Baseball Is Not My Sport

Sarah enjoys sports. Not playing them (she's too uncoordinated to do anything requiring actual physical ability), just watching them. And, of course, using them to humiliate me. Today is Opening Day for baseball, which means Sarah broke out something for me to wear.

What? Did you expect me to look happy about this situation?

The worst part? Sarah didn't even purchase this. Nope, someone else bought it and gave it to her. So now I don't have to worry about just Sarah dressing me up, I have to worry about others helping her do it!

Because the hat wasn't bad enough as a hat alone, it also has to splay my ears out at a strange angle so I look like I could flap them and fly away.

This stinks. I just keep telling myself that Sarah is going on vacation next week, and I will get to live without her. Here's hoping her vacation will end my suffering, even temporarily.

Spring Stinks

So, spring has begun. In a move that will surprise absolutely no one, Sarah marked the occasion by dressing me up.

I am not a flower. Nor do I want to pretend to be a flower.

I don't know what is wrong with a person that makes her think "Hey, it's spring now. You know what? I should make my dog wear a flower headband!" My best guess is that a lot is wrong with her.

Sarah added to my humiliation by making me pose with an old stuffed rabbit. Not that you can tell what it is from this picture.

One of the few toys Sarah has bought me which I have not yet destroyed. After this picture, I may need to get on that.

Sarah's vacation (a.k.a., the three best weeks of my life) cannot get here soon enough.

St. Patrick's Day = Horrible

Now, Sarah does love to humiliate me. I think if you're on my website, you're well aware of this by now. However, she seems to take even greater pleasure in humiliating me on certain days. St. Patrick's Day is one of those days. In case you don't remember, this is what she had me in last year. Not my finest hour.

Unfortunately, it was quite pleasant compared to what she had me in this year.

Like last year, there is the green-colored water that is supposed to be beer. And, like last year, I was given no alcohol to wash away the memories of this outfit.

Most of this outfit is actually a costume Sarah wore. Yes, she actually wore these items in public, for the world to see. This is horrifying. At least she didn't bring me with her.

I look drunk in this picture. I wasn't. I wish I had been.

I am pretty sure she can't outdo this year, next year. I'm sure she'll try, though.

Take These Beads, Please

So, next week is Mardi Gras. Sarah and her sister go down to New Orleans nearly every Mardi Gras, and they are going again this year. For those who don't know, Sarah came back from Mardi Gras after her 30th birthday and got me. So obviously, Mardi Gras is NOT my favorite holiday (though I do enjoy having a few days off from Sarah while she is on vacation).

Of course, I like it even less after what Sarah did to me this year for Mardi Gras.

Yes, it's a Mardi Gras-themed feather hat (and beads, of course). I don't know exactly where she gets these things, but I'm pretty sure I can blame the internet for this one.

I can't tell you how happy I am going to be to be rid of her for a few days.

Another view. Because one picture of this ensemble just wasn't humiliating enough.

Unhappy Birthday, Sarah

So, today is Sarah's birthday. I did not escape unscathed.

There had better be a piece of cake in my future. And some ice cream as well.

Luckily, this is one of the few times that I can actually get some immediate revenge on Sarah (immediate revenge that does not involve my bodily fluids, at least). I would like to announce to the world that Sarah is 32 years old! Do not let her tell you she is 29! She's much older than that! She is 32!

Ah, that felt good. I can't wait for next year when she's even older. It's almost worth the strange party crown. Almost.

Rain Rain Go Away (And Take My Raincoat With You)

Yesterday, in a rare fit of treating me well, Sarah took me to the pet store and bought me not only a bag of treats, but a new toy as well (which, now that I remember, I still haven't properly destroyed - I guess I have a plan for the day!). Unfortunately, with Sarah, no trip to the pet store is complete without the purchase of something humiliating for me. Yesterday, it was a raincoat. Now, I figured I had at least a couple weeks before it rained here and I was forced to endure this latest humiliation.

I was wrong. This morning, it rained.

The fact that the coat is not pink is only a small consolation to me.

Having purchased the coat only yesterday, it goes without saying that Sarah heard the pitter patter of rain on the roof this morning and leaped out of bed, giddy as a kid on the first day of summer, in anticipation of my impending torture.

Next time, I vote that we skip the walk in the rain entirely. I have a backyard; I can take care of business there.

I guess there is a little comfort to be had in the fact that no one else was out walking their dogs in the rain this morning, so (as far as I know) none of the other dogs in the neighborhood saw me in this get up. Unfortunately, I may not be as lucky next time. Because you know there will be a next time with this.

I Do Not Heart Sarah

As you are probably aware, Sarah is perpetually single. While most women who are within two weeks of their 32nd birthdays would find this a state of affairs to be remedied as quickly as possible, Sarah seems entirely content to be single. Probably because it means she can devote 100% of her energy to tormenting me.

Anyway, while many a single almost 32-year old would be lamenting yet another year of Valentine's Day without a mans to buy her roses or chocolates, Sarah takes joy in having another excuse to dress me up.

The proper sentiment in my world is Licks and Butt Sniffs.

There is a LOT of pink in that picture. Also, lest you see the toy and think that Sarah is secretly hiding a boyfriend who bought it for her from me, I feel the need to point out that the stuffed animal in this picture belongs to her sister. Which also means that, instead of getting to chew it up, Sarah took this picture and immediately hid the panda from me. SO MEAN. But so par for the course.

Bachelorette Blues

So, as you may know, Sarah and I have been on the road a LOT lately, both because of Sarah's work and because of her non-work life. This last weekend, I visited a new state (Ohio) so that Sarah could attend a bachelorette party for one of her friends from law school (yes, Sarah is a lawyer. And you thought she was a bad person even before I told you that!). Now, I was just supposed to hang out while Sarah went to this party, but we had to drive many hours to get there, and it snowed almost the entire way, so we were quite late. So, instead of getting a nap like I had expected, I went to the party. It was NOT my idea of fun, but then, hanging out with Sarah is never my idea of fun, so this shouldn't surprise you.

But do you know what was even less my idea of fun? Having Sarah dress me up in a veil when we got back to Indiana.

The fake pearl necklaces were not my idea, either.

I really did not need this. It's freezing cold here, I've been dragged all over the midwest this last week, and the last thing I want is to have to deal with Sarah's desire to dress me up. Hopefully, things will get better soon. It's at least supposed to be warmer this weekend, giving me the chance to play in some mud and mess up the house.

You may now kiss my butt, Sarah.

Cold, Cold, Cold!

It has been VERY cold here in Indiana recently. Now, I've got a fur coat, so I don't mind a little cold every now and then, but it has gotten absurd. There should not be minus signs in front of the temperature, ever! And, as it's Fahrenheit, you know it's cold when there is a minus sign!

You'd think that, because it's so darn cold here, that Sarah would be happy to sit under the blankets in bed, or wrapped up in a Snuggie on the couch. But no, of course she isn't. Nope, she had to find something to dress me up in, as if the fur coat is not enough in her mind.

She has put me in the scarf before, but the hat is new. Frankly, I would prefer not having to deal with either.

Now, I usually enjoy going to Wisconsin, but it is MUCH colder there than where I live. So I would be perfectly happy to chill here in Terre Haute. However, Sarah is never content to leave well enough alone, so of course she is planning to take me to Wisconsin next week. I wish she would make plans to take me somewhere warm instead. I'm sure my grandparents would understand.

Dog As Dog

Sarah has truly outdone herself. As you may know, last Friday was Dress Up Your Pet Day (whoever invented that is a cruel, cruel, person. Unless, of course, they intended the day to apply to cats only. In which case, this person is a national hero). Lucky for me, Sarah was in Wisconsin, so I avoided it. Or, at least, I thought that I had avoided it.

Turns out, I was wrong. Sarah decided to make up for missing the day this morning.

Yes, Sarah dressed me, a dog, in a dog mask. It makes no sense. I really should stop even trying to make sense out of what she does.

Sarah seems to have interpreted "Dress Up Your Pet Day" as "Dress Your Pet Up as a Pet Day," because I cannot fathom any other possible explanation for why she would want a dog to wear a dog mask. I guess I should be thankful that she didn't find a cat mask for me. Although it would have made more sense, it would have been that much more humiliating.

This Is a Test

So, my cousin Izzy hurt her paw over the weekend (she cut her pad), so today she had to go to the vet to get it checked out. I hope she gets well soon, both because she's my awesome cousin, and because this is what happens to me when she hurts her paw:

Do you see that bandage on my leg? I'm not even hurt. I feel this is an insult to dogs who actually are hurt. And I know for a fact that's not even the leg that Izzy hurt.

Seriously, Sarah, do you somehow think this will make Izzy feel better? I mean, yes, she might laugh her butt off when she sees this picture of me, but it's definitely not going to actually heal her.

A close-up view. As you can see, I better not get hurt, because Sarah sucks at putting on bandages.

Anyway, Izzy, get well soon, if only because I have a sneaking suspicion Sarah might buy me an Elizabethan collar. You know, "just for fun."

Spa Day

So, yesterday, Sarah went out and got a haircut. Needless to say, it has not improved her appearance in the slightest, nor will it help her attract a guy so that she can torture someone other than me for a change. Unfortunately, this trip to the salon inspired Sarah to dress me in spa attire.

It's Sarah's robe and therefore doesn't fit. At all. However, it does make me look less fat than the too-tight shirts, so there's that.

Of course, dressing me up in spa attire did not result in any spa treatments for me, like a nice massage. Nope, I just got the same old crap from Sarah as everyday.

I like to believe that by wearing this mask over my eyes, I can hide from future humiliation.

I guess I should be thankful that her haircut didn't inspire her to get me a haircut, because I know that would turn out poorly. Still, I wish she would do something for once that didn't end in humiliation for me.

Christmas, Part 3 (The End)

So, when I woke up Christmas morning, there was a bit of panic on my part. You see, all of the stockings had been taken down and filled with goodies, EXCEPT MINE! This was cause for panic.

You can tell Santa has been to my grandparents' house by the nearly empty glass of milk and the partially eaten cookies. And yet, there my stocking is, all alone and unfilled. Horrible!

Christmas was turning out terrible. But then, things started looking up. You see, it turns out that even though there was nothing in my stocking, there were gifts for me! Here's my first (yup, first!) bag of them.

After the whole stocking debacle, you would be sticking your head in the bag like this, too. 

Santa did come for me! I should never have doubted the cuteness to attract him my way. And, unlike Sarah would have done, Santa brought me ZERO items of clothing. Santa rocks!

There were three big bags of stuff for me. Unfortunately, he failed to bring me the number one item on my list: a new owner. Well, there's always next year.

Christmas, Part 2

So, while Christmas started off pretty badly, it promptly got worse. First, we have a little snow in Indiana. Enough so that it looks like Christmas, but not so much that it inhibits my ability to walk around and take care of my bodily functions. It's pretty much the perfect amount of snow. Wisconsin? Not so much.

This definitely qualifies as too much snow. WAY too much snow. And I'm supposed to squat and poop in this. Needless to say, it typically does not go well. Perhaps I should learn to use the litter box. Or not.

Second, Sarah FINALLY got me a stocking. This should be something fun and exciting. However, we're talking about something Sarah purchased here. And she didn't get me something nice and pretty and appropriate. Instead, she got me a horrible stocking, that I do not like at all.

Yes, it's pink. Yes, it suggests that I am naughty. No, I do not approve. At all.

This whole thing was made even worse because, just before Christmas, I broke a window. Now, this really shouldn't be considered my fault. After all, there was a squirrel sitting just outside the window on a fence, and it was taunting me. And really, the window should have been able to hold my weight, because, seriously, 65(-ish) pounds is not that much. But, I did pound on the window as I barked at the squirrel and break it, so I guess I could see how some people (namely, Santa and Sarah) would think that I had been naughty and decide not to bring my presents. So, having a stocking that suggests I am naughty makes me a little worried.

Is this the face of a naughty dog? I think not.

It turns out, come Christmas morning, my fears of being on the naughty list were seemingly coming true...

Christmas, Part 1

OK, so rather than tell you all about my Christmas in one long post, I am going to break it up into several (in theory, this is to highlight specific aspects of my Christmas, but in reality, I'm just a lazy dog at heart and this is easier than sitting down and writing one long post).

Things started out rather badly for me, I have to say. First, my cousin Izzy did not come to Wisconsin for Christmas. My Aunt and Uncle went to California to see her family, so no Izzy for me to play with here in Wisconsin. More importantly, even though we had a relatively uneventful trip from Indiana to Wisconsin (always a question of whether our trip will be scary - Sarah is a HORRIBLE driver), almost the moment we woke up the next morning, Sarah had me wearing yet another Christmas shirt.

"Meet me under the Mistletoe." There are no boy dogs at my grandparents' house, only boy cats (and humans). I am NOT kissing one of the cats. So this shirt is not only stupid, it's an inaccurate statement on my feelings about mistletoe. 

As you can see, this shirt is FAR too small for me (yes, if you must ask, I have been hitting the treats a little hard this Christmas season. But with Sarah, you eat treats when you get a chance. Who knows when the next treats might be coming). And so, unsurprisingly, my trip to Wisconsin started off quite poorly...