Saturday, May 2, 2009
The Hole
Ricky has asked for me to be put in the hole, that is what he calls my crate, as his birthday present. I didn't ask for that kind of stuff on my birthday. I hope Mom gives him some extra food like on my birthday. If he gets extra food I will too. Cupcakes maybe.
My Birthday
It's my birthday today. I'm ten today and it feels good to be it. Mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday and I've requested Beetle be contained in the box for 24 hours. I'm waiting. We've gone to the beach and I get some sort of special treat like a cupcake. Once I received a bag of sandwich meat for my birthday. Now that's a present with thought.
If she puts Inigo in the crate, I wonder if the 24 hours starts then or at the onset of my birthday. I'm well over half way done and he's not in the box. I'd hate to get gypped.
I should close, as it is my birthday and I wouldn't want to appear rude.
If she puts Inigo in the crate, I wonder if the 24 hours starts then or at the onset of my birthday. I'm well over half way done and he's not in the box. I'd hate to get gypped.
I should close, as it is my birthday and I wouldn't want to appear rude.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Dear Diary
Dear Diary,
I 'm not sure that I believe Ricky. I don't thinks he tells all of the words like there s'pose to be said. I think he tells tales about his leg but he blames me when his leg accidentally gets inside my mouth and it sometimes gets bit a little. He should watch that.
I wanted to say that I'm a good swimmer. I can fetch sticks and balls better than Ricky. When they fall in the water too. Ricky loves me.
I 'm not sure that I believe Ricky. I don't thinks he tells all of the words like there s'pose to be said. I think he tells tales about his leg but he blames me when his leg accidentally gets inside my mouth and it sometimes gets bit a little. He should watch that.
I wanted to say that I'm a good swimmer. I can fetch sticks and balls better than Ricky. When they fall in the water too. Ricky loves me.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
First Cake
I've been meaning to mention. Inigo had his first birthday the other day. It was a day or two ago, April- 11th, I think. no big deal. He got a cake.
The cake was homemade from one of Mom's friends, she thinks all of his little idiotsyncrasies are cute. The cake had a little cookie and fondant (that's a fancy name for frosting You can't eat) voodoo effigy of himself perched right on top of the cake part. Further-more, the whole of it had handmade fondant miniatures of his lair pride: shoes, electric blanket, fish skeletons, peppered around his little snicker doodle self; like his wanton destruction of every ones belongings is cute and should be immortalized even for the life of a birthday cake. It's not and it shouldn't.
Honestly, I tried in vein to get past Mom and gain purchase of the cookie filled frosting skin; give it some well deserved preemptive thrashing while he was outside squeezing out a stinky little yard worm. A little bad mojo into the business end, whatever end that is, of that little fondant Inigo to slow the real one down when he comes for me with his little gnashing teeth. No such luck, Mom's skills have been sharpened with his continued presence.
My only consolation to the birthday of Inigo is that my birthday is soon, May 2nd, and the Inigo shape was forced into a zip-loc and retired to the back of the freezer behind a frostbitten bag of peas.
That fairly well sums up Inigo's big first birthday. Oh, and apparently he can fetch and swim.
Blathering on between bites of my left leg he says, 'Really, really, really good."
The cake was homemade from one of Mom's friends, she thinks all of his little idiotsyncrasies are cute. The cake had a little cookie and fondant (that's a fancy name for frosting You can't eat) voodoo effigy of himself perched right on top of the cake part. Further-more, the whole of it had handmade fondant miniatures of his lair pride: shoes, electric blanket, fish skeletons, peppered around his little snicker doodle self; like his wanton destruction of every ones belongings is cute and should be immortalized even for the life of a birthday cake. It's not and it shouldn't.
Honestly, I tried in vein to get past Mom and gain purchase of the cookie filled frosting skin; give it some well deserved preemptive thrashing while he was outside squeezing out a stinky little yard worm. A little bad mojo into the business end, whatever end that is, of that little fondant Inigo to slow the real one down when he comes for me with his little gnashing teeth. No such luck, Mom's skills have been sharpened with his continued presence.
My only consolation to the birthday of Inigo is that my birthday is soon, May 2nd, and the Inigo shape was forced into a zip-loc and retired to the back of the freezer behind a frostbitten bag of peas.
That fairly well sums up Inigo's big first birthday. Oh, and apparently he can fetch and swim.
Blathering on between bites of my left leg he says, 'Really, really, really good."
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Oh Bother, Where Art Thou
I've been plagued with ailments as of late; foremost, the injury of which I sustained from the teeth of Inigo's eager jaw. Mom comes home and he gets so worked up he wraps his little rugged gums and teeth around everything; Mom's shirt sleeves or her left pant leg, my leash and my left leg (which has no benefit of sleeve or pants). Annoying on it's own the chewing is, but most frustrating when I'm actually trying to use what he is eagerly biting. Why he chooses the left leg of his victim is beyond me. However, it is my left leg which has most recently been effected. It gotten better.
I've had problems with my eyesight too. Mom says I have catreacts. I probably got them from Sissy's cat Bug; the fear of her fogging my vision glazing my pupils so as to erase or minimise at least the udder dread I feel when I'm brought: leashed, soullessly and struggling into her domicile. The memory of her lashing out of her lurky spot and stranding herself, if only for a moment, on the island which is my head has been burned forever in my retinas and now clouds my vision.
Inigo oft refuses to enter taking full advantage of the length of his leash and waits outside the door. Mom non the wiser, the closed door between them artificially crimping the feel of slackiness to the leash, tricking her into believing Inigo actually followed her past the doors threshold. Oh he's safe. Mom will catch on, "Yoink!" he'll get sucked in and most likely pounced on. It's a camber of horrors really. Lately, Bug has been better, but my retina's are burned. I have the catreacts.
Here I sit, healing. Favoring my left leg, unable to gauge proper distance due to the catreacts, unsure if Beetle is waiting to launch himself at me should I jump down or sabotage my efforts should I jump up. Life is a series of obstacles, I wish I had a treat. Treats make it better.
I've had problems with my eyesight too. Mom says I have catreacts. I probably got them from Sissy's cat Bug; the fear of her fogging my vision glazing my pupils so as to erase or minimise at least the udder dread I feel when I'm brought: leashed, soullessly and struggling into her domicile. The memory of her lashing out of her lurky spot and stranding herself, if only for a moment, on the island which is my head has been burned forever in my retinas and now clouds my vision.
Inigo oft refuses to enter taking full advantage of the length of his leash and waits outside the door. Mom non the wiser, the closed door between them artificially crimping the feel of slackiness to the leash, tricking her into believing Inigo actually followed her past the doors threshold. Oh he's safe. Mom will catch on, "Yoink!" he'll get sucked in and most likely pounced on. It's a camber of horrors really. Lately, Bug has been better, but my retina's are burned. I have the catreacts.
Here I sit, healing. Favoring my left leg, unable to gauge proper distance due to the catreacts, unsure if Beetle is waiting to launch himself at me should I jump down or sabotage my efforts should I jump up. Life is a series of obstacles, I wish I had a treat. Treats make it better.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
The Rainbow Bridge
It's been one year today that I lost my friend Duchess.
I remember like it was yesterday; how I couldn't bare going into her house because I knew she was ill. I'd stand on her back porch not daring to enter no matter how the tasty and familiar aromas reached out like tendrils from the backdoor and tempted my nose and stomach; the promise of food could sate my ready belly but the heart break I new would one day befall us all is what would fill me. It is a secret she and I held alone, a secret I longed to share and it was at those moments the chasm between Mom and me was the greatest; I needing so to tell Mom but having no human words, I remained silent.
Mom would grumble at my refusal to enter, grab me up wholesale and bring me into the light and warmth of the house. I would go to Duchess sniff her ears; ears that still moved like radars tuning into all of her surroundings enabling her to process her world via her heart and express it through the folds of skin appearing around her eyes as she smiled up at me, eyes I would kiss. I needed to go be with Mom, to mend my breaking heart, pull together it's unravelling strings that threatened to leave my heart and me in pieces.
On march 29th 2008 Duchess left us for the Rainbow Bridge, she's okay, waiting on the Rainbow Bridge to be reunited with her family and friends.
It took me more time to be able to reenter her house after she was gone. The loss of a great friend is a great loss indeed. There is a place in the house that holds her picture, at my height so I can see it when I need to. Sometimes there are biscuits shaped like bones or hearts left near her picture.
It's okay to eat them.
I remember like it was yesterday; how I couldn't bare going into her house because I knew she was ill. I'd stand on her back porch not daring to enter no matter how the tasty and familiar aromas reached out like tendrils from the backdoor and tempted my nose and stomach; the promise of food could sate my ready belly but the heart break I new would one day befall us all is what would fill me. It is a secret she and I held alone, a secret I longed to share and it was at those moments the chasm between Mom and me was the greatest; I needing so to tell Mom but having no human words, I remained silent.
Mom would grumble at my refusal to enter, grab me up wholesale and bring me into the light and warmth of the house. I would go to Duchess sniff her ears; ears that still moved like radars tuning into all of her surroundings enabling her to process her world via her heart and express it through the folds of skin appearing around her eyes as she smiled up at me, eyes I would kiss. I needed to go be with Mom, to mend my breaking heart, pull together it's unravelling strings that threatened to leave my heart and me in pieces.
On march 29th 2008 Duchess left us for the Rainbow Bridge, she's okay, waiting on the Rainbow Bridge to be reunited with her family and friends.
It took me more time to be able to reenter her house after she was gone. The loss of a great friend is a great loss indeed. There is a place in the house that holds her picture, at my height so I can see it when I need to. Sometimes there are biscuits shaped like bones or hearts left near her picture.
It's okay to eat them.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Tuna Surprise
I've got to give it to Dung Bug, he made a great score this afternoon, Mom didn't even know she'd been hit. I'm still in a state of shock and awe at the speed of which Beetle moves on those little truncated stubs he calls legs juxtaposed with the speedlessness of Mom's apparently equally truncated slug she calls a brain. She's seriously slow on the uptake.
Apparently when all of Inigo's unfettered, undisciplined, careless energy is condensed into his four sausage limbs and pea sized brain it can be channelled into what can only be described as a food thieving laser of world domination proportions. It need only be focused on, say, a victims cheese and zap the cheese is gone, the victim is left wondering if they ever pulled cheese from the fridge in the first place. It's fairly remarkable to witness.
Mom was retrieving food stuffs from the refrigerator I was being super vigilant; my need to keep my eye on food over-road by my desire to keep my eye on Mom, I kept myself safely within the drop zone for any potential accidental releases, the heal of bread or a little piece of cheese. She placed a slice of cheese on the edge of the table and brought two slices of bread to the toaster. Busying herself with the toasting Inigo focused his laser on the cheese slice.
His stubby legs deployed his brick of a body over my head with surprising slowness; my brain dragging all of my eye's images through thick syrup before processing them in my brain, landing on the kitchen chair as effortlessly as a gymnast mounting a balance beam, with grace and hardly a whisper from the pads of his feet. I held my breath and stared as his canines hitched to the back end of the cheese slowly dragging it curling into his open maw. I could almost taste the cheese as the slice folded in on it's self and lingered for a moment in my view before it slid down his throat to swim with the belly swill of prior consumptions.
The room was still moving like a thick slow fog as Inigo unfurled his tongue from with in it's chamber of horrors and protruded it's length for the tuna bowl; he slowly turned his head, mocking me as our eyes met, he gave his full attentions to the bowl. His muzzle sank beyond the rim as he lowered his head into the mechanically processed fish, fragrant onion and dill released from the tuna mass. The sound of the fork being slung around the bowl by his tongue is a sound Mom had long ago been familiarized with. It was the sound of his undoing.
INIGO!!! Her words pierced the the sticky slowness like a butter knife, slit it down the middle and exposed the real time inside like a fresh wound. She shot across the floor to put out the little fire on the kitchen table that threatened to consume her tuna sandwich layer by layer before she could build it. Inigo made his escape and peeked around the doorway licking his lips for any last taste of the fish mash and onion and dill that might remain.
Mom examined the tuna and gave it a stir, as if stirring it changed the fact that Inigo had his grubby beak all up in it. Giving Beetle the stink eye Mom grabbed the toast and spread a layer of tuna mash on it, she reached for the missing cheese and then looked at Inigo again; from his hiding place he lifted his chin and gave a little cheesy burp.
Damn he's good I said to myself. My stomach, an empty chamber, rumbled an echoed and hungry reply.
Apparently when all of Inigo's unfettered, undisciplined, careless energy is condensed into his four sausage limbs and pea sized brain it can be channelled into what can only be described as a food thieving laser of world domination proportions. It need only be focused on, say, a victims cheese and zap the cheese is gone, the victim is left wondering if they ever pulled cheese from the fridge in the first place. It's fairly remarkable to witness.
Mom was retrieving food stuffs from the refrigerator I was being super vigilant; my need to keep my eye on food over-road by my desire to keep my eye on Mom, I kept myself safely within the drop zone for any potential accidental releases, the heal of bread or a little piece of cheese. She placed a slice of cheese on the edge of the table and brought two slices of bread to the toaster. Busying herself with the toasting Inigo focused his laser on the cheese slice.
His stubby legs deployed his brick of a body over my head with surprising slowness; my brain dragging all of my eye's images through thick syrup before processing them in my brain, landing on the kitchen chair as effortlessly as a gymnast mounting a balance beam, with grace and hardly a whisper from the pads of his feet. I held my breath and stared as his canines hitched to the back end of the cheese slowly dragging it curling into his open maw. I could almost taste the cheese as the slice folded in on it's self and lingered for a moment in my view before it slid down his throat to swim with the belly swill of prior consumptions.
The room was still moving like a thick slow fog as Inigo unfurled his tongue from with in it's chamber of horrors and protruded it's length for the tuna bowl; he slowly turned his head, mocking me as our eyes met, he gave his full attentions to the bowl. His muzzle sank beyond the rim as he lowered his head into the mechanically processed fish, fragrant onion and dill released from the tuna mass. The sound of the fork being slung around the bowl by his tongue is a sound Mom had long ago been familiarized with. It was the sound of his undoing.
INIGO!!! Her words pierced the the sticky slowness like a butter knife, slit it down the middle and exposed the real time inside like a fresh wound. She shot across the floor to put out the little fire on the kitchen table that threatened to consume her tuna sandwich layer by layer before she could build it. Inigo made his escape and peeked around the doorway licking his lips for any last taste of the fish mash and onion and dill that might remain.
Mom examined the tuna and gave it a stir, as if stirring it changed the fact that Inigo had his grubby beak all up in it. Giving Beetle the stink eye Mom grabbed the toast and spread a layer of tuna mash on it, she reached for the missing cheese and then looked at Inigo again; from his hiding place he lifted his chin and gave a little cheesy burp.
Damn he's good I said to myself. My stomach, an empty chamber, rumbled an echoed and hungry reply.
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