This is Mom and me in happier days (i.e. last week). She has not been as affectionate as of late..might have something to do with the fact that I peed on the new couch.
Oops.
Yesterday we were watching this stupid TV show called "It's Me or the Dog" where this hoity toity British lady tells the owners of a naughty pair of dogs to limit their affection or else the dog will start thinking it's the alpha dog.
Um...NOT TRUE.
(Ok, maybe a little true. Or a lot true. Whatevs.)
Mom just folded her arms and shot Dad a knowing look. Then they both turned to me and started shaking their heads.
You know why I'm wearing this bandanna on my head? You want to know why?
It's because they make me clean their toilets, mop their floors, make their beds and lick their toes before I'm allowed to go to bed in my little cage each night.
[Holds up paw by the side of mouth, points the other paw at Mom and Dad, and whispers] Hello? Animal abuse anyone?
Mom and Dad bought me my very own fluffy dog bed this weekend. They even let me pick it out myself! (See picture below. See how happy I am?) It was blue and had little creamy-colored flowers on it. And it was very fluffy! [Fluffaluffagus!]
The best part was that it carried this delightfully alluring smell...a mix of doggie sweat, doggie drool, and the sweet pulp of partially digested Milkbone. Mmm...it just drove me nuts....a lovelier smell I have never smelled before!! As Sarah Jessica Parker said so famously in her recent Covet perfume ad: I had to have it!
If you'll see below, I was not able to get at the smell, no matter how hard I tried. And I tried. Oh, did I try! (Note the ear floppage from my harried efforts.)
In the end, in a desperate attempt at owning the bed, I peed on it to mark it. But unfortunately, Mom and Dad were having none of that, and threw it out.
And that was the end of my fluffy bed. (Goodbye Fluffaluffagus.)
After doggie class on Saturday, Mom and Dad took me shopping for a rain poncho at -- where else --PetSmart! Wet dog doesn't smell good, even to myself. If you take a look at this video, you'll see that we found the most perfect poncho EVER.
In fact, I was so overjoyed with this beautiful piece of plastic-vinyl-what-have-you that I didn't even want to move for fear of mussing it up. It was just so perfect that I do believe we might have achieved fashion nirvana. Le sigh.
Today, Mom and I practiced tricks together like lie down and sit. Totally juvenile stuff. Smart guy like me wouldn't normally bother except she pulls out DA LIVER TREATS!!
Ohboyohboyohboyohboy!
Nothing like a little liver to get the tongue moving. Speaking of tongues, check out my amazing flying tongue below!
The life of a lazy dog is not easy, no matter what anyone says.
There are so many options to choose from: lying around (on the stomach as pictured, on the side, curled up, on the floor, on the couch, on the coffee table), dozing (eyes opened, eyes closed, in various states of lying), full-on sleeping (not to be confused with dozing), barking (at the mailman, at other dogs, at passersby, at sirens in the distance), chewing stuff (such as bones, Mom's slippers, furniture, my foot), licking stuff (such as my leg, my stomach, Dad's toes, Mom's toes, and other unmentionables that a genteel pooch like myself shall refrain from mentioning).
The ultimate laziness, though, when I want to be hella mega donchu-mess-wit-me lazy -- the full-on flop. Stomach to the floor, legs spread eagle, ears floofed out.
Wait. Was I supposed to follow Mom downstairs, or was I supposed to wait upstairs? Uh oh. What should I do now? Wait here? Go back upstairs?
Maybe if I just sit here with my back paws uncomfortable squished under my butt, I will become one with the stairs and no one will realize that I'm really not supposed to be here.
Better yet, I'll close my eyes too. 'Cuz if I can't see them...they can't see me.
Saturday was my third doggie class. Look at this ridiculous bandana they put me in. Can you believe it? Mom says I look like a handsome little devil, but I think I just look like a big doofus. Guess who's gonna get beat up in a dark alley after class by all the other dogs. Uh yeah, hello [pointing at myself].
Look, you know it can't be good if Dad's looking so glum about going to class. Well, at least I get to ride shotgun. Woo hoo!! Party like a ROCK STAR!
Ok, now I got a crick in my neck. Will you just give me the freaking treat already? Seriously, isn't this like, the gajillionth time we've gone over this one?
[Sputtering, choking sounds.] Dad...Dad...I'm glad you liked...my trick....but...you can...let...go...now. [Gasp. Wheezing for air.]
When we first started out with him, he used to be great at walking. Then he started pulling whenever we got home. Once he decided that was no fun anymore and quit that, he realized that he was a lazy dog and just didn't like walking. So now he makes us drag him like a big sack of potatoes for the first two blocks of our walk before he walks cooperatively.
How do I know this? Simple, foo's. I'm not allowed on the couch -- at least Mom always gets her knickers in a twist whenever she finds me there. I usually just look at her like I can't understand human-speak, or like no one cc'ed me in on the couch memorandum. But she knows my tricks. Mom is smart. Mom's got eyes in the back of her head.
Dad, on the other hand, he sometimes yells at me to get off the couch. But other times he just lets me chill there while he eats Tostitos and we watch Ninja Warrior together. But then we'll hear Mom coming and Dad has to yell at me or else he's going to get in big trouble with Mom.
We brought the Oscarman to Pennsylvania with us for his first visit with my mom, grandparents and brother. (You know, so he can connect with his Asian roots.)
