Dog on… Getting dressed

As I wrote this title, I realized how strange it may seem. You know, given that, on the whole, dogs are dressed by Mother Nature most of the time. Well, short the hairless breeds. In those cases, by all means, dress yourself. Please. I’m not comfortable looking at all that skin.

But I digress… This topic comes up after, once again seeing the tornado I call “her getting dressed”. Now, in her defense, this only seems to happen when she’s going out at night, and since the kids came along, that really isn’t the norm. For a while, if she was leaving without yoga pants on, I would fall over in mocking shock. She found that not as funny.

Anyhoo, this Saturday I heard her talking about a shower and was immediately confused when she started to get dressed. Her first outfit was fine to me, but then, I stalk her.
I’m probably kinda biased.

So, the first outfit was on while she looked in the mirror forever doing stuff to her hair and face that made her smell funny. Again, not the best judge given that I love her smell two days without a shower. It’s deliciously musky. Don’t tell her I said that.

She seemed to be out the door when, with no warning, she turned around ran upstairs (I, obviously, dutifully followed) and began to change her clothes over and over. I couldn’t even see her for the funnel cloud that surrounded her as she changed over and over. (That’s a bit dramatic, I admit, but the imagery is good, right?)

When she had finally come to the outfit she liked, the room was draped with shirts and pants. I mean, I don’t care, no one expects me to clean it up, but… Really?

When a dog gets dressed, it’s begrudgingly, for the most part. I’ve got friends who like clothes, but they’re a little off. Nice dogs, just… Weird.

The human drama of getting dressed is a human thing. 

Dog on… Addiction

Hi. I’m Dog, and I’m a toilet paper-aholic.


It all started started after my Golden Retriever sister passed over the rainbow bridge.  She was my favorite, and I loved her with my whole heart… as long as she didn’t look at my chew bones.

Left to navigate the house and family on my own, I found myself drawn to a nice, new roll of toilet paper freshly out on the dispenser.  Oh man, it smelled good.  I started out being satisfied with just the joy of pulling one end of the roll until it all unraveled across the floor.  If you’ve never tried this, don’t start.  There’s something about it that just makes you lose your mind.

My human thought it was funny at first.  It was the second or third time that seemed to lose its luster with them. Even when they saw the joy it brought me, they were not amused or enlightened.

I tried to stop.  Every time they walked in, and I saw the toilet paper strewn across the floor, I knew there would be trouble for me.  The problem was that it just felt so good to do it in the moment.  I couldn’t get myself to stop.  After a while, when I would see the toilet paper on the floor and could predict the impending doom, I did what only made sense.  I made it disappear.  I had escalated to full ingestion.

It tasted so good going down.  That’s the thing.  I couldn’t stop even after my first bout of… well, let’s just say, it didn’t come out as easily as it went in.  In fact, my obsession got worse until I hit rock bottom.  It got stuck, and my human had to… um… assist me with it’s evacuation.

There’s nothing more humiliating than that, I assure you.

It takes a household to deal with a problem, and I had to rely on my humans to manage the situation by closing the doors and putting up gates.  This seemed to eliminate the temptation until recently. They’d left the door open, and I told myself I could just take a sniff.  That small inhalation was the gateway to disaster, and the addiction was full-blown again.  This time when they put the toilet paper where I couldn’t reach it, I found myself digging in the garbage for the smallest and sweetest morsel of my beloved vice.

Seeing yourself with your head in the garbage is enough to stop you in your tracks. Ask this guy.  He joined my GA (Garbage Anonymous) group just after that video was made.  He makes me look tame.

Regardless, I’m back on track and working the program.  You know, it’s not easy to battle your demons, but it’s equally difficult to get to “meetings” without a car… or opposable thumbs.

Dog on… Twitter

I have officially entered the world of social media today because my human announced me on her Facebook page.  She thinks she’s all that, but I’m out to beat her in Likes on Facebook and Follows on Twitter.  It’s on baby!  (we like healthy competition in our family, but that’s for another post!)

I’m really just getting in the Twitter groove, but I’m a little offended at it’s racial preference toward the aviary community.  I mean, how many bird blogs are there?  Well, I actually don’t know the answer to that, but I’m googling it as soon as I finish this.  I suppose a really thorough journalist would get those stats before making a claim in a blog post.  (Note to self: work on your research)

Anyhoo, I can’t really stomach the idea of tweeting when it makes so much more sense to woof.  Thus, I hereby declare that “woofs are the new tweets”!  Me and my less than 20 followers are calling it a trend.

Here goes:  #woofsarethenewtweets

Is it trending yet?

… how ’bout now?


I can wait.  I don’t have a schedule to keep. I can sit here all day.


…hmmm.  This Twitter thing is trickier than I thought.

Dog on… Yoga

I love me some yoga.  As you would imagine, I can “up dog” and “down dog” with a serious flair.  I don’t even mind “cow pose”, but I have to draw the line at that “cat pose”.  It’s not that I don’t like cats, it’s just, I don’t need to try to emulate them.  It’s what I like to call, integrity, people.

It’s funny though, my human seems to love it too, but often seems to be having such trouble with it at the same time.  She gets out of breath pretty regularly. I stay close when she gets worked up, just in case. Ironically (last Thursday’s TP word – not sure I’m using it right), it seems to be what she likes about it.  Go figure.  

Yoga’s downside?  It’s hot. There’s sweating involved and this is where dogs and humans divide.  

When dogs sweat, we do so without all the mess that humans seem to produce. The pant is a much more civilized way to weather the heat as far as I’m concerned. The pouring of water from the skin just seems downright weird. You know?

Just another bonus to having fur. 

And my girl does sweat. A lot. But I’m torn, because it’s part creepy, and part delicious.  

Don’t judge.   

Dog on… Daylight Savings Time


I like to sleep. It’s in my genetics. I exert energy in fits and starts.
I’m not a runner, but I sure love a steady walk followed by a good nap.
So, when I heard my humans talking about daylight savings time and how we would “gain an hour of sleep”, I was psyched. That, my friends, is right in my wheelhouse.

Here’s what I didn’t factor in… It appears that the little humans in the house don’t have a clue. I mean, I hear they can’t tell time, but really, is that such an excuse? I can’t either, but it doesn’t take a genius to look up and see that no one is up yet.

But, they are up, so the big humans are up and, therefore, I’m up because I can’t sleep and stalk at the same time. Well, I mastered sleeping with one eye open, but that’s for another post.

Anyway, the little ones were up and the big ones weren’t too happy about that so, it was just a real tumultuous (Wednesday’s TP word) way to start a Sunday.

So, I’m two paws down on Daylight Savings time for now.

Dog on… Work

I don’t work myself. Unless you consider going out to the yard and actively ignoring rabbits and squirrels work.

I do, however, go to my person’s work.  Actually being there is work for me.

When I get there, I have to go upstairs to find my toy, then down stairs to show it around. Then it’s back upstairs for a good pet and look out the window.  Then is back downstairs to be sure no one has come in who hasn’t seen my toy yet.  (It’s a great toy).  I also have to get them to pet me.  It’s for their own good.  Lunch isn’t even a break since I have to work my Jedi mind trick on them.  No rest for the wicked, you know.  Often, I have to lay in the middle of the room and grumble until someone notices.

Its exhausting!  There must be a better way to spend our time.  By the time we get back in the car, I have to sleep the whole way home with a few glances out the window so I can sleep even better in my bed at home.

It ain’t easy being Dog.

Dog on… Meeting New Friends

Hi there!  My name is Dog.


I’ve got thoughts.  Lots of ’em.  On lots of stuff.

So, I decided to blog about my many deep thoughts about… well… everything.  Capisce? (my human has word of the day toilet paper)

I thought it would be apropos

(that was Sunday’s word) to start with my thoughts on meeting new folks.

Here it is:  people are weird.  They wrap their arms around each other, put their lips together, or shake paws.  WTF?  Not one of them sniffs a butt on meeting and I think that’s just rude.

Seriously, I get it.  We’re different.  Humans are from Mercury and dogs are from Uranus.  (I think that might be a book title)

Well, if you ever come to our planet to live here’s what a polite greeting looks like:

On approach, walk an arc to the other so that when you get there, your side is to them.  Once you get there, sniff butt only if the other guy seems approachable.  The way you know is to see if they avoid eye contact, sniff the ground, turn their head away from you etc.  For the love of dog, don’t go greeting the guy who’s just staring at you.  Take it from me, he’s either trying to prove something, rude or unstable.   I’m betting a little bit of both.  Make the meeting short and then walk away for a minute to let that process.  If you feel good and they seem to as well, you’re in and you can start engaging in hanging out, playing or just moving on knowing you met a decent dog.

I have just gotten used to the rudeness of humans that I know accepting it as cultural differences.   They have other good traits so I let it go.  BUT, humans I don’t know…  back off.  I seriously can only tolerate so much social awkwardness from people.

If some of you humans are interested in more about bridging the social etiquette gap, I really like this woman from Norway that my cousins have told me about.  Her name is Turrid Ruggas and she really takes time to understand our kinds.  She’s a good egg.  Check her out.

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It’s gonna be rad! (My human is watching a string of John Hughes movies)


PS:  There’s going to be some cool changes to the look of the site soon, so keep checking back as I find my groove!