You know what makes for a really fun Christmas present? Watching a dog accidentally step on the button and roll her own head up in the car window.
I'm just saying.
You know what makes for a really fun Christmas present? Watching a dog accidentally step on the button and roll her own head up in the car window.
I'm just saying.
Living in Oklahoma and being the owner of beagles, I get a lot of people (ok...men in camo hats and vests) asking if my dogs are huntin' dogs.
I always laugh and shake my head, pointing to Moxie, whose belly is so round, her nipples nearly drag the floor, and tell them that unless a pizza is on the run, she's simply not interested.
I've had a few of the guys shake their heads and give me the stink eye, telling me that hounds are MEANT to hunt and that's just that. They imply that I'm mistreating my beagles by not training them to hunt and kill squirrels or bunnies or penguins...or whatever it is people hunt with beagles.
I know, though, by looking at Moxie that she'd much rather lay in front of the tv drooling on herself than run around outside baying at prey. I mean, look:
Does she look like she's ready to do anything that requires moving fast? And, for that matter, she's terrified of frogs...how do you think she'd react to something as big and scary as a rabbit?
That's what I thought, too.
With that said, she has done some of her own brand of hunting lately that I, as a proud hound mother, have to share with the blogosphere. It proves that she's not ALL that lazy and does actually get out and use her genetic talents sometimes.
So, see? She IS a huntin' dog! And, boy, is momma proud of that!!
The puppy's name is :
BOWIE!*
Bowie was in first place all of Thursday. Then Brewster pulled ahead by a few votes. But Bowie took over again by this morning. So...congrats to Angie (who doesn't have a blog but SO needs one so I can link her)!!!!!!!!
*Attorney Shellie says: per aforementioned rules on naming of the animal now named 'Bowie', she, her girlfriend, or anyone else relating to said animal, reserves the right to call him 'Rugby' at any time because his appearance and action is that of an animal named 'Rugby' and she, in compromise, will name him Bowie Rugby [Lastname] because awwww, that just flows so cute!
Congrats to the top 4 names!! Look over there to your right!
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We ended up with many, many names on our list and finally cleared them out to ones we seriously couldn't decide between. We can see him with any of those names.
So...VOTE! Voting stops tomorrow at midnight.
Thank you all for submitting names - there were some pretty awesome ones! I personally liked Mojito, but Shellie axed that one as soon as it came out of my mouth. I think she may think I have a problem.
The bitch.
Ok, since everyone was coming up with such cute names in the comments below, we thought we'd give you guys a chance to name the puppy!
*edit to add : Kevin came up with the idea to have a vote for the name in the previous comments and I just now re-read that! Sorry Kevin! You're the bestest!!
SO. Everyone list some of your favorite doggy names (or what you think would fit the pup) in the comments here. Whoever offers the winning name will win a prize!
The Rules
The Hints
GO!
p.s. Here's a better close-up. Everyone say "AWWWWWWWW!"
Things are slowly returning to normal here, though the house isn't nearly the home it used to be. It's sleepy and quiet, like an overcast day. It's hard to walk into a room without seeing a reminder of the void, and my head hasn't quite figured out if that's a good or bad thing. I want to remember - but I don't want to remember. I want to forget - but I don't ever want to forget.
Instead, I try to take solace in Moxie - the one beagle left. Sometimes I twirl her ear with my finger like I did his, and close my eyes, pretending it's Malachi instead. I feel like I'm cheating her - like I'm a lover fantasizing about kissing someone else. I cringe when one of us accidentally calls her by the wrong name. I think to myself that I don't love her the way I loved Malachi - and I fear that she knows that. I don't want her to know that. I don't want it to be that way - we love all our children equally, right?
I keep bobbing into the guilt stage. What if...? What if...? I don't like the what if's - they plague me with their whispered taunts. I know better than to listen to them, but they bully me into submission anyway. What if...?
I see all the wonderful things about him. I remember all the faces he made, all the barks and howls and dream whimpers he sounded. And then I see his strained face at the end, feel the weight of his limp body, hear the click of his toenails on the car door as we rushed to the vet. I don't want to remember. But I don't ever want to forget.
About an hour before he died, he was sitting on my chest, just looking around, his face a blank slate. Every once in awhile, he'd catch my eye and stare into me and I could see a flicker of my Malachi - the real Malachi. I would grab his face with both hands and say to him "come back to me, baby". And then his eyes flickered again and his expression faded.
I will always see that face. I will always feel that stare. I will always beg : come back to me.
I don't ever want to forget.
In trying to focus on remembering the good stuff, how's about this?
Things I Never Thought I'd Say To A Dog....But I Did:
Hey! Don't eat my box!
I like playing with your big boobies.
Eww...Malachi, put your weenie back in your pants.
Now, you can't fit both your balls into your mouth at the same time.
Why are my panties on your head?
Hey, look! One of your nipples is black!
Um. Get your anus outta my face.
Hehe. You're licking my boobie.
No, I will not make out with you. Keep your tongue out of my mouth, please.
I haven't been around the last couple of days because my 7-year-old beagle, Malachi, had been acting strange and feeling sick. We couldn't figure out what was wrong with him - until it was too late. He died early this morning from what they're saying was an infection in his brain.
Looking back over the last 2 days of his life, I can see that he knew he was dying. And he was trying to let me know.
He was really clingy - anywhere I would go, he would be right next to me. If I was sitting down, he would be in my lap. If I was standing up, he wanted to be held. And that wasn't normal Malachi. He also tried to go quietly under the house and die alone, like dogs do, but when I showed up under there with a flash light and his leash, he lovingly followed me out.
Last night, for 2 hours straight, he was sitting/laying on my chest and staring at me in the face. He refused to be more than 6 inches away. I was crying because I didn't know how to help him feel better, and he kept gently sticking his nose up to my tears - not licking them...just letting me know he knew.
If I wasn't holding him, he was fidgeting, pacing, circling, non-stop movement. If I held him, he relaxed every muscle. For about 15 minutes, I rocked him and then I sat down, holding him to my chest like a child. That's where he died...in my arms.
He went limp and started having massive seizures after that, at 1:30am - and just never came out of it. At 4am, the vet called and said he'd stopped breathing and they were doing it for him. His heart was still beating, but just barely. At 4:20, after still no response to medication and the vet saying he had no visible brain function left, we had them put him down. They put my baby boy down...my beloved child of 7 years...my heart.
I'm going to miss every single thing about that dog. The way his toenails sounded on the wooden floors. The way he stretched under the covers every morning. The way he hogged every inch of the bed. The games just he and I knew how to play. The way he arched his head back and howled in protest when I left him in the car for 5 seconds. The blonde lining that was just beginning to appear around the edge of his floppy ears. Bee-hugs. That stupid pink ball that always smelled of slobber.
The boy was my beating heart. And I'm officially broken.
Malachi : 10/29/1999 - 5/12/2006
How does one know when one's dog is addicted to pain medication?
No, I mean besides them listening to Rush Limbaugh. Let me show ya.
The last few days, Malachi has been acting strange. He's been mopey and clingy and not playing at all. This is what he has looked like recently. Not a happy doggy.
Poor pooch. That's the saddest thing ever, yeah?
After seeing him yelp and hang his head down, we realized his neck was bothering him again. Several months ago, we found out he had a herniated disc in his neck - apparently a common ailment in beagles and weiner dogs (who knew?). So he got pills and it got all better. Until this week.
We got him back on the pills today at 2pm. By 6pm, he's become completely addicted. He's officially a pill popper! How do I know? Let me show you the evidence.
Dialated pupils!! I couldn't get a straight-on shot of him without crazy-eye. And I couldn't get him sit still very long to get a good picture. He was running like mad around the couch.
Constant cotton mouth. Dog drinks a gallon an hour. And pees just as much. Grrr.
CHEESE. Permacheese. Look at that grin. He's stoned off his ass.
Umm, helllllo? Trying to break into the bottle? If he could have said, "give me another pill, you bitch!!", he would have.
Threatening me! Again with the eyes! He's going to kill me in my sleep just to get more of the good stuff.
I know what Malachi is addicted to, and of course what Bo is...now I just need to figure out Moxie's. I'm a little scared.
With our upcoming out-of-state move, we made the heartbreaking realization that we needed to cut down on our menagerie. Right now we have 3 beagles, 1 jack russell and 2 cats. We decided taking two away from the equation would be something we could manage, albeit unhappily. The two that have been with us the least amount of time will be going to new homes. Good homes. Homes we trust.
Ranger (cat) will be one of those to go. Bo, my youngest beagle, will be the other. He is going to a home in Utah with someone I completely trust and who I will have contact with. I'm sure he'll be extremely happy to be somewhere where he is the only animal - he deserves that, I know. I wanted to do a little Bo tribute. A tribute to my favorite poop-eater, if there is such a thing.
This is a little long, so click below if you want to read more about my Misser Bo. (There are cute pics!!)
Continue reading "Tribute To A Poopy Puppy" »It was day like any other.
I, Detective Chase, was sitting at my desk, having a nice cup of joe. The handyman I'd hired had just finished putting the final coat of drywall mud on and had left the area to wash up. I leaned back in my chair and wondered what I would be blogging about today. A detective's work is never done.
Suddenly, I heard it : snorting like a mad boar in the vicinity of the new sheetrock mud. I knew right away there was trouble and dashed to the scene. And that's when I saw it.
It was a massacre. Sheetrock mud was missing, there were dents in a normally-smooth area. Clearly someone was sent to sabotage my progress! But who could it be? I mentally ran through the list of usual suspects.
Could it be Malachi, aka Misser B, the baby-faced but michevious older beagle? His eyes said no, but the smirk said maaaaaaybe. It also said 'stop taking pictures of me, you deranged monkey' but that's another story. I wasn't about to count him out quite yet.
Or what about the feline called Sadie? She's cunning enough to pull off a hit like this. But what would be her motive? Sure, like any cat, she wants to murder all humans and take over the world, but she also knows she can't open the cat food container by herself. Yet. I have a feeling there are future plans for this little criminal. Just look at that expression. Clearly, she's planning something sinister.
What about the new kid on the block, Bo (or as they call him in the yards, BoBo-Poopy-Eater)? Maybe he was trying to earn respect from the elders? He may not be the smartest criminal, but he's a sneaky little bastard. I thought maybe I had my culprit. Then I remembered he was in the slammer for an earlier prison (backyard) break. It couldn't have been him.
That left me with one other suspect, Moxie, otherwise known as "Momma's Fat Wittle Piggy Wiggy Cutie Patootie". When I showed up to investigate, she protested and swore her innocence, but there was evidence everywhere. It was obvious the mud was on her hands. Well, her face, anyway. I had her. She was going downtown with me.
Once again I solved a crime with my cunning PI skills and my superior investigation techniques. They don't call me...uh....Chase...for nothin.
Continue reading "Whodunit?" »We really need an intervention. Do rehab places take beagles?
Bo just can't. stop. eating. shit. We've done all we can do. We pick up the poo we see, but he follows the other dogs around, waiting for them to drop a warm loaf. We get those pill things and they work, but as soon as they run out, he starts up again. We re-start pills and what does he do? He digs under the fence so he can go eat the neighbor dog's poop.
He tells me he doesn't want to but he can't stop. He says the piles call him over and beg to be eaten. He says he wants help but doesn't know where to turn.
We have a beagle on the edge, here, people. Can't you see the desperation in his beady little eyes?
Technorati tags : beagles, dogs, behavior problems
But first, my tenant is leaving tomorrow, so please go click on her site (to your right) before she goes. She's been a wonderful renter - no late-night keggers, no loud music past midnight, and she smells wonderful! Go bid her adieu by clicking, please.
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Who says that animals can't feel or show emotion? Well, whoever 'they' are, they're just dead wrong. They should have seen Malachi's face today when the lady at the bank forgot to give him his drive-thru treat. He was sitting on my lap, arms perched on the open window, wagging his tail in a drool-covered pose, waiting patiently for his crunchy bone.
The tube came - no treat. He was devastated. After a frantic search, his ears drooped and he sat, facing away from me, staring out the passenger window until we got home.
I made sure to cuddle him and give his poor wounded ego two treats when we got back. Not only does he show emotion, he holds grudges. I imagine next time we go to the bank, he'll kindly flip the teller the bird.
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This story needs a little background. If you haven't read my fart story, please go read it now - you'll appreciate this one much more if you do.
Every morning, I wake up and let the babies (Moxie and Bo) outside. The other two (Malachi and Abbie) sleep with me, so I leave them in the bedroom until they knock on the door to be let out. Spoiled much? Why, yes - yes they are.
Today, after my third cup of coffee and my first round of blog-reading, I decided to go check on the sleeping beauties. I opened the bedroom door and it smelled like I'd stepped in a massive pile of crap. I knew immediately what it was. Malachi has epilepsy, and everytime he has a seizure, he takes a dump right then and there. It's his body's way of telling him it no likey. So, I find Malachi curled up on the floor, ashamed that he'd pottied in the house. I cuddle him and tell him it's ok, ashamed I missed protecting him from another seizure.
So I go on the search, careful of where I step, but I can't seem to find any sign of crappage. Then I realize : he was sleeping in bed when it hit him. I throw back the covers and there, on my side of the bed, is a perfect pile of doo. It was laying in the perfect position as if I, myself had crapped the bed.
I nearly ran from the room to grab my camera so I could blog it. It was too perfect considering the fart story (and the assumption that I pooped in the bed aftermath). I went back and forth with the camera, saying to myself both "no one wants to see a pile of poop in my bed" and "my god, this is the funniest thing EVER". The former won and I didn't take a picture. Darn it.
If you ever wonder how much I love you all, just know that I was thinking of each and every one of you when I was looking at a pile of crap this morning.
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Finally, I promised Divine Calm today that I would post some pictures of the beagles. So, without further delay, here are a few. Mouse over to find out names. :)
You remember my coffee maker. Ok, so I've had her in high gear today. By the way, she's become so important to me that I've decided she's a 'her'. To that extent, I've also decided to name her LuLu.
So, I'm on my 4th cup and I decide that the beagles might like a sip. They had been sniffing at me for awhile. What could it hurt? So I find a straw and do the "finger on the end so the stuff doesn't come out" trick and give each of them a few straw-fulls of sweet morning crack. They love it! I gleam with pride that I just made my dogs adore me that much more.
About 15 minutes later, I find myself yelling at them about everything. Moxie and Bo are chasing each other around the couch as fast as their little legs can carry them. I let them go because, for once, they aren't into something. I look up and see that Malachi has climbed to the top of the chaise and leapt onto the filing cabinet. I scold him and tell him to get down - just in time for Bo to start attacking the kitty. I get her to safety and Moxie has eaten something yellow and plastic (still can't tell what it is) and she has remains of it all over her face. So I'm cleaning that up and look up to find Malachi back on top of the filing cabinet. I get him down by using the "eh eh!" scold that sounds like a rabid parrot. By then, Bo is coming after me and launches into my chest, almost knocking me over.
As if I couldn't be more psycho this morning (I've had 4 cups of coffee, man!), I look up and see that *oops* I've missed class. So I do what any internet-loving girl would do. I blame it on my friends at the message board. But, since I'm posting here, I'll also blame it on the dog-children. They all made me do it, profesora!
Afterall, I can't take responsibility for my OWN actions. That would be all...mature...and stuff.
originally posted at Blogspot
