Hey. Most days, I’m happy playing with a paper towel tube or whatever socks I can find — often, a bug will suffice. But for some reason,Mamma keeps bringing home toys. Some make noises (a bean, a gorilla, a pig and a lobster), and some just squeak and look funny (feet, rubber chickens, a big yellow orangutan). But the other day, she brought home the most wonderful toys: Dirty Rotten Kitty, and Chef Doggie Dog.
they are MINE,all mine. Jean-Luc may not have them. I called them, I dibs’ed them, and he won’t listen. I take DRK to my bed for a little gnawing, and there he is, with CDD, trying to hide him under the table. No! No no! I race across to get Chef Doggie and as soon as I get him, Jean-Luc takes Dirty Kitty! Once I finally got Dirty Kitty and Chef Doggie, both, with me, Jean-Luc just sat there and watched. I thought he was falling asleep, and I finally could relax. I turned my head for a second and what does he do? Covers about 15 feet with one big jump, and pinned me to the floor. I got the loose skin in front of his ear firmly in my teeth and pulled, and he retaliated by taking a big bite of my whole face. Think of the circus guys putting their heads into the lion’s mouth, but with it being the Lion’s idea. Dammit! Mamma finally stepped into the fight, took Dirty Rotten Kitty and Chef Doggie Dog, and put them away. Know what she said?
I’m the Alpha, Beyotch. Never forget that.
Jean-Luc here. Man, what a morning I’ve had already. Up at the crack of dawn, and a full day ahead.
First, I’m trying to enjoy a leisurely breakfast when I see out of the corner of my eye: Nigel. Heading straight for my bowl. he does this every effing morning: gobbles HIS food and then heads for mine. No way, Joe-Say, I say. I had to bite down hard on his ear and bark right at him; still, the dumbass doesn’t get it. Daddy had to step in and, while it’s embarrassing to have to have your Dad guard your food so your brother doesn’t eat it, I’ll take it. And plot how to make Nigel eat slower. Maybe if I showed him the stats on obesity in Basset Hounds, and got my hands on a Glamour magazine nutrition issue so he can see that in order to eat less, he should take a bite, chew, contemplate, and stop when he’s full — NOT when his bowl is empty and his brother has more food on his plate.
Speaking of overeating, I ate all the Provolone. Mamma was getting some out of the refrigerator and Nigel and I were taking down the barricade to the basement and mud room. We were trying to be quiet, but the woman has ears like … a Basset hound! She put the cheese down on the table, scolded us, and then returned to her cooking and I was being so so quiet. 
I carefully wedged my tongue into the ziploc top of the bag, and caaaaarefully got the cheese out. thank god it wasn’t the stuff with paper between all the slices or I’d really be sick. Anyway, Mamma got to me just when I finished the provolone. she didn’t see the Colby packet immediately, but soon after, and following a chase through the house, I gave it back to her. Dammit.
She said I’m going to pay for this. I say a basset hound with stomach issues is the gift that gives to the whole family.
Hee hee.
My Mamma left me for a whole week. Can you F**king believe it? She was playing spy games or something like that — CIA classes. I canNOT believe it. In protest, I pooped on the rug a few times and escaped once. that escape was fun, because one of my shorteared brothers picked me up in the big red car while I was smelling Brooksie’s tennis balls (the ones his daddy Jason throws to him, get your mind out of the gutter) and my brother lets me ride in the front seat. (Hee hee: I trained Daddy to send Mommy text messages from his Blackberry every time Jean-Luc and I pooped inside or escaped from the back yard.)
but I digress. And I’m not letting her out of my sight for a few days.
My Daddy said I was limping. I thought I was doing the pimp roll but Daddy called it a limp. He waited for it to go away on his own, which Mamma said is Daddy-speak for “let Mamma take care of it, I have to play some golf.”
Dr. K. pulled on me, did some tests, looked into my mouth (I have no idea what he expected to see there), and Mamma held me throughout. I tried to tell Dr. K. about the pimp roll and how I saw it on a TVshow that my brothers were watching, but every time I opened my mouth he grabbed my jaws and pulled on my tongue. So he shot stuff into me and took stuff out of me, and Nicole and Steph rubbed my ears, while mamma hung out in the waiting room.
the diagnosis: Paw Owie.
Well, at least it’s not an ear infection or terminal wrinkles. I’d be screwed.
I wonder if Barack Obama gets elected and wealth has to be redistributed, does that mean people without basset hounds get one of us? Does that mean that basset hounds without toys get all my chewies and all of Nigel’s cardboard? that’s not good.
but on the upside, there’s a yard in our neighborhood with some great smelly stuff in the grass out front. We don’t have any of that in our yard, and when we take Mamma out for a walk, she won’t let us roll in it. so maybe if we vote Democrat we’ll get some better smells in our yard, too.
All this deep political discourse is exhausting. Time for a nap.
WTF?
First, they tell me I’m going for a ride in the car — a very good thing. Sometimes Mamma puts me in the convertible with her, although she often just sticks me in the back of the big red car.
She says I’m going to learn something. I’m going to get tutored. I was so excited: what would I learn? A new language? How to convince the cat to come hang out with me? more methods for gathering socks? I think I wagged my tail in anticipation for the whole ride. Maybe I’d be tutored on running faster or effective trash-can decimation.
Once there, my friends Lydia, Steph, Nicole and Summer all hugged me and petted me and took me around back where the other doggies are. Dr. K arrived and smiled and I went to sleep.
When I woke up, it was like any other wakeup except they gave me some food and took me outside. Then Mamma came to get me and held me the whole way home.
It was great to see that all my stuff was still around, and Jean-Luc didn’t beat me up this time. I was outside chasing my tail when I tripped and fell onto my side, and wiggling to get up I noticed them. Or, what used to be them.
THEY’RE GONE!!! I was just getting to know them,and now they’re gone ::sob:: Where are they? Why did they take them? I miss them. What am I going to do without them? No one will make jokes about if they were me, they’d never leave their house. I won’t have anything to lick. Jean-luc says that the upside is, I got less to protect, and I’ll sleep more.
I dunno.
Dammit.
