It’s Like Driving Miss Daisy – Except She’s a He and in the Front Seat. And Her Butt is Thirty Times Larger than Her Head.
So, you know how you open the pantry door and take out the leash, and your dog dances the happy dance and practically trips you as he races to the front door? And then he sighs loudly as you wander around the house looking for your keys? And then he starts whining and barking at you when you tell him to wait a second because you lost your phone and he lets loose a barrage of doggie expletives because you are wasting precious time interrogating everyone in the household? And then you finally get to the point where you can open the door, but you can’t because he has wedged himself in front of it to make absolutely sure that you don’t leave without him? So, you have to pull the door open and slide him across the floor until he realizes that the moment of departure has finally arrived? And then, he races out the door and you yell at him to wait and to stop running because he has a broken knee?
And he does. Wait, I mean.
By the car door.
Because he does not want to go for a walk.
He wants to go for a ride.
Chauffeured by you.
And even though it’s raining and cold and you have absolutely nowhere to take him, you feel sorry for the poor guy who, despite his torn ligaments, has been dancing by the front door every time you put on your shoes for the last three days. So, you let him jump on to the passenger seat and you ignore his muddy feet, and you ignore the seat belt beeper that warns you that someone more than 35 pounds is sitting next to you, and you ignore the fact that you should not be rewarding a dog who ate your book of strategies for winning Scrabble out of pure spite for anything that takes your attention away from him.
You drive your silly dog to the neighborhood nearby where the houses are far from the road, so maybe no one will notice that you are on a joyride with your bulldog. And you slow down to let him watch deer grazing in the yards. You even roll down the window so he can inform the deer that they better watch out because, if he feels like it, he’s going to heave his 60 pounds through that window and plop onto the ground and then there will be trouble.
And then you move on.
After wandering around for about fifteen minutes, you finally pull back into your own driveway. Your dog lumbers out of the car slowly. He follows you to the front door. Exploring the neighborhood on his own four paws holds no appeal. As soon as you get inside, he sprawls out on the floor with a sigh.
You can’t tell if it’s a sigh of contentment or disappointment.
But at least he won’t be eating any more books any time soon.
What’s Not to Love?
Sometimes I forget that not everyone is as enamored with fat gassy bulldogs with an underbite as I am. Wonderbutt was hanging out on the Starbucks patio with Cap’n Firepants and me the other night, and getting lots of lovin’ from passersby. But then a tall, burly guy rounded the corner with his latte and stopped short when he saw Wonderbutt. He glared at me and backed away slowly to find a seat somewhere else. I know I can be pretty intimidating, but I can’t help but feel that Wonderbutt had something to do with the man’s quick retreat.
Momma Didn’t Raise No Pencil Pusher
So, what do you think he was trying to tell me with this act of rebellion?
A. How is this different from my dog food? They both taste like sawdust.
2. I hate people who spend time writing their blog instead of paying attention to me.
III. I may not be the sharpest pencil in the box but that doesn’t really matter now, does it?
Four. I’m going to make this #2 live up to its name.
ALWAYS Have an Exit Strategy
Our bulldog, Wonderbutt, has been trying very hard to run away from his own butt lately. He suddenly leaps up, looks at his rear end, and then races around the house, screeching to a halt in random locations, and sitting down hard. Then he tries to bite whatever is bothering him back there, and generally topples over because dogs shaped like fat sausages just can’t do that kind of contortion. This picture shows Wonderbutt following one of his desperate attempts to elude his bottom, at the end of which he barged into Dimples’ bedroom where Cap’n Firepants was relaxed on the floor reading to her with a blanket over his legs. Wonderbutt charged underneath the blanket, then whirled around and glared at everyone from underneath – apparently blaming us for his disobedient derriere.
But enough about him. Let’s talk about me.
The other day, I was getting ready for work, and decided to wear a dress that I hadn’t worn in awhile. I vaguely recalled that it had a zipper on the side, but my fumbling didn’t find one, so I decided to pull the dress over my head. Of course it got stuck. That happens to me a lot. But this time I could not wiggle my way out of it in either direction. The more I tried, the more stuck I became. What’s worse is that I realized during my struggles that there was a zipper on the dress – and it was very decidedly zipped. Which made me feel a bit less fat but a lot more blind.
The sight of myself in the closet mirror made me panic further. Cap’n Firepants was in the shower. There was no way I was going to let him see me like that. There are just some things you can never unsee. And I certainly couldn’t let my daughter see it either. I only had one option.
I tiptoed to the bathroom and got the nail scissors out. This was no easy feat considering that my arms were strait-jacketed to my sides. Even more challenging was cutting the dress. But a shot of adrenalin made this an easy task when I heard the shower water turn off.
Unlike Wonderbutt, I can’t blame my butt for my wild dance around the room; the dress never even made it to that region of my body. Nope. Just my own stupidity and lack of planning.
From now on, I’m going to take a cue from my dog. If I’m going to insert my uncooperative body into a piece of fabric, I’m going to make sure there is an easy way out.
Either that, or I need to perfect that glare that lets everyone know that the fact I look ridiculous is entirely and completely your fault, not mine.
Wonderbutt Gets Ready for Halloween
What does it mean if you promise yourself to blog regularly to hone your writing skills, and then you skip the writing part of the process? It means Wonderbutt kindly presented some blurry photos right when your week hit its busy peak…
Then Dimples tried to put a Halloween headband on him, and that was the end of Wonderbutt pretending to be helpful.
I Think He’s Implying that I’m Shark Bait If I Don’t Give in Soon
Quick recap: Our bulldog, Wonderbutt is on a diet. He does not like the new food. So, now he is texting me his displeasure.
I Can’t Imagine Why He Hasn’t Lost Any Weight
Let’s Face It. You Will Probably See this Exact Post Again at the Beginning of August.
So, the summer is almost over and I have gotten absolutely nothing accomplished.
Christmas gifts – none made.
Re-aquaintance with friends I haven’t seen during the entire school year – nope.
Closets – still a mess.
Novel – unwritten.
Weight – not lost.
New recipes – unlearned and uncooked.
On the upside, though…
Christmas gifts – none needed if I don’t ever get in touch with any friends again.
Closets – great excuse to continue to un-write my novel.
Weight – none gained while not eating the new recipes that I didn’t cook.
I blame my lack of productivity on Wonderbutt who, frankly, is not a very motivational presence with his habit of following me into every room, collapsing onto the floor, and snoring and farting contentedly while I try to focus and remember why I walked into the room in the first place before I succumb to the fumes that are partly my fault because I didn’t read the text from my husband that he had already fed Wonderbutt this morning – until it was too late.
Plus, he (Wonderbutt, not my husband) completely ruined my plans for today by yanking my blanket off the bed so he could nap on it, resulting in an unscheduled extra load of laundry and a complicated calculation of what time the blanket could go in the washing machine still leaving me time to run the dishwasher (which, of course, cannot be run concurrently), and what time the blanket would be able to go in the dryer so that I would still have it in time for bed. And when, precisely, was I going to take a shower? Because having a clean blanket would be kind of a waste if I just pulled it on top of my unclean, Wonderbutt-licked-with-affection legs and arms when I went to bed.
You can see what I’m up against. Lucky for you, you can’t smell it…
Exactly How Many Calories are There in Styrofoam?
Our bulldog, Wonderbutt, seems a bit put out lately – possibly because we have been restricting his food intake the last couple of weeks. Note that I said, “food intake”. If you know anything about the history of Wonderbutt, you won’t be surprised to learn that his intake of everything but food has not decreased at all. You can see from the widget on the left that he has miraculously made it almost a year without devouring our new living room furniture – but I’m not sure his self-control will last much longer.
It’s hard to explain to a dog why you are feeding him less, and that binging on beds with no nutritional value is not a healthy habit.