I’ve often said that Wonderbutt is a literary dog. He tends to eat books rather than read them, however. Lately, though, he has shown great interest in attending my reading sessions in my daughter’s bedroom in the evening. This started while we were reading the James Herriot book, so I thought he just enjoyed animal stories. But, we’ve since moved on to an adventurous fantasy novel, and he continues to join us each time. (When I say, “join”, I mean that he leaps up out of a deep stupor whenever I head toward her room, and races me to the usual spot by the beanbag where he then collapses by my side as soon as I begin to read.) I would feel honored by his eagerness to participate – if he didn’t start snoring and passing gas in the middle of my orations.
I came across this the other day.
So, I tried to find out what a group of Wonderbutts is called. It seems that there is no such thing.
I know what I could call one Wonderbutt: a Scorn. Any ideas for the collective noun for bulldogs? Here is an amusing collection for your entertainment. (I already tried “Drool”, and it was taken – for babies.)
Our bulldog, Wonderbutt, has recently shown great interest in car travel. I have been driving my daughter back and forth from music camp this week, and he cannot wait to take his place on the front seat for each trip. In fact, after the first little jaunt, he refused to get out of the car and kept leaping over to the opposite side every time I came around to pull him out. I wish I had thought to video his behavior. At one point, he actually tried to push his head into the crease where the seat meets the back, apparently thinking he could hide from me – or that I would be intimidated by the sight of his big butt in my face. (I must admit, that his butt is kind of formidable.) I finally had to yell, “Treat!” and run to the front door of the house to convince him to abandon ship.
I’m not exactly sure what the appeal of the automobile is, since it’s 1000 degrees in San Antonio right now, and it takes almost the entire round trip for the car to cool down, but as soon as I grab my purse he runs everyone else in the house over, including me, in his urgency to get to the front door. It’s the highlight of his day – twice a day – and I’m a bit concerned about the effect it will have on him when music camp ends on Friday…
Wonderbutt, my bulldog, has been listening to NPR too much today. The Snowden case is freaking him out.
I work at my daughter’s school. At least, I did until today. (Don’t worry. I still work there. It’s just not her school anymore, as she just finished 5th grade.)
One morning, a couple of days ago, we were walking into the school. To the delight of many other students who were on their way in, a chihuahua who had obviously not read the “No pets on campus” signs clearly posted everywhere, was dashing around the entrance of the school.
“I recognize that dog,” my daughter said. “It’s the one that lives across the street from Gabby’s house. That’s Rex!”
“Hmm,” I said, noting the huge pink color adorning the neck of the chihuahua. “Uh, are you sure its name is Rex?” And, yes, I am well aware that is sexist. And somewhat unimaginative. I mean, it could be, “R.E.X.” for “Resist Extraterrestrial X-Rays.” Or, maybe, it was spelled, “Wrecks” as in “She Wrecks Every Piece of Furniture We Own.” Perhaps that’s what we should have named our dog…
“Oh, yeah, that’s Rex,” my daughter confidently responded, nodding her head with assurance.
“Because uh, it’s got a pink collar,” I pointed out.
“It’s Rex!” she said, mildly perturbed that I would doubt her canine identification skills.
“O-kay!” I said, not willing to begin the day with a war over the moniker of an animal.
“Or Steve,” she conceded, as I opened the school door. “It could be Steve.”
Happy Easter one day late from the Firepants Family. I would show you more photos, but someone forgot to put the memory stick back in the camera and didn’t realize it until the Easter Egg Hunt was completely over. Yes, it was me. And yes, that wasn’t the first, second, or third time that has happened. We have many memories of photos I thought I took from over the years.
Wonderbutt had a smashing Easter. He was completely enthralled with the giant egg the Easter Bunny brought Dimples.
Wonderbutt fans will know that when he finds a toy that he really likes, he gets a bit protective and takes it out to his Poop Pen. This is where kitchen towels and Girl Scout cookie boxes go to die. Dimples did not find this to be an acceptable location for her egg.
Once we got him back inside, Dimples problem solved, and came up with a way to “reject” any more of Wonderbutt’s attempts to escape with his plastic egg. With an egg on his face, however, Wonderbutt was not aware of his new boundary until he rammed into it.
Yep, this is how the Firepants Family celebrates Easter.
Okay. So, first, go to the farmer’s market and buy yourself a 70 pound watermelon. Then, drive to Disney World (because I think you would have to pay for an extra plane ticket for the oversized fruit if you flew). Just tell the Disney people I sent you, and I’m sure they will have no problem with you entering with a rather odd looking baby in an umbrella stroller. Go straight to a gift shop and shell out a cool hundred bucks for a rain poncho. Stand in line at Space Mountain for two hours. Get in your little Space Mountain car, and buckle the watermelon into the seat beside you. After the ride starts, try to dress your watermelon in the rain poncho before the ride ends. Make sure you get every button snapped. Oh, and smile for the camera.
Now you know what it’s like trying to get our bulldog, Wonderbutt, into a life jacket.
Stubborn our bulldog is. Stubborn am I. This time (0ne of the few times in 2 years) I won. But just because I got him to wear it for 5 minutes on the back porch didn’t mean it wasn’t going to fly like a cowboy off a bucking bronco as soon as we got to the pond.
He seemed pretty keen on taking a walk in his
strait life jacket, which made me a bit optimistic as I followed down the road to the pond. As we neared the “tank” (as Texans like to call it), his pace quickened despite the heat.
Then we reached the water.
We all watched as the other dogs quickly strode in to the pond. Wonderbutt walked around the edge for a bit, a little hesitantly.
Then he went deeper.
And, suddenly, he was swimming.
He. Loved. It.
Long after the other dogs had moved on to literally greener pastures, Wonderbutt continued to swim. I finally made him stop because I was afraid he was just going to run out of gas in the middle of the pond, and I would have to go haul him out by the suitcase handle on his back.
We went back to the pond 3 more times that weekend. Every time, my fat, attention deficit dog leapt into the water and swam until I called it off. The last couple of trips, he even fetched a stick.
Wonderbutt never fetches. When you throw something, he runs to get it, then races with it out to his Poop Pen so you won’t take it away from him.
But not this weekend. This weekend, Wonderbutt was a stick-wrangling water dog.
By the end of our time on the ranch, Wonderbutt was a seat-hogging snoring dog. Life is good.