It’s a Dog Eat Carrie World

My dog is weird. Ed has plenty of strange quirks that have revealed themselves over the six years he’s been with us. He has a bb lodged in the top of his head, so that tells you that 1. he had a tough life before he got to us and 2. he possibly has brain damage (only half-kidding on that one).

He doesn’t like popping sounds – fireworks, spontaneous hand claps, etc. Totally understandable. He also doesn’t like storm drains and is a bit of a pain in the ass on walks (walks he goes on because we spent a long time teaching him to walk on a leash, which he hated at first). That doesn’t  have anything to do with the bb, I’m just expanding on my proof of his being weird.

Because everyone knows the middle of the street is the safest place to be.

I could go on, and I know it sounds like we just aren’t training him. To that I say: yeah, that’s kind of true. But, on the other hand, dog ownership is just as much an adjustment of what you will tolerate as it is trying to get the perfect pet. He is neurotic and weird, but so am I, so I kind of get him, and we don’t really have many issues – his quirks fit in fine with our life.

Earlier today, about an hour ago, being the graceful, perfectly organized person I am, I set a completely full mug of hot tea down on the coffee table, a pile of mail, and the corner of a wallet. Physics was like, “bitch please,” and so the whole mug emptied out onto the table, several magazines, my pants, and the carpet. It was a grand ol’ time.

The coffee table is wood with a glass top. I had to take everything off the table and move the glass so I could clean between the layers. While I was wiping the glass of with the paper towel, it was making that sound – you know the sound. “EEEEEEEEEEEE!” The sound of squeaking from glass, liquid and towel. Apparently, this sound is like The Manchurian Candidate’s Queen of Diamonds and it activated Ed.

He jumped down from the couch, trotted over, and bit me. He bit through my jeans and caused and ugly small shallow skin puncture and bruise. I don’t know if he was playing – he hopped to get up to my knee and maybe literally bit off more than he could chew – or if the noise made him snap, but it was a shock. He’s never, ever bitten me or even entertained the thought (uh, that I know of).

It was quick and simple – he hopped up, bit my knee, I yelled, “ED WHAT THE FUCK!?” And then he looked at me like “What? Oh, snap, you didn’t like that?” He seemed genuinely confused, then got submissive with the ears back and the tiny tail wags.

Here’s the things with dogs – it’s all about the moment, and it’s all about context. I don’t know why Ed bit me, or even if he meant to. He could have been asleep, and the sound could have triggered him, waking him and setting him into action before he actually knew what he was doing. He could have done it to get me to stop that awful fucking noise (he genuinely dislikes it, I now know). Or, like I said, he could have been trying to play. I just don’t know. Since he’s never bitten me before, and he was in my peripheral vision, I can’t assume what happened exactly.

Other than being on the lookout for any additional strange behavior, having his eyesight and blood work looked at during his next check-up, and making a mental note to not clean glass within earshot of Ed, there’s nothing else to do about the bite. Dogs aren’t people, something I’m thankful for 90% of the time. Every once in a while, though, they remind you that your ancestors domesticated and developed them from their ancestors (wild wilderness animals) – and sometimes, that means yelling “what the fuck” at them after they give you a little bite for an unknown mysterious reason.

He can’t speak English (if he did I’d be in my castle eating gold or whatever super rich people do), but he can speak dog, and I have sense enough to know that he’s told me, “sorry about that – can you see my ears are pinned against my head and I have a sad tucked wagging tail?” And for now, you little weirdo, that’s good enough.

By the way, please nobody tell my mom about the spilled tea.

A Trip to the Zoo

A couple of weeks ago, on Tom’s birthday, we thought we’d go to The North Carolina Zoo. We love this zoo. You have to do a lot of walking because the animals have such large areas to live. That’s a good reason to have to walk a lot. While you may not see every animal, there’s always something fun to see, depending on who’s out and about. If I lived in a zoo I would be a very boring exhibit. I would wander out for orange slices and frozen fruit treats and then go back to my far corner. I base this on my behavior in office environments and at parties.

When we woke up that day, it was pouring rain. We took a risk and decided to go anyway because the zoo is an hour and a half away and we hoped maybe the weather would be a little different by the time we got there. Also, we don’t really like other people and thought perhaps there would be less of them there on a rainy day.

It turned out to be a very nice visit. There weren’t many people and the rain was manageable. Here’s what we saw:

I do not believe that the alligators in zoos are the same alligators in the wild. This is all I’ve ever seen an alligator do in real life. I know I’m lucky that I haven’t seen one do anything else outside of a zoo, I do understand that. I think I saw one move a leg once and it was a big event for me.

I’m surprised at how dominant turtle DNA is.

I love silverback gorillas. They are just the best. The thing I particularly love about them is that they love to do this – sit in plain view with their back to everyone. There’s just something about that particular approach to being stared at all day I truly respect.

This sign says “BB&T Chimpanzee Reserve.” We couldn’t help but come up with related slogans – “Just as the majestic and mighty chimpanzee flings it’s poo, we fling the best rates around at you.”

YES. Someday, if I ever get to be the eccentric billionaire that I hope to be, I’m totally getting a dung beetle statue.

Our last stop for the day was the otters. Otters are wonderful. At first, when we walked up, we didn’t see them and figured they were snuggled up napping under some rock or something. But then they saw us and hopped right into the water and started swimming around as if it was their job to entertain us. Oh, it was adorable. And then they started doing it. And then things got kind of awkward. So, we bid the fornicating otters adieu and went on our way.

It was a great day. Then, we got home and I gave Tom a book he already had for his birthday because I’m awesome.

The end.

Elliott is the George Lucas of Domesticated Cats

My cat is a temperamental director in his own mind. He, like George Lucas, feels there’s always room for improvement, even for the classics. When I watch a movie or television show, this is the set up:

So, oftentimes, Elliott decides that what I’m trying to watch isn’t good enough so he jumps on to the coffee table to enhance my viewing experience. I don’t want to be the only person to benefit from his vision. Here, at long last, is the chance to view TV and movies in the way they are supposed to be seen.

First, the obvious choice: The Empire Strikes Back. In Elliott’s version, you can’t hear it since it’s a blog post, but instead of the recently Lucas-added “NOOOOOO!”, Darth Vader yells “MEOOOOOW.”

Gone with the Wind:

The Walking Dead

The Godfather (I didn’t really feel he added much and that it was an unnecessary change, but Elliott told me to “suck it.”)

It’s A Wonderful Life:

Game of Thrones:


Elliott told me to tell you “you’re welcome.”

Here’s a picture of a dog stacked on another dog because I don’t have much going on right now and don’t want to turn my brain on.

The dog on the bottom is Milo, a former foster dog. He’s a puggle – a pug/beagle mix. They are insane. In a good way, but they are just nuts. That spot he’s lying in is Ed’s spot. Ed is a really good dog – he doesn’t cause trouble unless absolutely necessary, but he also holds his ground and is incredibly headstrong. Since Milo was in Ed’s spot, Ed spent a good amount of time sitting on the floor trying to stare a hole through Milo. When that didn’t work, he decided to just jump up there. Usually, this works perfectly because Jenkins, our other dog, is a big wuss and will move to give Ed his spot. But, this was Milo, who doesn’t mind direct contact (Jenkins likes his personal space), and is nutty in a “I don’t care, you can sit on my head” kind of way. So there they sat, Milo on the couch and Ed on Milo, each unwilling to compromise. I feel like there’s a life lesson or an analogy in there somewhere, but I’m not really concerned with what it could be because I just find the picture funny. That one dog is sitting on that other dog’s head, heh heh.

The end.

P.S. WordPress is being all weird and not doing what I ask it to – it’s like it knows I’m trying to post a phoned in blog entry. If I were currently drunk I would slur “shuttupwordpress, I’ll do what’s best for me cause I know what’s best, go back to pressing your words and I’ll worry about mene” (that’s a combination of “mine” and “me”). So, if this post is lost when I hit Publish, well, ok, I guess that’s for the best.

P.P.S. My wireless mouse died and I have no patience for the trackpad or whatever it thinks it’s called. Thus, I can’t do stuff I want to do like copy and paste and photoshop a picture of a makeup bag. So you get this. And I know in the grand scheme of things this is really not a problem. People who don’t have fingers to even use trackpads have it much worse. I’m sorry.

P.P.S.2  I told you in the title that I wasn’t going to turn my brain on so if you’re reading this far down it’s pretty much your own fault. Ha ha ha, I laugh at you!

Dog Rescue: A Cast of Five

After six and a half years in dog rescue, which I have minimal-to-no involvement in at the moment, I thought I’d compile the cast of characters who often occupy a rescue organization. I’m sure you’ll find many of the same types in your workplaces, as most are volunteers and earn money elsewhere. While well-intentioned, if the structure of the organization isn’t very well maintained or established, which is often the case in rescue, all of these types end up being a pain in someone’s ass at some point. If you sprinkle a little mental instability over them, and combine it with a lack of structure, you get the following cartoon-y archetypes:

The Lap
The Lap is there to cuddle dogs. She wants to sit with a dog, cuddle and pet it, and call it a day. She’s not concerned with much of anything else. Often clueless. You may find yourself approaching The Lap and muttering things like, “Could you please move your chair? You’re sitting directly in front of the donation jar.”

When asked to do something, like maybe clean up some pee, or get up and do anything else, The Lap will  start up with herky jerky movements, leash of dog in hand, not sure of how to stand since there’s a dog in her lap, as if she’s never done anything but sit there up to this point in her life. She usually figures it out after a few minutes.

 The Pat on the Back Addict
The Pat on the Back Addict doesn’t like to do anything without effusive praise afterwards. Will often passive aggressively fish for praise. Example, will post on a message board: “Did someone get the five dollar bill I put in the donation jar this Saturday? It was green, had Abraham Lincoln on it, and my name written across it in permanent marker. Please let me know if you saw it and if it’s been deposited. Maybe we can use it to buy some more dog treats since the ones that I previously bought seem to have disappeared.” Does usually wear pants, though.

The Basket Case
The Basket Case is highly volatile and takes everything personally. If a foster home, will say things like, “But Peanut can’t go to a home without a DVR, he gets so nervous during commercials, I think something bad happened to him in his last home when a Swiffer commercial was on.” Then, will turn around and say, “Why did that lady who looks like me and has good manners get turned down for a dog? Our standards must be way too strict if we didn’t let her have one.” When explanations are made, will fly into rage, call people terrible names, storm out of rooms, then become upset that no one takes her seriously.

The Big Idea
The Big Idea comes up with elaborate, grand schemes that are often not thought through and don’t really work in a small organization filled with burned-out people. “I think we should bedazzle the names of every dog on their collars! It will be a good identifier, and will spruce things up and encourage adoptions!” When someone (usually the Wet Blanket) points out that we don’t have any money in the budget for bedazzling supplies, often responds with, “You hate the dogs!” If given permission to do Big Idea as long as she figures out how to do it herself and gets her own help, project often fizzles, and The Big Idea will express surprise about how long bedazzling takes.

The Burned-Out Wet Blanket
The Burned-Out Wet Blanket is hated by all other types. She’s generally a downer. She does a lot of work, and so therefore has a low tolerance for people who don’t do much work or new ideas that will cause more work. Often heard saying things like, “And exactly who is going to do xyz?” Her chit chat with other people consists of correcting something they’re doing wrong, often in passing (literally), which makes it even more bitchy to those being corrected. Saying things like “I don’t think I can do this much longer” is taken by others as a threat, for some reason. She’s really a nice person, or used to be, before her workload enveloped her like a dark beast. Ok, fine, yes, I was the Wet Blanket type.