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.

St. Patrick's Day Sucks

You know, at least if Sarah (the asshole) had been drunk, there would have been some sort of reason for her to have thought doing this to me was a good idea:


Of course, she wasn't drunk when she took this picture, and even more unfortunately, neither was I. That's not beer there, it's just water with food coloring in it.

Even worse, I'm sure I'll be forced to watch The Boondock Saints when Sarah gets home from work today. She'll probably have a beer, and I'm sure she won't share with me (she'll probably try to foist more green water on me).

I hate St. Patrick's Day.

Rules Are Not For Me

Sarah (the asshole) has some completely arbitrary rules around the house. One rule that really pisses me off involves the two couches in the house. In the TV room, we have a hard, uncomfy couch without pillows. In the living room, we have a soft, super comfy couch with a bunch of pillows.

Now, Sarah only lets me go on one of these couches. I'm sure you're familiar enough with Sarah's asshole ways to know that I'm not allowed on the comfy couch, even though Sarah rarely uses it, AND it has a great view out the front window of the house.

Heavenly napping on the good couch - so close, yet so far away.

Luckily for me, Sarah is gone at least 8 hours a day at work. So, in the morning, after watching Sarah leave and making sure that the coast is clear, I jump right on up on the couch and settle in for a nice nap. Now, it's all fine and dandy when Sarah is at work and I can just snooze away. But when she comes home, I'm forced to obey the couch rule and only sleep on the uncomfy couch.

Admittedly, sometimes I try and break the rules, like when Sarah is watching TV and super caught up in paternity tests on Maury (she has AWFUL taste in television, like so many other things). But the moment that she gets up off of her butt and catches me, all hell breaks loose. She immediately yells at me, like I've eaten a pair of shoes or something really bad. I'm always thinking, chill the fuck out, Sarah, I'm just lying on the couch. It's not the end of the world.

I guess I really shouldn't expect anything else from Sarah, though. She is, after all, an asshole.

A Short-Lived Victory

Haha! I completely messed with Sarah (the asshole) earlier this week! You see, Sarah spends far too much time on her computer, when a good owner would spend that time taking me out for walks or to the pet store or for a car ride. So, Thursday night, I pretended I was chewing on a toy, but instead, I was chewing right through the computer cord:

See that? That's the cord in two pieces. I even did it without getting a big shock (trust me, I have some experience in this particular subject. It involved Sarah's Playstation - of course, that was totally worth the shock to get Sarah to actually pay some attention to me for once).

I figured this would get me at least a weekend of Sarah being forced to do fun things with me, but I wasn't counting on Amazon being able to ship a new one so that it would arrive on a Saturday. Turns out, Amazon employs a bunch of bastards who wish to facilitate Sarah's assholishness, and they have Saturday delivery. So, of course, Sarah got the Saturday delivery, and I got to spend my Saturday watching her play on the computer.

Next time, I chew up the cord on a Friday night after the deadline for Saturday delivery has passed, and ensure that Sarah has to play with me all weekend.

I Need My Morning Beauty Walk!

As I have mentioned before, I live across the street from a park.

Beautiful me in front of one of the signs for the park.

It's a pretty cool place to live across the street from, except for the squirrels. Plus, when Sarah (the asshole) and I go for walks, there's almost always something interesting going on that at least momentarily distracts me from how much my life usually sucks.

Now, normally, Sarah takes me for two walks a day. Despite the fact that these walks are entirely too short and require me to be on a leash, they are definitely the highlight of my otherwise shitastic life. One of the best parts of our morning walk is that we get to see the park's caretaker. Unlike Sarah, she appreciates my awesomeness, and gives me several treats every morning. Obviously, this makes her awesome.

Sadly for poor little me, the caretaker doesn't work in the park all winter, because there isn't enough work to keep her busy. This obviously sucks for me. But then today, guess who came back to the park? The caretaker!

This is pretty much going to be the highlight of my year, and I can hardly contain my excited pee while Sarah is getting ready this morning. Considering what happened shortly after she got ready, I should have let the excited pee flow freely.

You see, Sarah skipped our morning walk! The asshole!

Sarah excused this inexcusable behavior by claiming that we were in the middle of a downpour and she didn't want to go out in the rain and get her work clothes all wet. Newsflash, asshole: you could put on old clothes and carry an umbrella and not get wet! Did you ever stop to think about that solution? Actually, Sarah probably did think of this solution, but thought it would be fun to torture me by making me stay inside and watch the park's caretaker give away my treats to other, less-deserving dogs in the park. She's just that kind of asshole.

I Told You So

In case you had any doubt about squirrels being little bastards, I present this article for your reading displeasure. A little advance tidbit from the article in picture form:

Animals That Suck: Squirrels

There are a lot of cool things about spring. For example, the backyard becomes a muddy mess, which means that whenever I come in from outside, I track mud all over the light carpets. Sarah (the asshole) hates this. So, obviously, I do it as often as possible.

However, the return of spring also brings the return of one of my most bitter enemies: the squirrel.

Here's one of the little bastards on the bird feeder next door.

I live across the street from a park, which sounds pretty fucking cool, until you realize that I only get to go there twice a day when Sarah deigns to take me out for walks. The rest of the day, I'm forced to stare at the other dogs getting to walk and play in the park with their super cool owners, while I sit - abandoned by my own asshole owner - like a prisoner in my own home.

But the biggest problem with the park is that it is infested with squirrels. Like, hundreds of the little bastards. They run around and act like they own the place, with smug little squirrel smiles on their faces.

You know who could wipe those smug smiles off of their faces? Me. You know how? By chasing those bastards all over the place. But you know who won't let me do this? Sarah. You know why? Because she's an asshole.

So, instead of me getting to solve the park's squirrel problem, Sarah drags me around the park like a little bitch, forced to watch those smug bastards instead of chasing after them, like I should obviously be allowed to do. It sucks.

But you know what sucks more? The squirrels come over to my house, sit just out of reach on the backyard fence and fucking laugh at me. I'm telling you, they're just little bastards.

Dogs in the News: Jamaican Dogsled Edition

Dude, there's a Jamaican dogsled team! Well, I guess it's less of a team than a dude with some dogs. And a sled. But still, pretty fucking cool.

You know, even though it would be a really cold job, being a dog on the Jamaican dogsled team would definitely beat my life with Sarah (the asshole), even if the dude is sponsored by Jimmy Buffett and I would have to listen to that shit while we trained. He seriously cannot listen to as much Jimmy Buffett as she does. I swear, sometimes I think that if I hear Fins one more time, I'm going to go shark on Sarah, and not in a pleasant way for her.

Babies > Adults

Sarah (the asshole) sprang a new one on me this weekend: she brought friends over who have a baby. Yes, a real, live, potential future asshole (though, as it is not being raised by Sarah, the chances of that happening are far less than they would be if she was raising the kid).

A picture of me in my younger, baby days. Adorable, if I do say so myself.

Now, despite my hatred of Sarah, I'm actually pretty chill with most humans. After all, they may offer to take me away from Sarah, and give me the awesome life I fucking deserve. Of course, the chances of this happening are probably nil, as Sarah is under the fucking delusion that I actually like living with her. I don't know how she is still under this delusion, as just yesterday morning I left her a little present when she didn't wake up early enough for our morning walk (and by "present," I mean a stinking pile of dog shit).

I will, however, count my blessings on this front, as Sarah has not managed to breed yet (I can't even imagine the sort of assholery a child of hers would have to put up with. On the plus side, if she ever does find a mans who will put up with her shit (unlikely), I'll have someone to commiserate with). However, she does have cooler friends who do have kids, and two of them were over this weekend with their 1 year old.

Now, I have to tell you, there are a shitload of things to like about babies. First, they spill food all over themselves on a regular basis, which gives a dog like me ample opportunity to sample various sorts of human food (which, obviously, is far better than the hard kibble shit that Sarah forces me to eat).

Second, they have the whole "make adults do whatever you want them to" thing down. They cry, and adults come running. Even better, they're often offering food! I have to figure out how they do this shit. I mean, seriously, if I barked as much as a baby cries, I'm pretty sure I would be on a one-way train back to the animal shelter (and, as much as I fucking hate Sarah, I really would rather not take my chances somewhere like that. At least I'm pretty sure Sarah is not going to kill me. The emphasis being on "pretty sure"). But a baby cries, and here comes the parent brigade, with bottles and toys and all sorts of good shit. I need to figure that one out (though I'm pretty sure nothing I could do would cause Sarah to do anything this cool).

Third, they smell AWESOME. Obviously, there is the food mentioned above, but they also smell like poo, which is great! I swear, I roll in just a little bit of shit, and I am in the bathtub ten minutes later. A baby poos all over itself on like an hourly basis, and people just wipe that up, smack another diaper on the thing, and let it go back to whatever the hell it was doing before.

As you can tell, I am a fan of babies. Unfortunately, this one went back home after only like 10 minutes of me getting to play with it. Of course it went home quickly. Like Sarah would fucking let me enjoy something like a baby for any longer than that. Such an asshole.

You Don't Want to See This

I'm going to fucking kill Sarah. This isn't even asshole behavior. This is so far beyond asshole behavior, I'm going to have to come up with a new word for it.

Now, I'm a healthy young pup, and as such, I have what I will call "urges." Last year for Easter, Sarah bought me a pink stuffed bunny (of course it was pink. That woman likes pink far too fucking much). Now, this bunny is absolutely perfect for one thing, and that one thing has given the bunny its common name - "hump bunny."

Now, Sarah may be an asshole, but I thought she was a decent person. Turns out, she's not. You see, the other day, Sarah took my picture in flagrante delicto with the hump bunny:

Not. Fucking Cool. What kind of sick perv takes a picture of a dog humping a stuffed bunny? You know Sarah is probably selling this shit on the internet and funding her "Buy Choppy stupid fucking sweaters" fund.

I just fucking hope that she doesn't find her video camera, because you know she would video this shit. Asshole.

The Way Things Ought to Be

I have many, many recurring dreams about potential role reversals involving Sarah (the asshole). Like, instead of her driving, I drive the car. And she gets put in the kennel instead of me. And I get to sleep in bed instead of her. You get the point.

It turns out, some dogs are lucky bastards and actually get to live out this fantasy, by mushing humans:


Here's the article. And, as if this wasn't fucking cool enough already, it was sponsored by Snausages. Those things are fabulous. Almost as good as Beggin' Strips.

Pink Is the New A**hole

Dear PetSmart:

Please stop putting dog clothing on sale. I'm owned by an asshole named Sarah who is all over the PetSmart dog clothing clearance rack like pit bull on Mike Vick (yeah, it's a bad one. I'm not a fucking comedian here).

I look like the sort of tool who would show up on hipster puppies. Sarah even took this picture at an angle, which makes it even worse. Next thing you know, she's going to start refusing to capitalize my name and making me drink PBR (even though you know she's saving the good beer for herself).

At least could you keep the pink stuff away from the clearance rack? Pink is the new asshole. Any hipster knows that.

Licks and butt sniffs,

Choppy

I've Got Your Beads Right Here

Sarah (the asshole) takes an annual trip to Mardi Gras. Last year, she came home and got me, starting me down the terrible, horrible path that my life has taken. She even named me after a street in New Orleans - Tchoupitoulas - which was fucking stupid, because no one is ever going to refer to me as Tchoupitoulas, so I'm now Choppy.

Anyway, Sarah thought it would be a good fucking idea to dress me up in a boa and beads before she left, like I am some floozy who will just show her doggie girl parts if asked. Look at this assholery:

I look like a fucking tool. Who puts a boa on a dog? As you can see, I was giving her the evil eye in this picture.

Two good things have come of this trip, though. First, Sarah smashed her finger between a ladder and her car getting ready, which required her to poke a pin in her fingernail (Yes, I take pleasure in her pain.). Second, I get to go to my friends' house, which is, of course, much more fun than my normal life.

Anyway, happy fucking Mardi Gras.