does Sarah expect me to see what's on the counter if I don't counter surf?

Like, 90% of the time, there's nothing on the counter worth my time or attention. Probably because, in addition to being an asshole, Sarah is very, very boring (and yet she wonders why she has no mans...).

But sometimes, Sarah leaves perfectly good food up there. I mean, just this weekend alone, Sarah left several plates with decent amounts of leftovers in them on the counter. And you know what she was going to do with that perfectly good food? Put it right down the garbage disposal! Does she think that I'm going to let perfectly good food go to waste like that? Not a chance! So, I counter surfed, and ate up what was leftover.

Of course, over time, I've gotten better at counter surfing. Sarah used to be able to put things at the back of the counter and keep them away from me, but I've wised up:

That's right, Sarah. I figured you out!

Of course, there might be some of you who see my desire to get at food on the counter as a source of my not-entirely-svelte figure. And you know what? You're assholes, just like Sarah.

Bath Time Is Not Fun Time

For some, the weekend is the best part of the week. For me, though, it sucks. You see, during the week, Sarah (the asshole) is at work most of the time, so I am on my own to do as I please. However, on the weekend, Sarah is here, and I am forced to put up with her all day.

Take yesterday. It was a beautiful day here, and it started off just fine - Sarah took me for a nice, long walk, and I got to see a bunch of other dogs. But then, we got home, and, because it was nice, I went out in the backyard, where I was minding my own business. As part of my business, I decided to roll in a substance I found back there. Hey, what can I say? I like the eau de shit (I am a dog, after all).

Now, I came back in, and Sarah was not very happy with me. This is what I looked like:

Lookin' good, if I do say so myself.

While I was happy to have pissed Sarah off, I was not happy with what happened next. You see, Sarah immediately decided I could not be in the house in this state, so she dragged me upstairs and gave me a bath. I wasn't even that dirty, just a little dirty!

I hate baths.

Thankfully (and surprisingly), Sarah did not take a picture of me while I was getting my bath. However, after I got out, she took this one of me:

All clean. Not a happy camper.

But I got the last laugh - as soon as I was all clean, I went right back outside and rolled in the crap again. Sarah was so frustrated she didn't even give me a second bath. And she left me alone for the rest of the day. It was awesome.

Backyard Fun With Holes

Among my few joys in life is the backyard of my house. Other than the squirrels, it's pretty awesome. One big reason it's awesome? Sarah (the asshole) very rarely goes out there.

Now, because she is rarely back there, this means I can pretty much get away with anything in the backyard. And you know what one of my fave things to do back there is? Dig holes.

One of my wonderful digging creations. Hopefully, I will find someone else to take care of me at the bottom of this hole.

Now, I am always hopeful that I will dig deep enough to get to China (or at least Illinois), where I will find someone to take care of me. So far, no good on that one.

However, there are other good things about digging holes. As one of my goals in life is to make Sarah's life as miserable as possible, I have to live with whatever results from this goal. Namely, this means I worry that Sarah will one day get so angry with me that she will stop feeding me. As I enjoy eating a lot, this would be very, very bad. So, to deal with that potentiality, I have to hoard whatever treats Sarah gives me.

Now, I can't just leave the treats lying around the house, or Sarah might start to think that I don't like treats and shouldn't get any more. That would be a horrible turn of events. Treats are a shining beacon of good in my otherwise joyless life.

So, to hide my treats, I just bury them in the backyard, where Sarah won't find them. It's actually quite a good plan - Sarah has so far never, ever found even one of my buried treasures.

But you know the best thing about digging holes? On the few occasions where Sarah does go in the backyard, seeing my holes everywhere really pisses her off. Which is, obviously, awesome.