A Little Bull

Y'all, I have a weakness for dogs that others find less than pretty.  And I have a special weakness for English bull dogs.  I've wanted one for years.  I just love that mashed up nose and the big droopy eyes and that floppy tongue.  Seriously, I just love that breed, so it was a special treat when a friend of mine asked me to photograph her dogs recently.  Her wonderful boisterous menagerie of pets includes, you guessed it, an English bull dog.  And a puppy at that.  Boys and girls, meet Nugget.

When I arrived, the first thing she did was lay her little head in my lap.  Sister mercy, it's a wonder she didn't go home in my camera case.  Hubby says we're not having another dog after Jack dies because it just breaks his heart when they get old and die.  Ya' think he'll notice one of these if I hide it in the man cave?

Hey there, Delilah!

One thing I don’t think I’ve ever shared with you is my love for ugly dogs, specifically English bulldogs. I know they are an acquired taste, but I have a real weakness for them. I’ve always said I would have one before I get old and feeble, and after this week’s photo shoot I’m certain of it.

I shot some photos for a local pet publication, and one of the pets was an English bulldog. Oh, my goodness, I’m in love! Brothers and sisters, meet Delilah. How can you not love THIS?

This is Going to Require the Sanitizer Cycle on the Dishwasher

Fined for unlawful use of the KitchenAid mixer paddle:

I'm just not sure who to charge, the dog or the husband.

Goin' to the Dogs

Okay, all of you winter weary, downtrodden exhausted souls, I have something to make you smile today. Well, I don't really have it, someone else does, and I'm passing it along. If you need a smile, a giggle or two, a lift to your spirits or just something silly to take your mind off of whatever ails ya', you MUST truck over to The Pioneer Woman's latest photography contest. This week she wants to see our dogs, and boy, are the pictures stacking up! I sent over my entry for today:


And then I spent a gazillion hours sifting through the other photos. There are hundreds of dogs, and every photo reminds me of why I love dogs. There are big dogs, little dogs, fuzzy dogs, dogs with colored spots. Fat dogs, skinny dogs, even dogs with golden locks. There are dogs with toys, dogs with babies, dogs with sunglasses and dogs with big beautiful eyes. There are dog noses, dog toes and doggie ears. The puppies over there are so cute they'll make your teeth hurt, and you CANNOT look at them without smiling. So hop on over there, and put a smile on your face. And tell that little Yorkie sneaking up on those strawberries that I sent ya'.

The Outlaw Sometimes Wails

It’s like the OK Corral at our house, every day. There’s a standoff around every corner and sometimes there are multiple casualties. It’s a regular Clint Eastwood movie around here. Trying to make a traumatized cat and a spoiled middle aged dog get along is like trying to beat out Kanye West for the title of A** Hat of The Year. It’s just darn near impossible. And we may all die with our boots on trying.

When we adopted Sabrina, we knew it would be difficult. She’s a beautiful kitty, but she led a rather isolated life at Sissy’s house. She likes solitude and quiet. Our house is not quiet. Mostly because of Jack.
Our miniature schnauzer has a personality bigger than his body and makes his presence known. He barks at anything that comes near our yard, causing a rucus about six times a day. When I get home from work, he meets me at the door, barks a greeting and spends several minutes trying to talk to me and lap up all of my attention. He is noisy. He likes attention. Lots of it. He’s used to being top dog around the house and was not happy about Sabrina’s arrival.

She wasn’t too happy about it, either. I think she would have been content to roam around Sissy’s empty house for the rest of her life as long as we stopped by once a day to feed her. Which is what we did for the first few weeks after Sissy died, putting off a decision about Sabrina’s future while we focused on settling the estate and boxing up Sissy’s belongings. Sabrina’s fate was pretty much sealed though. At a cranky eight years old, she was not likely to be adopted if she went to a shelter, and we couldn’t stand the thought of her being put to sleep, so we brought her to our house. And braced ourselves.

For weeks it was easy because she didn’t come out of Teen Angel’s room. Ever. She literally stayed in there all day and night. She ate in there, used the litter box in there and hid from us. She simply didn’t know how to interact with people because Sissy never spent much time with her. We tried to coax her out, but she wanted no part of it. Or us. I don’t think she understood love and affection. Teen Angel kept working with her and eventually she buddied up to TA to the point that TA could bring her into another room of the house and sit with her. And that’s when the trouble started.

As soon as Jack realized she existed he started trying to get rid of her. He barked at her. He snarled at her. And chased her back into the bedroom. He literally attacked her a couple of times and we had a couple of close calls before we could rescue her. We couldn’t leave the house without shutting her behind the bedroom door for her own protection. We tried all kinds of positive behavior modifications with Jack but nothing worked. I finally had to wear out his bottom with a newspaper one night. That convinced him to quit chasing her, but it didn’t make him like her. He hates her.

About two weeks ago, Sabrina suddenly started leaving the bedroom on her own and began prowling around the house and seeking us out. It was if she finally decided that she liked us and wanted to stay. At first, she came out just a little and dashed back in whenever there was the least bit of excitement or noise. But gradually she started staying out longer, especially when she realized Jack would get into trouble if he chased her. A light bulb went off in that sneaky feline mind, and she started using his bad behavior to her advantage. She’s become…well, downright sassy in the last few days. Not only has she decided she likes us and wants to stay, now she’s staking out some territory of her own. She prowls the house nonstop, laying in Jack's favorite places like the sunny dining room.
She climbs into Hubby’s lap in the recliner which ticks Jack off to no end, and Saturday Teen Angel found her lounging in Jack’s bed in his crate. That kitty is on a suicide mission, I tell ya’.

Several times a day, Sabrina waltzes right in front of Jack, just daring him to chase her. Sometimes she hides and waits for him to notice her.
All of this posturing leads to one standoff after another. He’s all bark.
And she’s all hiss.
Literally, she’s all hiss.
Any day now I expect a dirty blonde woman and her grandmother to show up at the front door. If we close our eyes while all of this is going on we can almost hear that cheesy spaghetti western music. Figuring they need to work through this jealousy territory thing on their own, we have backed off disciplining Jack somewhat. We closely monitor these little showdowns, letting the fur fall where it flies. Our only hope is that they learn to tolerate each other before they kill each other. For now, they’re free to shoot it out, but the day one of them spits tobacco juice at the other is the day somebody’s getting my boot up their butt.

We Paws for This Message

I’m not naming any names but SOMEBODY in this house would rather go for a truck ride than eat. In fact, that somebody will literally fling himself against the back door when he hears the old blue Ford fire up. He knows that a ride means the wind flying through your hair.
And the warm sun shining on your face.
That SOMEBODY likes to hog the middle seat when we’re going fast.
But would rather hang his head out the window when we’re going slow.
And that SOMEBODY quivers from head to stubby tail with excitement when cars go by, especially those big brown UPS trucks.
And I’m not naming any names, but SOMEBODY literally had to go pee after this excitement happened.
SOMEBODY is going to have to buy a car seat harness if this keeps up.

Ears Lookin' At You

When we got our miniature schnauzer six years ago we made a conscious decision to keep his big floppy ears. Hubby made an appointment at the vet’s to have them cut, because everyone said that’s what you’re supposed to do with a schnauzer. But Teen Angel and I pitched a hissy, whined, moaned and pleaded with him to cancel that appointment because we loved Jack’s big ol’ ears. They give him character we said. And they’re cute and blah, blah, blah and yadda, yadda, yadda and wha, wha, wha until Hubby relented. Not that it took much convincing since Hubby’s kind of a wienie about lopping off body parts and kind of a pushover when it comes to the women in his life. Boy, are we glad we saved those ears. They make us smile on a daily basis, especially when Jack goes for a ride and let’s his hair down. That dog loves to ride in the golf cart. Nothing makes him happier than zipping down the street on the golf cart with the breeze blowing in his face. And his ears flapping in the wind. That’s how I snapped this picture Friday:This photo captures the true essence of his little canine spirit. In fact, it’s so accurate, it’s ear-ee. Ha! I crack myself up.

Anyone care to give this one a caption?

It's Just One Big Party After Another Around Here

Hot steamy dog vomit spewing all over the furniture, the walls, the bedding and us for five hours Thursday night. Six loads of laundry between 10pm and 2am. The fun never ends around this place.

Rub-A-Dub-Dub

I’m not naming any names but SOMEBODY in this house doesn’t like to take a bath. In fact, he’s downright pouty about it. SOMEBODY snorts and refuses to look at you while he’s getting a deep conditioning. SOMEBODY has to be chased down to get dried off.This part always reminds me of that scene in Gone with the Wind when Rhett puts his coat over the horse’s head to settle it down and get it out of burning Atlanta. Somebody doesn’t like to get a rub down. He really isn’t happy when you clean his ears either.But as long as it’s 9 degrees outside and SOMEBODY wants to sleep underneath the covers snuggled up next to my knees in MY bed, he’s going to be clean. Even if it does take Sherman’s Army to give him a bath.

What the Smell?

What do you do when your house smells like poo? For a couple of weeks our house has had a faint, stinky smell. Not the knock you down good Lord what died in there did your father go to the bathroom can we get a courtesy spray of Glade kind of smell. More of a musty wet can’t quite put my finger on it what IS that smell. It definitely has a robust bouquet and a poo piquant aftertaste. The first thing we did was blame the dog. Isn’t that what everybody does when there’s a stink in the house? Our poor pooch gets blamed for everything from rotten produce left in the crisper too long to every poot expelled where two or more Hula-gen’s are gathered. He’s an easy scapegoat, especially for that flatulence thing, because no one can prove it WASN’T him. Naturally, he was the first source we looked to for this particular smell.

I’ve always tried hard to keep our house from smelling like a dog, but I figured we’ve had a dog long enough that it was bound to happen sometime. The scent seemed strong in the areas where Jack lays every day. This theory earned poor Jack a trip to the groomer for a good scrubbing and haircut and a visit to the vet for that lovely maintenance procedure called “anal gland expression” or as we like to call it “poppin’ the poop glands”. I’m sorry, were you eating breakfast? Well, that didn’t change a thing. I cleaned out the refrigerator. Nothing in there aside from a soggy cucumber and some leftover pasta with marinara cream sauce. “Are you sure it’s not the dog,” I asked. He got a squirt of doggie perfume. We decided that perhaps the area rugs needed cleaning. We doused the rugs in that fragrance in the vacuum cleaner stuff and looked up the number for the Rug Doctor but didn’t call because we weren’t convinced the smell was coming from the rugs, and I’m not paying out the wazoo for rug cleaning unless I’m absolutely sure they need it. Jack got another squirt of perfume. I checked the dishwasher for sour water. Nothing there. “Are you SURE it’s not the dog,” I asked. Jack got his ears cleaned and his bedding washed, much to his annoyance. He hates it when his peeps mess with his bedding. He’s pretty attached to it. See? We were starting to panic when Teen Angel made a breakthrough Sunday and realized she only smelled the stench whenever the heat came on. Aha! It must be in the heating and air system, we thought. We called the heating and air company, and while their guy suspected algae in the drip pan, it was dry as a bone. Nothing, nada, zip. He searched for an hour and a half and found nothing. Back to square one.

Hubby crawled under the house (only because the snakes are probably in hibernation) and searched at length today and found no moisture, no water leaks, no dead animals. Nothing. But still. It smells. He called his plumber friend who suggested a backup of sewer gasses, so now we’re waiting on the sewer folks to come check us. For gas.

In the meantime, we’ve taken to avoiding company. No one is invited inside until we figure this out. Sorry neighbors. Sorry band kids selling fruit. Sorry Mama J.. Everybody is banished to the front porch until we figure out why it smells in our house. And if somebody slips in on us, well, I’ll just have to blame it on the dog. Sorry Jack.

Proof We Are Easily Amused

We spend a lot of time laughing at our dog. I hope he forgives us. He's just so darn funny. Owning a miniature schnauzer is an adventure. They try desperately to communicate with you, so they are very vocal. They're very smart, too. And no other breed has more personality. Their egos are much bigger than their bodies. They'll pick a fight with a great dane and never realize what a suicidal move that is. Jack is a great watch dog. No one comes near our house without him raising ten kinds of Cane. (He hates the UPS man.) Of course, he also hides in the back bedroom when I turn on the stove, and I've found him standing in the middle of the bed with his head under the covers during a midnight thunderstorm, so he's obviously more bark than bite. He loves his peeps and is definately a lap dog. Every night around 9pm he crawls onto my lap and lays there while I read and then follows me to bed where he's been known to hog my pillow. He's one of the family. Shucks, I love him just for his cute, floppy ears. We didn't have the heart to have them cut when he was a puppy. He brings us great pleasure and gives us several laughs every day. Today's laugh? Well, before I show you this picture, keep in mind that the focus of a schnauzer's appearance is his beard. It's their trademark. It also gets in the way every time they eat, and schnauzers LOVE food, any food, especially people food. This is what happens when you feed a hungry schnauzer who's been on a diet for the last month some homemade vegetable soup.Don't laugh too hard, though. He just might get embarrassed. And then he'll ignore you.At least until you sit down with a fluffy pillow to read.

Pin Up Pooch

Our dog is officially on a diet, Weight Woofers they call it at the vet's office. I'm not naming any names but someone in our house with gray curly hair and size 13 shoes keeps feeding that pampered pooch too many treats...and bananas..and green beans. And let's not even get into the whole licking the ice cream bowl debacle. At age 7, Jumpin' Jack Flash has entered the senior citizens club with about seven pounds too many on his miniature schnauzer frame. He's not so miniature anymore. He's had one too many trips through the drive-thru. The bank drive-thru, where he gets a treat. The drug store drive-thru where he gets a treat. AND the liquor store drive-thru where he gets TWO treats. His eating is out of control, and it's time to nip it in the bud as Barney Fife says. Oh, and he's going to get more exercise, too. After sifting through pictures of him for a local pet calendar contest, I noticed something. That dog has gotten lazy. In every picture I have of him he's lying down. See?Look at this.And this. He takes more naps than a kindergarten class. By golly, he's getting up and out of the house more these days. He doesn't really care for his new food, but he likes being outside more. He was fine with the new program to improve his appearance until we pushed the envelope and did this.

And this.

Do you think he'll forgive us if he's chosen as Mr. October?

Lucy Bell

Because I have no shame about stooping to use gratuitous puppy pictures to lure in readers let me show you the newest member of the Hula-gen's, Miss Lucy.This is Sissy's new puppy, and this little three pound ball of sass is so stinkin' cute we can't keep our hands off of her. We will likely rub her bald before she's three months old. See how tiny she is.We'll have her spoiled rotten in no time. Just like this one. Further proof that we are crazy dog people.

Doggone It

I’ve decided that having a dog is a lot like having a child. They cost almost as much to feed and keep healthy and take as many attitude adjustments. Take our dog, Jack. He’s six years old. That’s 42 years old in people years, but he acts like a three year old. I’ve already established that we’re crazy dog people. I’ll admit it. It’s our fault for spoiling him, but he is so gosh darn cute it’s hard not to. Just like a child. We have to spell the words “bone” and “bye-bye” because he knows what these mean and will have a barking, jumping, hissy fit if he hears them. He will then drive us crazy begging for a car ride or a bone. He’s LOVES to ride in the car, but he really loves Hubby’s old Ford truck. When it leaves the garage, he waits patiently for the return of that loud, rumbling motor.

He sits right here, by the window. (Note the throne.) He will sit for hours, hoping Old Blue will pull up and take him for a ride so he can hang his head out the window and sniff the smorgasbord of a million smells that populate the highway. He also knows that he gets treats when he goes through the drive-thrus of the bank, the drug store and the liquor store. He hit the treat trifecta one day last summer when Hubby stopped at all three places. It took two days for the rotten mutt to come down off that Milk Bone high. I thought we were going to have to stage an intervention.

If he doesn’t get a ride, he whimpers. Just like a kid. Then he pouts.

Like this. He sighs and sighs, showing us how annoyed he is that his peeps didn’t give in to his whims. And just like a child, he will ignore us if we try to talk to him.

See. I was inches away from his ear in this picture, and he wouldn’t even look at me. He wouldn’t acknowledge my existence. He banished me from his personal space, and refused to listen to anything I had to say. It made me want to pick him up by the scruff of the neck with my teeth and cart him off to the time out corner….and ground him from any treats. After all, I’m in charge, right? Right??