Posts Tagged ‘cat’

Impaw-fect House Rules

August 12, 2011

A great injustice has come to my attention lately due to a misunderstanding in my house.  I am one of five siblings– it’s Brother Pooch, Sister Fairy, Sister Martian, Cat, and me.  I get on pretty well with all of my siblings (as long as Brother Pooch, Sister Fairy, and Sister Martian remember to share their People Food) with the exception of Cat.  We have never been able to hit it off very well.  Most of the time we just ignore one another, but recently the tension has been building between us over some unfair house rules.

1. Cat can snack on my food and indulge in my water dish, but I am is not permitted to eat Cat’s food

Just because I eat four times as much does not mean that I have to share.  Cat seriously needs to go on a diet, so it makes no sense that she gets to snack more.

2. Cat gets to go upstairs, but I have to stay downstairs and sleep in my dog bed at night.

Okay, so I guess I did have 48 hours of upstairs privileges when I first moved in.  But I only knocked over a couple of trash cans and chewed a few shoes!

3. When Cat wants to sit on the furniture, my family pets her.  When I sit on the furniture, I get into trouble.

So I drool a bit and my paws are muddy.  Big deal!  If I have to spend my afternoons on the carpet, then so should Cat.

It’s tough being a hound dog.  Yes, there’s Cat, sitting on the sofa and watching me type this.  I can’t help but laugh– she might have all the privileges around here, but I’m the only one who has managed to figure out Alpha Mom’s computer password!

A Patient Hound

April 24, 2010

It’s Friday and as usual I am sitting on the stairway landing, staring out the window.  Technically, I am not allowed up the stairs.  But I’m not on the second floor yet, so I figure that the landing is a nice compromise.  Through the window I can see my neighbors’ front yard and the sidewalk.  I couldn’t care less about being sociable to my neighbors, but the sidewalk is of great interest to me in the evenings.

I have a powerful internal clock.  For instance, I know that exactly 9:30 p.m. I go to bed and at 12:05 a.m. I wake up for a drink of water.  I know that in exactly two minutes Alpha Dad should walk up the sidewalk.  I lay down on the landing and wait.

When I’m waiting for Alpha Dad to come home, two minutes is a very long time.  I count the seconds by thumping my tail against the wall.  One, two, three.  I lose count of the numbers- arithmetic is no interest of mine.  I’ve heard that patience is a virtue, but I know that basset hounds don’t need virtues, whatever they are.

Cat scampers down the stairs behind me.  It’s not fair- how come a fat and rude creature like Cat is allowed upstairs and I’m not?  The injustice of this all distracts me for a moment, but soon my focus is back on the sidewalk.

Sure enough, there is Alpha Dad walking up the sidewalk.  I rush down the stairs and to the back door, which I scratch with my paw until Sister Fairy lets me out.  I pounce out of the bushes just as Alpha Dad opens the gate.

“Woof!” I say, jumping on Alpha Dad.  My internal clock informs me that it is time for my a belly rub.

My Bad Day was Fur-tilizer’s Fault

April 12, 2010

Yesterday was a very very sad day because a certain hound dog (ME!) didn’t get to go to the P-A-R-K.  I whined and ran in circles and even knocked the kibble out of my dish, but Alpha Dad wouldn’t take me.  He tried to explain why I couldn’t go, and it had something to do with a funny-sounding word: “fur-tilizer.”

Today, Alpha Dad agreed to take me to the P-A-R-K.  As soon as I put my paws in the grass, I could see what he was talking about.  Fur-tilizer looks like cat excrement but it smells even yuckier.  I tried to roll in it, but I didn’t like the way it felt on my fur.  When I was done playing with the other bassets, I was really stinky- and not in a good way.

Here’s the worst part: when I got home, Alpha Dad gave me a bath!  He said that playing in fur-tilizer isn’t good for dogs or people and that it could make me sick.  The only thing worse than a bath is going to the vet, so I didn’t put up too much fuss when he poured half a bottle of “Soothing Lavender Lilac” shampoo on my back.  Even my tail got a good scrubbing.  I was cold and wet all day.

I hope that they never put fur-tilizer on the grass at the P-A-R-K ever again.  I don’t want to have to endure a bath after every trip to the P-A-R-K!  Weeds have never bothered me, but fur-tilizer sure does.

Bluepaw

April 6, 2010

Many of my fans are probably wondering why some call me “Bluepaw.”  Here is the story…

When you have a sense of smell as acute as mine, you pick up fascinating odors all over the house.  For instance, cell phones give off a pleasant metallic odor (and they crunch nicely between your teeth).  Malt balls have a distinct chocolatey scent that can even be detected when they are hidden in plastic Easter eggs.  As I discovered one day, pens also have attractive scents.

I was lying in the middle of the living room.  None of my family was around, and truth be told, I was one bored hound dog.  I caught the scent of ink, and soon I had dug through the magazines on the coffee table with my nose and located a pen.  When you have massive paws, removing the cap of a pen is a little tricky, so I gripped the pen between my paws and chomped.

Eventually, I got sick of chewing on the pen and left its remains in the middle of the living room.  I wandered through the house, going about my business.  You know, sniffing Cat, snoozing, watching the squirrels in the neighbor’s yard, and snoozing.  Eventually, my family returned and Sister Fairy bent down to give me a belly rub.  I rolled over, but she caught one of my paws.

“Woody,” I recall her telling me, “your paws are blue!  What have you been up to?”

I looked at my paws in horror.  What indignity!  A Basset Hound with blue paws?  I would never live this one down.  I tried to lick the ink out of my white fur, but it was too late.  The ink was dry.  Since then, “Bluepaw” has become a sort of nickname for me around the house.  It’s not like my siblings have never gotten ink on themselves!  But everyone seems to think it’s funny when a Basset Hound dyes himself blue… but that’s the story.

Spring Break Woes

April 1, 2010

Today, I was hoping to get some beauty rest as usual while my siblings were at school.  Unfortunately for me, their spring break has begun, which is anything but a break for a basset hound who requires 22 hours of sleep per night!  Brother Pooch, Sister Martian, and Sister Fairy were all home today and kept me awake with their activities.

Around nine in the morning, all of my siblings came downstairs for breakfast.  I don’t have an alarm clock by my dog bed, but the toaster is just as efficient.  I was so groggy that I didn’t even want a bagel!  Then, my siblings turned on the television to watch game shows.  All of that clapping and the bright lights that illuminate the living room are enough to drive a hound dog crazy!

I tried to go back to my bed to escape the noise, only to find Cat sleeping there.  I walked right up to her and prodded her with my nose, but that Cat just rolled onto her back as though she were waiting for me to give her a belly rub!  Eventually, Cat took the hint and left, but now my bed reeks of Cat.  I even found a whisker lying there.  Yuck!

Brother Pooch was talking to me about Easter while he scratched behind my ears this afternoon.  I didn’t understand much of what he said, except for something about a bunny, which I know is synonymous with WABBIT!  A real-life WABBIT in the house- I can’t wait!  That’s going to be the best game of Chase ever!!!

Operation Bagel Snatcher

March 23, 2010

Alpha Mom is an excellent cook, but she doesn’t make dinner until Alpha Dad gets home.  I know what you’re thinking.  Every hound should have a snack after a long day’s snooze, right?  Tell that to Alpha Mom.  Sometimes a Hound Dog just has to take things into his own hands.  Thankfully, Sister Martian left a bagel (!!!) unattended on the table.

Sister Martian is the Protector of Bagels Everywhere.  In my house, it is a well-known rule, When The Bagel Supply Is Low, Thou Shalt Not Touch The Bagels.  As a Basset Hound, reading has never been a priority for me.  That’s not to say that I couldn’t be a scholar if I wanted to be, rather, I simply have no interest in all those squigglies on the page.  The bottom line is, I missed the Don’t Touch the Bagel Memo.  Besides, as Sheriff Woody I figure it’s alright if I call myself “Assistant Protector of Bagels Everywhere.”  Just to make everything official, I quickly named my mission “Operation Bagel Snatcher.”

So there’s the bagel, sitting on the table, right in front of a Hungry Hound’s nose.  Just one whiff, and I could practically taste the lightly toasted blueberry delicacy, generously painted with plain cream cheese.  I looked to the left… to the right… Sister Martian was nowhere to be seen!  I was sure she wouldn’t notice if I just took one bite.  I hopped up onto a chair, and then onto the table, and gulped down the bagel.

Suddenly, Sister Martian came running up behind me and tackled me, dragging me down to the floor and into an unwanted hug.  I would have gladly accepted a belly rub if it weren’t for the bagel crumbs that I knew were feeling lonely on top of the table.  As the Assistant Protector of Bagels Everywhere, I knew I couldn’t just leave them behind!  I bolted and made a beeline for the table, but Sister Martian tackled me again and I found myself being carried outside of the house.

Despite my frustration at the failure of Operation Bagel Snatcher, I might have gotten over it if it weren’t for what happened next.  Before my eyes, Cat leaped onto the table, all twenty pounds of her swinging back and forth as she strutted over to my bagel crumbs.  I scratched at the door, hoping that someone would help me stop this Cat in her Crime Against Bagels Everywhere, but nobody would let me inside!

I might have been moping outside all day, but then I saw a WABBIT and I was off and running…


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