Daddy says we smell funny but I smelled Nigel and he smelled pretty good, even ‘down there.’ This time we went to the Woof and Wash. It’s one of those places where your Daddy and Mamma wash you and someone else launders the towels and cleans hair out of the drains.  Sometimes the nice people there give us a bath, too.

It was great; we rode in Mamma’s car that doesn’t have a top.

I sang the whole way to the bath. Sometimes I stopped and yelled, “yo, get a car” to a few people. Stupid Nigel just sat in the back and bit at the air. I told him that if he didn’t tell everyone how happy he was to be there, he’d have to get scrubbed in the driveway again.

Woof and Wash is in Mt.Kisco and I love it. Except for the “wash” part, that is. First, Daddy boosted me up into a ledge and attached my head to a loop. Mamma did the same with Nigel. Then, we both get water hosed on us and shampoo rubbed all over us. Then they squirt us off, dry us with hairdryers and towels, and Jason cuts our toenails. We like that because then we can sneak out of the house without Mamma hearing us.

So what if our eyes look funny.  If Mamma could work the Photoshop, well, you could see how great I look and how Nigel didn’t know what to do.  I told Nigel to stand up — he sat down through the whole bath. I told him that if he didn’t stand up, his butt wouldn’t get cleaned and I was right.  I checked.

I’m always right.

Woof and Wash

Geez.  F*cking hot out there.  If I don’t make a list, nothing will get done.

-Eat.

-Drink.

-Nap

-Bark

-Drool.

-go outside

-Come back in again.

-Shed.

-Repeat.

Yeah, it’s a dog’s life.  If it ever gets cool around here, I’m going to add “race crazily through house with a stuffed monkey in my mouth.”  but for now, the only thing I’m chasing is Z’s.

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.

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.

So today, once again, I wake up with sore ears and a crick in my back, because that !@#$!@ puppy gnaws on me to get himself to sleep. Proud of these ears? Hah! One has a ragged bit out of it and I really hope it grows back. Once that dog gets his doghood removed, we’ll see who bites on whom.

On my to-do list: Take a nap next to the refrigerator. Avoid the puppy. Get all his rawhide chewies. Fight with him over them, and when we are separated, whine until we are put back together. Perhaps a belly-rub at noon. Yeah.