On Puking

I threw up today.

Let me back up on that a bit. Actually, I didn't throw up today. I threw up about six weeks ago, but my idiot transcriptionist never seems to be able to find the time to post my thoughts on my blog. Good help is hard to find, you know?

We dogs are creatures of habit. We like it that way. And we hate it when anything interferes. Today (six weeks ago) things went south because someone failed to follow the routine. Let me explain.

This is how a typical day in Chihueyville is supposed to go down:

Every day I wake up when Nice Lady gets out of bed. I trot on into the living room, where Angel and I wait for her to give us our morning treats. Angel gets all excited and barks at her sometimes, but I know I can count on her. I wait patiently, and as soon as she's able, she comes over, sits on the couch, opens the bag of Pup-peroni, and gives us our share.

When she's done, she goes and wakes up Beard Face Man, who'd stay in bed until Armageddon if he had his druthers. But I guess he fears her or something so he does get out of bed. Angel and I wait for him because we know it's time for Pup-peroni # II. As soon as he's done, Angel runs into the bedroom and lies down in the bed there, and I get up on Beard's lap while he plays on the glowy box with the rattling keys thingy on the desk and drinks what he calls “coffee.” Then he puts me down, goes into the stinky room, takes off his fur, and pours water over himself. Then he comes back out, puts his fur on again and gets ready to leave for some place he calls “work.” Angel races back into the living room. Then it's Treat Time III. Beard leaves for work, whatever that is, and we go back to sleep. It's a tough life, but somebody's got to do it.

Anyhow, this morning (six weeks ago) Beard was slow. Way too slow. I decided to speed him up by barking at him. Now, understand that he's not used to my barking. And, since I don't really bark all that much, neither am I. I wound up with a scratchy throat. I still tried to eat my treat, but it came back up on me. I horfed, and that sucker flew out of my mouth along with a bunch of mucousy looking gunk. Naturally, that made both me and Angel hungry all over again and we raced to see who'd be the first to gobble that prize down, but Beard got their first with a paper towel and wiped it up.

Bastige.

In fairness, he did give me another treat, but it didn't go down as well as that pile of vomit would have.

People. They're so freaking clueless. You know?

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