Humans are such suckers

My Woman wrote in the forums here about my roommate Evelyn. She had some weird stuff going on and it seems to be this funky head tremor syndrome that bulldogs sometimes have. All the stuff on the interpipes says it’s harmless and the dog doesn’t hurt and so forth. My Woman is taking Evelyn for a bloodletting just for fun (she says it’s “to be sure Evvie’s ok”) next week. And Evelyn only did it once yesterday and none today, so she seems perfectly fine. I think she was faking anyway.

Now here’s where it gets funny. I also have a Man, you know. This Man does not know it, but he is wrapped around Evelyn’s little spotted paws so tightly that she twitches and he comes to see what she needs. She is such a princess, even if she is an ugly one that snores like an SOB. Whatever that  means. So yesterday my Man and my Woman went to a store. It’s called a hardware store but it’s really not. It’s so much more. It’s kind of like Christmas in a store. I know; I’ve been there.

In this store, my Man was buying something called bolts. Whatever. While he was getting them, he apparently told my Woman to go to their fancy-schmancy dog section (and it’s amazing and huge) and get some dog treats to make Evelyn feel better. My Woman told me this later. This is what she said: She picked out a box of dog cookies and then my Man asked her why she was being so stingy with one measly box. So he picked up another box. And then–this is where it gets good–he picked out a package of (wait for it)…dehydrated ostrich liver! Have you ever? Me neither!!! And damn, these were good cookies! Not that cheap crap she usually buys. These were high-class crap!

When they got home, I pulled my Woman aside and asked her about the shopping spree. She’s not usually like that. But he is. My Man loves to buy us goodies. She told me all this. I asked how much it cost. She said “don’t ask.” Ha! And all because they feel so bad for the poor widdle bulldawggie that has the head bobbles! Suckers!

Very bad day!

First she hauled me into this tub. I refused to help so I made her break her back. Serves her right.
Here she is drying me off. I am very close to biting her. Can't you tell?
She put me on the floor and I tried to escape through the janitor stuff. There is a window there. See?
I refused to move. She had to brush me right there. Again...serves her right.
Back in the car. I hate the car, but I'll tell you it beats the tub. And no I do not smell like lemons or whatever I was supposed to smell like. I smell like wet dog! Hahahahahah!!! Serves her right!

 

 

 

 

my field trip & the magic poop! by evelyn

i did a field trip. momma tole me how to spell it. field trip. i wented in my car with pop and momma. we wented to the dive shop first to see pop’s pals. they luv me bery much. i had to let all them mens rub my belly for a long time. then momma and me walk nex door.

nex door is P.C.’s Pantry. momma spell that one too. P.C.’s is a dog shop. the lady makes cookies. many cookies. and they gived a bunch to me cuz they just did. i comed in that door and they make skweeky noise at me. “o look at her she is so kute do you wanna treet corse yu do” and they skweek at me like babys.

so i let them give me them treets.

i seed dogs there. i seed a sane ben nard. o boy wat a big dog! i seed a bast hownd. he wuz meen. i seed a dog that lookd like gayle! she rilly did! her name is ella. she was nice an we had a kon ver sashun. i like her. an nen i seed a tripawd cat! momma tole me it is a cat. watever.

an nen yu no wat? i got more treets cuz i foun how to make momma git me more! i made poop on P.C.’s floor an that makes momma get me more treets!

  1. is like dis–i make the poop.
  2. momma sez “o evelyn why did yu do that?”
  3. momma say to P.C. lady “my dog made a posit.”
  4. P.C. lady say “is ok i will cleen it.”
  5. momma say “i am so sory.”
  6. P.C. lady make the LOL smiley face an say “is ok.”
  7. momma ask for them peenut buttr treets! she say to me “i feel gilty evelyn.”

is magic! if yu do them steps yore momma will git yu treets too! is magic!

we goed out the door wif that bag of treets an P.C. lady say “come bak cuz we never member who goed poop on the floor!” so i will tell momma lets go bak! bak for more majik!

–evvie

A frank, PG-13 rated letter to Dakota’s original owner

I am writing instead of Dakota this time. Today is Dakota’s 10th birthday, which got me to thinking about baby Dakota. I’m imagining him as a tiny puppy, fuzzy and helpless. And it pisses me off. So I want to write a letter to whoever was in charge when Dakota was born.

Dear Asshole,

About this time of year in 2002, you owned a female dog that you allowed to become pregnant. I understand completely that this was likely unintentional and that there is an excellent chance that you could not afford to spay that dog. Still, once the dog became pregnant and had her puppies, the responsibility for their lives rested in your human hands. In spite of your financial difficulties or your substance abuse issues or your painful childhood–or whatever potential past you came from–you had a chance to shine. You had a chance to do the right thing. Instead, you chose poorly. And on that day, you became a loathesome creature, a vile and slimy worm, lower than the dirt that you put your shoes on. You became an asshole and likely still are an asshole today.

“What?” I hear you say. “I’m a nice guy. I’m a great gal. What did I do?” Allow me to enlighten you.

You did not care for the lives that were in your hands. You did not provide food, water, shelter or medical care to the little family you allowed to come into being. You treated them as though they were expendable. I know, dear lord I know, how hard it can be sometimes to provide things that cost money. I know that if push comes to shove and we have to choose, we choose our human children over our dogs and cats. I am in agreement with you there. I would never tell you that you had to let your human child go without food so your pregnant dog could be fed.

That’s where shelters come in. And for the love of all that’s holy, it’s even where euthanasia comes in. If your dog and her puppies are slowly starving to death and you have no more resources available, then shoot them. It would have been kinder than what you allowed. If you had allowed Dakota to stick around to see the result of your inaction, you would have done the merciful thing. You have no idea how sick he was.

In August of 2002, Dakota was already standing with two feet on the Rainbow Bridge.

When we picked up Dakota in the middle of the dirt road that you either dumped him on or did nothing to keep him from, he was about 6 months old. We know this because he already had his adult teeth. But let’s be generous and say he was only 5 months old. I’ll give you the month. So at 5 (or 6) months old, he was dying. That’s how long the slow path to death was taking.

Dakota is an adult now and he weighed 80 pounds before he had his amputation. That was a pretty good weight for him. So I assume you will agree with me that Dakota was not supposed to be a small or medium dog. This is a big boy. Large breed dogs at the age of 5 or 6 months should weigh what? Good question. I looked it up. The average Labrador weighs about 50 pounds at 6 months. The average Golden at 6 months seems to be in the 50-pound range, also. I’m going to say Dakota should have weighed about 50 pounds when we found him. But I’m going to spot you 10 pounds here, too, because I don’t know for sure. I’ll lie and say he was 5 months old and should have weighed 40 pounds.

Dakota did not weigh 40 pounds. He weighed 12.

You asshole.

No thanks to you, Dakota somehow called to us and brought us to where he waited. He slowly strolled down the middle of a dirt road in an area with no houses or water sources for miles. Where had he been living? How had he been living? All I can think of is that God himself dropped Dakota right there that day and told him to start walking because we were on our way. When we saw Dakota in the road, we thought it was a large, ginger cat. That’s how little he was.

I have no idea who you are and what you are doing now. You may be dead, for all I know. For over 9 years, I’ve tried to forgive you for what you did to Dakota, his siblings and his mother. I can’t even imagine how things turned out for the rest of them. I will continue to try to forgive you. Some days I’m more successful than others. It’s a process, and it’s a long one. Today, though, I celebrate my dog’s birthday as a testament to his spirit of endurance and strength. He is a mess, thanks to you, but the fact that he lets me snuggle with him and accepts any form of touch at all amazes me. If you’d done those things to me, I would be in the corner pissing myself at the slightest noise.

Dakota is a wonderful dog, in spite of what you did to him. It’s too bad you didn’t give him the opportunity to let you see what potential he held. But I’m not surprised, because you are an asshole.

Sincerely,

Shari, Dakota’s Woman

 

CARE package from the Oaktown Pack!

Recently I wasn’t feeling quite right. I don’t know why, but I was tired and not very interested in my food or in doing much. My Woman wrote about it here. She said I didn’t want to stand up to eat and I hadn’t eaten but a few bites in several days. Well guess what? I got a CARE package to help me want to eat again! It came from the Oaktown Pack! And I’m not even a German Shepherd. That is so cool!

The CARE package was made at the Paw Patch Pastry shop and it was full of the prettiest, cutest, tastiest bacon cookies you can imagine. Travis Ray said they are doggie crack, and I have no idea what that means but he is absolutely right! I am so cracked about these cookies! Thank you, thank you, thank you Travis, Austin, Codie,  and even Smokey! And the Man and Woman, Ralph and Martha. You guys are pawesome!

Love, Dakota

My note from the Oaktown Pack
That pretty cookie basket.
Bunch of bacon beauties!
This one is mine.
And a bacon cupcake for dessert.
Cookie coma