Tag: There’s Not Enough Dogs and Cats on the Internet

How Moving and Cat Poop are Related

We officially no longer live in our house. But, it’s still our house, which means we still have a mortgage. While our renters wait for their house to sell, and while they decide if they want to buy our house, we don’t have an official home. We’re staying with my mom while we wait for everything to straighten itself out. My mom is generous to have us and while I don’t mind being home-home, you still don’t want to be in your mid-thirties and living with your mom even though it makes the most sense and reduces the amount of times we have to move our stuff. I just don’t want to hate my stuff more than I already do.

I think one of the reasons cats have such a holier-than-thou attitude is because they've seen the way dogs react to their poop.

What does this have to do with cat poop? When you have cats AND dogs, you have to spend a surprising amount of time trying to figure out how to “protect” cat poop. If you have cats and dogs, you also probably know the term for cat poop that is used to describe a dog’s maddening love of it – Tootsie Rolls.

Every time you move with your dogs and cats you have to re-figure out how to keep those precious tootsie rolls from constant threat. I think it’s one of life’s strangest predicaments. For us, the solution usually involves a closet and a baby gate.

When we move, I forget about this predicament because we did a really good job of solving the problem in our previous abode, like when people let their guards down during times of peace. Of course, it’s only a matter of time (that amount of time is easily measurable – it is the exact amount of time it takes for the cat to take his first shit in the new house) before I’m reminded that a fortress must be built around the Kingdom of Litter.

Our dog Ed is a turd connoisseur. I think he was feral at some point, which probably started his terrible hunger for poo, as it may have been his available meals. If Pizza Hut sold a Turd Lover’s Pizza, he’d eat it every day. His favorite soup would be turdle soup. He’d be disappointed by a pu pu platter. We don’t let him pick what he has for dinner, is what I’m saying.

He has the well-earned nickname “Turd Burglar.” He’ll burgle turds at every opportunity. Turds tremble in fear when they sense he is near. Seriously, the dude loves turds. That’s why, when Tom wanted to practice on his new photo editing program, he chose to create this:

You may be a world-class turd burglar, Ed, but this time the local tootsie rolls will only have folklore legends to pass down from generation to generation. “Hair as orange as John Boehner’s skin and a collar as green as grass, and he’d just as soon eat you as look at you.”

Rest easy, sweet turds, you’re safe for now. Turds in the backyard, I’m afraid you’re on your own.

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read to be read at yeahwrite.me
Adding this post to the Yeah Write weekly challenge. I had a lot of fun last week reading new blogs. You can lurk, hangout, or enter a post in the weekly challenge, then vote for your 5 favorites. Go check it out.

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:

Casablanca:

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

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.

 

Dear dogs, peeing in the rain is not illegal, I looked it up.

Dear Jenkins and Ed,

While I certainly understand that a gray, rainy, soggy day sucks (I’ve been in a bad mood for a month partially because of the weather), neither one of you will use a toilet. And, if I were to introduce you to the concept of a litter box, you would consider it more a buffet than a bathroom. So, we are left with sticking with what works most other days of the year – you both need to pee and poop outside.

I’m writing you this letter at noon, which means you have refused to pee for well over twelve hours now. You are both boy dogs, you LOVE to pee on things – if you had eHarmony profiles, it would be one of the first things you listed under “likes.” I KNOW you have to pee, don’t look at me like I’m insane when I force you outside.

I would like to remind you both of the following facts:

Jenkins – you lived your first 8-9 months of your life chained outside in someone’s backyard. I’m sure it rained. Several times. Did you melt? No.

Ed – you lived your first several YEARS most likely a semi-feral country dog who has been shot at with bb guns and were most certainly rained on.  While I have applauded your spirit and willingness to rise above your past and become a couch dog many times, I do feel the need to point out that my asking you to not pee in the house is not akin to your homeless rural beginnings.

This is the deal: if you both suck it up for fifteen damn seconds and go pee on the side of the house for all I care (and I know you can do it because I’ve seen it happen), I will stop shoving you out the door every twenty minutes. Then, you can stop acting like I’m twirling my mustache and planning on taking over the world somehow by forcing two spoiled dogs to get their tootsies wet. Those ASPCA ads were NOT made for dogs in your current situation, as much as you’d like me to believe that.



Sincerely,
Carrie

I’m tired and have a cold, so I’m just going to throw pictures at you and call it a post.

This Christmas it was my turn to get sick. Usually Tom or I get sick, and since last year was a Christmas miracle and neither one of us got sick, this year turned out to be my year.

My brain is being a bitch and won’t put together any kind of logical, linear narrative or post, so here’s a collection of pictures from what I’ve been doing.

We’re spending the week in N.C. with my mom and sister. The drive from Georgia takes about 6 hours, which inevitably means a bathroom break. Last time I was assured at a South Carolina rest stop I wouldn’t be stabbed with a screwdriver. This time, at a gas station, was a sign that reminded me that I was using the bathroom in a gas station:

I love polite toilets.

Then, we went on a walk, and Tom made the observation that the people who lived here must have started having their house painted, then noticed they loved the color of the painter’s tape so much, they switched it up.

And on the walk, both of the dogs kept peeing on red fire hydrants. I boooed at them every time. It’s so cliched and expected. The only saving grace is that we know they aren’t doing it ironically because in real life, there are no doggie hipsters.

BOOOOOOO!

I looked through the photo albums at my mom’s house, as I often do, because I live in the past. I found a picture from the year Santa brought me my Wonder Woman sleeping bag, and I had just found it in the 1983 Sears WishBook on the Wish Book Web:

I also found a picture of me trying to fit in my arms all the Care Bear figures my grandma got me. And I’m sure she rolled her eyes and mentioned how spoiled I was because that’s the kind of grandma she was:

And, this Christmas, Santa left me a nice stash of Nerds to cannibalize:

I hope you all had and are having a happy holiday. And may all of you and your family members come out the other side un-strangled.