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.