Happy Thanksgiving

to all our friends

Roses are red,

And, no, I'm not bluffing,

'Cause you'll all be in trouble

If I don't get some stuffing.

Stewie and Angel

Scary Halloween Story by a guest blogger

So guess what? Huh? Huh? You gonna guess, or what? 

Yesterday I saw Beard outside pretending to wash his car when an old, beat up  Alleycat crept up to him and slipped him a manuscript. Now that doesn't happen very often.  Actually it's never happened. But Beard said he appreciated it because the Alleycat had given him a Halloween story and it was awfully scary. "Besides," he said, "the S.T.U.P.I.D.  C.H.I.H.U.A.H.U.A. hasn't posted for awhile". I know he tends to spell out words like that when he's complimenting me. He doesn't want me to get a big head. Gotta love that in a Beard Face, right?

Anyhoo, without further ado, (hey, that rhymes) here's a story by our first guest blogger.

______________________________________________________________

The Creature of the Night

by Charles Alley

One night Angel decided to tell her two young puppies a story. It would be educational, of course, because that’s how mothers are.

“Who wants to hear a scary story?” asked Angel.

“I do,” said Hugo.

“Does it have squirrels?” asked Gus. “Squirrels are scary!”

“No, there are no squirrels. It’s a story about a much scarier creature.”

The two pups perked their ears. They were still quite young and didn’t know much about other animals.

“Tell us!” the pups demanded.

“It was a long, long time ago,” Angel began. “I was no older than you two are now. It was a stormy night and I was all alone in the old house where I used to live. It was my job to guard the home when the family was away. We Chihuahuas are not very big but we are brave.”

“We are brave!” echoed the pups, proud of their heritage.

“So there I was, all alone in the darkened house, when I heard a strange noise. I perked my ears and listened. There it was again. It was coming from the back door. I ran as fast as I could to the kitchen. I waited and watched, and then I saw--it.”

“Saw what?” the pups asked.

“A paw. An enormous black paw. The paw was sticking in through the little doggie door I used.”

“Was it a bear?” asked Gus. ”Bears are scary.”

“I didn’t know what it was,” continued Angel. “I got in to my defensive position in order to stand my ground. I snarled my best snarl, but I was very small back then and my growl wasn’t as loud as it is now.”

“What did you do?” asked Hugo.

“I didn’t know what to do. The paw had very sharp claws and I was such a small pup. Slowly, the door pried opened a little more. The creature was coming inside!”

The pups yelped. They imagined what it was like to be all alone at night with a scary creature coming into the house

“I backed up, but only a little,” said Angel. “I was afraid but I was determined to be brave. The door was almost open now but I still couldn’t see what kind of monster it was. I would have to face it all alone.”

Gus whined and put his head down. He covered his eyes with his paws. Hugo was shaking.

“I got ready to nip. My tails was sticking straight up—fair warning. Then the creature slowly pulled itself through the door until it was completely inside. The creature was in the house!”

“What was it?” the pups asked.

Angel halted as though it was too scary to even remember the moment.

“It was . . . an enormous black cat.”

The pups had never seen a cat but they had heard of their evil ways. Cats are very scary.

“It was the biggest cat I had ever seen. It was black as the blackest night and had yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. He was a tomcat with a large gash in his left ear. He looked like he’s been in many a fight.”

“What did you do, Momma?” asked Gus.

“I tried to bark but I was so scared that it sounded like a squeak. The cat just stood there staring at me with those glowing yellow eyes.”

Angel made her voice tremble to tell the next part.

“’Who . . . who are you?’ I asked. The cat opened its mouth to speak. It had two fangs that looked as sharp as needles.”

“’I was once called Midnight,’ said the cat.”

Angel did an impression of the cat as she continued the story.

“The cat crept towards me. Slowly . . . ever so slowly.”

Gus and Hugo backed up as Angel approached them. In their mind they saw only the malevolent black cat, ready to strike with its sharp claws and needle-like teeth. Angel hissed like a cat and the pups jumped.

“I knew I was no match for the cat. He was twice my size and cats are very quick.”

“And sneaky,” offered Hugo.

“But then a funny thing happened . . . “

“What?” cried the pups.

Angel hesitated and then continued in a soft voice. “The cat lay down on the kitchen floor. I saw now that he was tired and wet.”

“’I am hungry and scared,’ said the cat. ‘I have been chased all day because I am a black cat and it is close to Halloween. People think I am an omen of evil or bring bad luck. Others chase me just to be mean.’”

The pups were confused. They didn’t know what it was like to be abused by people. They lived with a nice family who fed them, played with them, and took them for walks.

Angel continued the story. “’Where do you live?’ I asked.”

“’I live in the woods and the alleyways, wherever I can find a place to rest,’ the cat said.”

“’Have you no home?’ I asked.”

“‘I once had a home but no more,’ said the cat. ‘The people I lived with left me behind when they moved. I was unwanted. I was just a kitten then. I have been on my own since then.’

The pups were sad. They felt sorry for an animal who had been unwanted and abandoned. They wouldn’t want to be left alone to fend for themselves.

“Don’t ever leave us, Momma,” said Gus.

“I will never leave you,” said Angel. “One day when you’re older you might go to a home of your own with a nice family to protect, but you two will always be my little pups.”

“What did you do?” asked Hugo. “Did you make him leave?”

Angel smiled. “No, I let him have some of my food that had been left out. He was very hungry.”

“’Thank you,” the cat said, after he had eaten. ‘I have had to stay on the move today and have had nothing to eat.’”

After he had dried off a little, he lay down and soon fell asleep. I lay down beside him to keep him warm. As he slept he purred. That meant he felt safe and at peace.”

“Wow,” said the pups. Their mother had once been friends with a cat. A cat!

“I soon fell asleep myself,” said Angel. “I was tired after all the excitement. I slept for some time and when I woke up the cat was gone. He must have quietly slipped out the dog door while I was sleeping.”

“Did he ever come back?” asked Gus.

“No, he never came back, although I would think about him on stormy nights and wonder if he was all right.”

Angel looked a little sad. The puppies went and nuzzled their mom.

It was time for the pups to take a nap. Angel finished the scary story.

“Some years later I heard the family talking after dinner. A nice older couple who lived down the street had found a black cat in the back woods and taken him in. The cat was an old tomcat with a large gash in his left ear. They named him Midnight.”

© Copyright 2014, Charles Alley

 ____________________________________________________

 Wow. Were you scared? I was scared. Because, you know, cats. But cats do have a tough time around the Halloween season, I'm told. Especially black cats. Bad people are sometimes mean to black cats, and that's not fair. So, if you're one of those people who prefer cats to dogs (as insane as that sounds), consider adopting a back cat rather than some cute fuzzy other color cat. And while you're about it, consider adopting a senior pet too. Often that's the only chance they have at life.

Thanks to Charles for his guest blog. We'll see you next time I have an earth shattering experience--like running out of treats or something. GAH! Talk about scary.

Happy Halloween, folks. 

Stewie's Come Out of the Closet

by Miss Angel Chihuahua

It's true. Stewie's finally come out of the closet. Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, I think it's about time.

See, any time the weather even thinks about starting to rain or thunder, especially thunder, Stewie gallops into the bedroom and hides himself in the closet Beard and Nice Lady conveniently leave open for him. They've even left a pile of old clothes on the floor where he can lie down and be more comfortable while waiting for Teh Horror to go away--that is he can lie there if he's not trying to burrow his way through the drywall, which I'm pretty sure he tries to do some times.

That tough guy persona he puts on?  Pfft. It's all an act. While I'm lying comfortably in my bed, enjoying the beauty of the lightening flashes, he's shaking and shivering in fear that the rain and thunder that is outside the house will somehow get to him inside the house. He's not very bright.

It's just like what I overheard that old human politician say on the glowy box the other day, "You have nothing to fear but...but...um...rattling paper bags, strangers, sudden movements, baths, people in white coats carrying needles, places I've never been before, change, loud people voices, being alone, not being alone....

GAH!

Excuse me. I'm going to go hide in Stewie's closet for a bit.

Stewie Meets the Cabbies and the Old Farts

So, there's this online writers' forum where Beard hangs out. I forget what it's called, but I do know he posts under the name of my cousin, Haggis Chihuahua. I met the real Haggis Chihuahua the other day. For now, all you need to know is that anyone who barks at me like Haggis did is a jerk. Unless, you know, it's a friendly bark accompanied by a lot of butt sniffing and other generally accepted social niceties. But more about Haggis in a later post. 

The pictures Beard uses for what they call his avatar look suspiciously like me. They don't look a thing like Haggis. Which is all beside the point.

When he's not on Facebook chatting with all the people he's banninated from this unnamed website, he's on the unnamed site hanging out with all kinds of disreputable people, animals, and batteries for way too many hours. Guy's addicted. I know this because the other day I went up to him and said, "Dude. Food."

And he said, "Yeah. Just a minute."

He lied. It took way more than a minute, whatever a minute is.

The worst thing is, he talks about these reprobates all the time--as if they actually exist in real life, which we know they don't. They couldn't possibly, could they?

Last night I had a dream about some of the creatures he's talked about lately. No, not really a dream. More of a nightmare. Worse, I dreamed I was one of them. Let me tell you about it and who I saw....

I saw An English professor from somewhere in Maine
Who resides in the head of a moose. That's insane.
An ancient new father who has a young daughter,
Who thinks he's a bear. I don't think that he ought'er.

A post office carrier who always delivers,
Her Syn, though, is what always gives me the shivers.
An old Army veteran who simply won't hear
He should open his wallet and buy the next beer.

A sweet TV lady who's wearing the "L."
Who sure does her damnedest darnedest to keep us from Hell Heck.
A cat from South Africa, wearing big glasses
Who wonders how she got involved with such asses.

A sparkling unicorn with a huge smile
And an ancient seagull we ain't seen for awhile.
An old Everready who brings folks their Jello,
A sheep and two feet and an upside down fellow.

An undead old baby who brandishes axes
And a strange pregnant gal who is studying taxes.
A transformer lady who's never a bore,
And an Ol' Fashioned Gal who will give you what for.

A desert Chiquita whose mule wasn't there
And back to the Old Farts there's yet a new bear.
A human named Peter, a Duchess who scowls
And lonley and friendless, a guy with some vowels.

A guy with two fingers and a Tiddle who winks.
A New Jersey beach bum and a bunneh who stinks.
A NASCARish lady and a doll with large eyes
And a man with a van and some duct tape and lies.

There's Mel in the kitchen and Bernie the Yak,
And our drunken fairy's asleep in the sack.
A dragon who's floating along in a boat,
Two fingers, more cats and that's all that she wrote.

I know there are more, but my minds' in a fog
As yours would be too if like me, you're a dog.

I like to hide in small spaces

We all know I'm a stud, right? That's a given. But the fact remains that I'm not...well...huge. I'm actually kind of tiny. When you realize Angel's almost three times my size you get an idea of how little I really am. So, although I'm studly and fierce and all, you huge creatures scare the kibble droppings out of me. Not so much because I fear you, per se. What I fear is getting accidentally stepped on or kicked by you. Because, let's face it, you giants are clumsy.

When I'm not in my bed, on Beard's lap, angling for a treat, or hanging with Nice, you're apt to find me (or not find me as the case may be) hiding. Small places with up top cover provide me all the protection I need. If I can keep out of view, all the better. Don't judge me. It's an instinctual thing.

They keep my food bowl in the kitchen by the refrigerator. When I have my dinner, I race into the kitchen, grab a kibble or three, then dash back, and park myself underneath the dining room table where I devour my kill.  The protective cover of table and chairs gives me all the comfort I need, and the confidence to eat in peace.

Because of my incredibly busy and stressful life, I might, on rare occasions, nap pretty much throughout the morning, and well into the afternoon. Should I be napping and should I hear a loud noise, this is what results.

Sometimes there's rain. Sometimes there's thunder. One's as bad as the other, as far as I'm concerned. When that happens, you might well find me here.

Or you might not find me at all. Ask Angel to tell you the story about how I disappeared just two weeks or so after we came to live with Beard and Nice. They were convinced I'd been carried off by a Chihuey thief or a Golden Eagle. Truth is, I'd simply found a hidey-hole and fallen asleep. It was good to see them so frantic, though. They had the reward posters made up and everything.

I used to sleep with Angel in the doggy bed in the living room at  beddy-bye time, but now I like to sleep in the bedroom. There's a doggy bed there too, and that's where I usually wind up crashing. I don't start there, though. I start here, between the cedar chest and walnut chest of drawers.

There's about a four or five inch gap and I'm certain nothing but me can get in there, which means nothing can get to me. Once Beard is out cold, which at his age takes no time at all, I quietly trot across to to the other side of the bed and plop myself into the doggy bed.

It ain't easy being small, but you learn to cope. And as long as you pretty much get your way on everything life has to offer, life's good.

TTYL.

Stewie

Picture Day

Last Saturday, Beard Face Man walked up to us while we were resting in our bed and said, "Kids, today is Picture Day."

Now, I didn't know exactly what that meant, but it sounded awfully important. So I scratched myself, lay back down, and promptly fell asleep. Angel dealt with it differently.  She spent half the morning grooming, preening, applying makeup, and generally being her bad fussy self. She really thought she was hot stuff, but I sniffed her butt and it still smelled as bad as ever.

BFM has this little metal and glass thingy he sometimes barks into as he holds it up to his ear.Occasionally he hits the front of it with his opposable thumbs too. This time he stuck it in our faces and blinded us with a bright light over and over and over again.  For this I shall dump outside his door tonight.

This is what resulted:

Angel hogging the bed

Angel being prissy

Angel moving her head an eighth of an inch to the left

A sexy toss of the head

I'm thinking

Way to frame the pic, idiot

Is it time for bed yet?

Okay, Buddy. You owe me lots of lap time for this

One dog saved. How many others lost?

Hi, folks. Haggis Chihuahua here, guest blogging for my friend Stewie.

Ted Theewin, a friend of Beard Face Man, let him know about something that just happened out in Walnut Creek, east of Oakland, California. A California Highway Patrol Officer was driving down the Interstate when he saw a tiny Chihuahua on the roadway median, during rush hour, no less. The CHP officer stopped his car and managed to lure the dog close enough so that he was able to pick him up and save him from an otherwise inevitable smooshing.

According to the news article, a CHP officer said "he didn’t know how the dog ended up on the freeway ... (but) it’s likely that someone left the animal there."

Here's a picture of the rescue.

And here's a link to the video of the Chihuahua resting not so peacefully at the rescue shelter.

Kudos to that cop who put himself at risk to save a small animal. And if it's true that someone just put that dog out of the car on a busy expressway--I sincerely hope all their friends and relatives see this story plastered all over the news. I hope they recognize the dog. I hope they learn what their friend/relative is really like and I hope they then treat their friend/relative with the same level of kindness as he or she treated that dog.

I'm not much of a believer in karma, but if it could happen just this one time, I'd be most appreciative.

Haggis

A Visit to the Vet

That.Was.No.Damn.Spa.

That was just...that was...that--

How could they do me like that?

*sobs*

You wouldn't believe what...I mean, here I was up on a table, and she...she took this...this--

GAH!

Look at this picture Angel took. Yeah, I know it's shakey. Get over it. She was scared out of her mind. Plus she doesn't have an opposable thumb. She did the best she could.

 

So right after Angel snapped the pic, this so-called vet reached into her pocket and...

*weeps*

...a needle. A giant +&##* needle!

 *#!!ing %@*##!!!

Took my blood. Took my freaking blood like some vampire chick! And that wasn't the worst of it. She...she...she...then she got out this, this long glass tube--a thermosomething, she called it. And then she...she shoved it...GAH, I can't even say it!

You're not supposed to shove stuff up there!

And while I was up on the table, poor Angel was waiting for her turn. Look at her. 

This is not a happy Chihuey. Poor baby was terrified. Look at how big her eyes are.

I'm sorry. I can't go on. This...this was just too much for me. I don't believe I'll ever recover. How could they do that to me? I am so traumatized. I'll never be able to--

Wait. Was that the rustle of the treat bag?

What? What do you mean the vet said I was fat? I weigh less than ten pounds, you idiot. Gimme my damn treats!

*sob*

This has not been a good day.

___________________________

* Thanks to the lovely and talented NinaK for the inspiring Puppy Proctology Pic that heads up this post. Nina, you never disappoint. 

A Day at the Spa

by Stewie the Chihuey and Angel Chihuahua

Hi, humans. Stewie here.

Me and Angel went to the spa the other day. In case you don't know, the spa is a big building where they have interesting smelling things, food, other dogs, treats, toys, and people who trim your claws. You can recognize the building by the big sign over the door. It says “P-E-T-C-O.” It seems like a lot of letters for a word as simple as “spa,” but you humans don't use a logical language like Chihuahuan.

We had a great time. I walked around a bit, met some other dogs, a bunch of people stopped to pet me, one of 'em took a picture of me, and then I had my claws trimmed. Angel got a trimming and a bath. Then we went home. The end.

Angel here:

You left out a part, Stew.

Stew: Which part?

Angel: The part where you took a dump in the middle of the store.

Stew: Shhh. Ixnay on the umpday, bitch.

Angel: Bitch? Did you call me a “bitch?” you eunuch?

Stew: Take that back.

Angel: Won't.

Stew: I'll tell everyone you eat your own poop.

Angel: Do not. Mostly.

Anyhow, don't go telling everyone we had a great time. It was quite traumatic for me. You know that woman who trimmed our claws? She poured water over me. And...and she used some kind of loud cylinder thingy to blow hot air on me. And then she cut off some of my fur. SHE CUT OFF MY FUR!

I had a terrible time there.

Stew: You were pretty frisky when we got home, prancing around like you owned the world. And you didn't stink nearly as much as you did before.

Angel: Thank you. I guess it felt good after it was over with. And to tell the truth, I didn't think it was possible for me to look more beautiful than I did, but after the bath and trim, I was simply stunning. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

Stew: Well, that's good, because I heard Nice Lady tell Beard Face Man that she got us another spa appointment for next week. It's a different spa, though. She spelled this one “V-E-T-E-R-I-N-A-R-I-A-N.” I'm sure we'll have all kinds of fun.

I are smart

I learned a new trick last night.

It's called opening doors.

See, lately I've taken to spending more and more time convincing Beard Face Man to put me on his lap while he's siting by that machine with the glowing box on top just above the rattly things he hits with his fingers. He'll do it if I lean in real close and push against his leg. I think I make him feel guilty. Whatever. I don't care as long as he picks me up and pets me.

See, we all have our addictions. I don't smoke, don't drink, and I no longer wander around aimlessly in the pen inseminating every female I have an eye on. And thanks a lot for that by the way, rescue people and the damnable veterinarians you hire to do your evil deeds. But I do like affection. Even when I have push for it.

The thing with Beard Face Man is that he doesn't have much of a lap unless he crosses his legs (or so he claims). He also claims that he can only sit there with his legs crossed one way for only about fifteen minutes. So I often find myself with an inadequate amount of Stewie adoration.

People don't realize this, but we dogs pay very, very close attention to them and know their every move. I can be napping in my bed while he turns off the glowing machine, pours himself a glass of water and tries to sneak quietly into bed. But I've picked up on his tricks. Over the course of a month or so, I've learned to predict the times he's sneaking into bed, and quite often have been able to sneak into the room before he is even aware of it. Then, once he's in bed, but before he falls asleep, I show up next to his side, staring into his face. Naturally, when I do that he feels guilty, as well he should. He picks me up and I get another half hour or so of quality petting time before he finally picks me up and carries me back into the room where I have to sleep with Angel.

But last night I learned something. If the door isn't closed all the way, you can push on it and it will open up again. Then you can walk back into the room, stand next to where Beard Face Man's bearded face is hanging off the pillow, drooling, stare into his eyes and he will eventually see you and pick you up and give you even more quality time.

I got an extra half hour last night, but BFM seems to be afraid about rolling over on me and crushing me. That, plus he whined about losing too much sleep. So he picked me up and took me out and set me in bed with Angel again. Of course I immediately tried to follow him back into his room, but he closed the door and it made a funny metallic clicking sound. I bumped up against it several times but I couldn't get it to open again. But understand this. I'm a patient Chihuey. And not too stupid, if I do say so myself. I'll figure this one out yet. And when I do, he'll get no sleep. No sleep at all.

Bwahahaha.

Someone's Acting Like a Speshul Snowflake

Not naming any names here, but her initials are Angel Chihuahua.

Look. I'm not casting aspersions here. It's just that Angel and I get the same food. I eat all of mine. And when I get the chance, I eat some of hers too.

Angel, on the other hand, eats only what she wants, which in her case is only the light colored food. See, our food has both light colored things and dark colored things in it. To me it's all food, but not to her. She pushes the dark colored food out to the sides of her food bowl, like this.

It's not that I'm suggesting she's a diva. Exactly. But you saw her food bowl. And I'm just thinking Miss Priss might be getting just a little bit too picky.

See, our people spend all kinds of money to make sure we have the best food ever. I was checking out the food ingredients just the other day. Here's what we get in our food. Beef byproducts, pork byproducts, free range chicken butts, water, cereal, high fructose corn syrup, beet bile, mandrake clippings, peyote oil, Eye of Newt, Omega 1, 2, 3, and 4, oils with special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun. That's before the aromatherapy. What's to be picky about? Food like that calls to me. It says, "Dive in, Stew." And I do. My bowl is always empty. 

Don't believe me? Take a look.  

So draw your own conclusions. Is Angel a Prima Donna, or am I overreacting. Because I think it's important to--

Oh.Holy.Mother.Of.Dawg! There are two bits of food I neglected. How could this have happened?I must correct this injustice immediately.

TTYL,

Stewie

Greetings from Miss Angel

Hello, there.

The lovely and talented Miss Angel Chihuahua here.

Stewie's making pig noises while he's feeding his face in the kitchen so I thought I'd stop by and introduce myself and give you a little more background about us.

Stew and I have lived with Beard Face Man and Nice Lady for about six months now. Before that we lived with a wonderful family who fostered dogs saved from breeding mills, which is what Stewie and I were saved from. I lost track of how many litters I had. But I'll tell you this, I whelped enough of 'em to give me a whopping hernia. The rescue group had to have a vet fix me. That's "fix" as in "repair," not "fix" in the sense of "break" which they also did to my reproductive system. They "broke" Stewie too. He just refuses to acknowledge it yet.

You see, puppy mills don't typically provide very good veterinary care, if they provide it at all. That's also why Stewie had to have eight of his teeth pulled--that and the fact that the garbage they fed us wasn't conducive to good oral health. It's not a life I'd wish on any dog. Maybe if people would stop buying puppies from pet stores....

For the record, the organization that saved us is called the Sanilac Scoopers. You should remember who they are if you find yourself with some extra money and want to send it somewhere where it will do a lot of good.

Stewie made himself comfortable in our new home pretty quickly, but I'm shy and much lest trusting than he is. Still, I'm starting to think that these new people might actually be nice. They feed us good food, pet us (it took me a long time to get comfortable with that, but I look forward to it now), they give us treats and sometimes they hold us on their lap. Stewie likes that a lot. Sometimes I think it's okay, but like I say, I'm still a bit shy.

So, anyhow, this is Stewie's blog, not mine, so he's going to be the one doing most of the barking talking. I'll chime in from time to time to say, "What Stewie meant to say..." and fill you in on the real story, not that nonsense he makes up.

Let us know if you have any questions or would like us to talk about anything in particular. We'll try to help out to the best of our ability, but, please do cut us some slack. We're dogs, not rocket scientists.

Um, hi.

My name's Stewie. I'm a Chihuey. I'm four and a half years old. That's...um...let's see, that's 13, carry the 7...um...fairly young in people years. I weigh in at a svelte four and a half pounds.

I live with Angel Chihuahua, Beard Face Man, and Nice Lady. Angel is bigger than me and about a year older. Beard and Nice are huge and ancient.

My favorite things: eating, sleeping, pooping, laps, eating, treats, laps, sleeping and food. Hard as it is to believe, I occasionally I find myself with some free time, so I figured I'd start this blog to share my exciting life with others.

I've got lots more to tell you, but it's nap time. I'll be back later.

Oh, and welcome to my blog.