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Posts Tagged ‘Puppy’

Even fiercely independent pooches like myself have mothers. And I love mine very much. Thanks, mom, for 8 weeks of puppy suckling and little nudges with your cold nose.

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To all you pooches out there: Don’t forget where you came from. And to all those puppy mothers who haven’t gotten a phone call from their puppies in a while… I accidentally chewed up my own cellphone. Whoops!

Love you, Mom!

Also… to my mom away from mom – my female alpha male: your face always tastes like love. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be half the dog I am (probably the “ket” part… that half tends to misbehave way more than the “Bis” part).

I love you too!

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Minnesnowta

Sick of it!!!

Sick of it!!!

Ok this cold is seriously a problem. And it’s messing with the only routine I got: my poop cycle. You can’t expect a dog to lay one down when his little paws are cookin’ less than Ward Cleaver. I mean, seriously – it’s frigid out here in Minnesnowta!!!!

Now I’m the kinda pooch who does his research. Did a background check on the alphas before they came to snatch me out of the litter. (Luckily, they checked out. Plus, they had just bought a new bed and I was SICK AND TIRED of sleeping in a wooden box with a sloppy puppy roommate. Yeah, you know who you are. Thanks for always leaving the bathroom A TOTAL MESS!!!) So you know that when I gotta go, I’m gonna be all business.

Normally, here’s how it goes down (no pun intended). I go outside and fully investigate the area. I’m like a four-legged Sipowicz – find a little something and say, “Hmmmm… squirrel poop. Now that’s interesting… Let’s take it down to forensics and see if it sticks.” (Which of course it would because, you know, it’s squirrel crap.)

Then, after a clean sweep, I narrow it down. What I’m looking for is someplace nice and clean. Maybe a little patch of bark nuggets, or under an evergreen. A little personality doesn’t hurt either – I’ll take a few flowers or a bird chirping if I can get it. Once I find my spot, I give it the sniff. The double sniff. The triple sniff… the quadruple sniff! Three and a half to four and a quarter turns later, I’m lettin’ it fly, and (without getting too detailed) that’s that.

Now if anything breaks my concentration, it’s over; I can’t go. And that’s what’s happening with this weather. I mean, I’m working with four pawsicles here! I can’t get comfortable. My whole routine is out the window!

I NEED HELP HERE, PEOPLE (and pets). What do I do? Socks? Boots? Scotch tape and Ziploc bags? Give me something!!!!!

 

NOTE: I will not accept “moving” or “stilts” as suggestions. Jerk.

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BORED.

There is NOTHING to do around here. It’s flippin’ colder than an Iditarod husky’s nuts outside, the alphas aren’t home for another 3 hours, and I can’t sleep. THIS IS KILLING ME!!!!!!!

My day since lunch:

1:01 PM: Cleaned out the Kong.

1:15 PM: Snowing?? Again??

1:22 PM: Read boring newspaper article on housing crisis. Peed all over awesome article on movie dogs. Dammit!

1:29 PM: Dozed off.

1:30 PM: Woken up by the mailman and his 700 lb boots.

1:45 PM: Can’t sleep.

2:01 PM: Check Kong for treats. Zilch.

2:09 PM: Can boredom really kill me???

2:11 PM: Canines are dogs… and teeth. WTF?!?!?!?!?!

2:36 PM: Bark at blanket for no reason.

2:52 PM: Wrote boring blog about being bored.

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Totally chill day today (no pun intended). It snowed a poopload last night and it’s so cold that I can feel the boogers freeze in my scrunchy little shnoz. Sick! But anyways, besides painting the snow yellow every 3 hours, I’m chillin’ kennelside.

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna rest my little dome on this soft green blanket, let my eyes get heavy to the buzz of the TV and………….

WAIT! Are you serious??? You’ve gotta be kidding me… I think Turner and Hooch just came on TBS. It totally did!! CLASSIC! That dog cracks me up! HAHAHA look at that slobber!!! It’s going everywhere!!!! (NOTE: People think dogs are weird, and yet humans tuck their shirt into their underwear. I’m just saying…)

 

 

But honestly, why doesn’t Tom Hanks do more dog movies?? I’m starting a petition…

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My name is Bisket and I have Pupillius Sillius.

My name is Bisket and I have Puppillius Sillius.

There is a disease that afflicts almost 100% of puppies worldwide. A disease that causes puppies to lose control of their bodies, senses, and minds. It can strike at any time, and is incurable. It is known as Puppillius Sillius. Or more colloquially as: “Puppy Sillies”

Today, I had an outbreak of Puppillius Sillius. I was in the middle of playing when it hit me. I could feel the excitement building in my body and before I knew it, it exploded! I took off like a rocket down the hallway, scampering on the wood floor and sliding to a stop in the bathroom. Then I hightailed (even though I don’t really have a tail) it back the other way.

Nothing could stop me! My eyes were wide and my ears back as I went up and down the hallway again and again and again. My mind was saying, “Why can’t I stop!?!?!” But my body was saying, “YYYYYYEEEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

Finally, on the 10th trip down the hallway, I couldn’t slam on the brakes. You see, I’ve got wood floors (carpet makes me feel weird) and that makes for crappy traction. I slid on my butt for a good 10 feet – like one of those cartoon puppies on a patch of ice – and slammed directly into the door of my kennel… BOOM!

I sat there in a daze. Little cartoon birds flew around my head. What had come over me?? Had someone slipped a mickey in my water dish? I knew I shouldn’t have left it when I went outside to pee!! 

But then it came to me: I had just had an outbreak of Puppy Sillies. I apologized to Paul for accusing him of spiking my water dish.

You’re asking: “What’s it like to have Puppy Sillies?”

My answer: I just told you.

You’re also asking: “Do you feel sorry for yourself?”

My answer: Well how many times have you felt the crazy, lost-your-mind, sausages-for-every-meal kinda joy that makes you pin your ears back and sprint up and down the hallway? That’s nothing to feel sorry about.

But I really should move that kennel.

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I wish to entertain you.

I wish to entertain you.

The way I see it, I have 3 purposes in life:

  1. To entertain you.
  2. To educate you.
  3. To eventually break into the refrigerator and eat my way through a sea of potatoes, cheese, and leftover chicken salad.

We both know that I am fully capable of entertaining you. But do we both know that I can also educate you??? One of us does.

See, I don’t want to be seen as just another pretty irresistibly cute and stunningly dashing face. I want to be known for my brain too! So I’m starting a new segment:

“Bisket is… Mr. Smarty NoPants”

For each segment, I will educate you with a kernel of my infinite puppy knowledge. Sound good? I knew you’d think so.

So now, I present to you my first installment of…

 

BISKET IS… MR. SMARTY NoPANTS
Category: History

Greatly Depressing

Cats: Greatly Depressing

 

Did you know (probably not) that cats caused The Great Depression? 1928 was a tough year for dogs. More and more people were getting cats as pets. Dogs were kicked to the curb. They tried to reason, but the cat union said, “We will poo in a box.” And the people were convinced.

In 1929, the stock market went in the crapper – this was known as “The Great Recession.” People got down on their luck and needed some cheering up at home. They expected their cats to cheer them up. But the cats hid under the couch, or in the cupboard and wouldn’t come out. They provided no happiness – no happiness whatsoever. Not even a wag of the tail or a welcome home greeting (they did occasionally claw a table leg). So the people got sadder… and sadder… and sadder. And this turned The Great Recession into The Great Depression.

Luckily, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt (a president with 3 great dog names as his real name) created the New Deal. It provided emergency relief for the people – most notably throwing parachuted puppies from airplanes on Christmas Eve. “A pup to pick you up,” FDR promised. The dogs floated safely to the ground, wagging their tails and licking the faces of all Americans (who didn’t even mind the puppy breath!). The people were happy, their spirits soared, and the economy boomed.

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Who moved my #$%^& cheese?!

Who moved my #$%^& cheese?!

The bathtub and I have a love/hate relationship. Love because on the third Sunday of every month, it is the provider of delicious bits of cheese. Hate because on the third Sunday of every month, it is the provider of soapy fingers in my ears.

When I think back on my bathtub experiences, it’s all a blur. One minute I’m following a trail of Colby-Jack into a glorious cavern of white porcelain, and the next I’m being swept away in a blanket – wrapped-up and shivering like someone watching their house burn down from the back bumper of a fire truck.

Now I don’t mind the cheese and the blanket (or even the scrub-a-dub-dubbin’). But I do mind when people stick their little sausage fingers in my ears!!! As you can see, my ears are pretty big. And just as sensitive. If you were to draw a graph of my ear sensitivity v. how big they are, it would be a big flippin’ graph. Get the picture?

So bathe me all you want. I’ll gladly trade a little self-respect for some tasty cheese nibbles. But please leave my ears out of it. C’mon – what did they do to you?? (Besides that one time)

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