Monthly Archives: October 2012

The Curious Case of the Midnight Pooper

I have two dogs, a Goldendoodle (pretty girl) and a Maltipoo (manly man).

Guess which one Husband Dearest refuses to walk in public?

Hazel, the Golden, is four years old, the younger of our furry children. She loves water and has the same birthday as Husband Dearest. Hazel has food allergies and this and that and the other – all of which amounts to a canine money pit. That’s why we think she was made to be as sweet as she is…because somehow she had to be worth it. And she is. Thanks to her Golden side, she is loyal, playful and a good cuddler.

Thanks to what we can only imagine is her Poodle side, you could also drop a piano on her foot before she would ever scream as loudly as she does if, should the holy gates of Hell open, and a child walks by.

At that point, she will grab her own leash and drag you back home to hoard water and prepare for the apocalypse.

Scout, the Maltipoo, is the best birthday present I have ever gotten and also the dog voted “Most Likely to Apologize While Biting You at the Same Time.” He has several aliases: Scooie, Little Man or The Wizard. As with anyone who holds several forms of ID and is known by many names, this 12 lb, 6-year-old ninja brainiac is the one you think twice about leaving a ball point pen around – because there is a small chance he will use it to create a lock pick and be in Cabo before you get out of the bathroom.

He is also the one that got new dog food yesterday. And also the one that really liked his new food yesterday. And also the one who woke me up at 2 in the morning to show the lawn how much he liked his new food yester – well, I guess today.

Anyway, meet the Fur Babies:

Scout and Hazel

Scout and Hazel, fresh from the creek.

Scout supervises his minions.

Hazel Flying off the Swim Dock

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Dinner at Huisache (wee-satch) Grill, Y’all

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Exposed beams, Chandeliers with kitchen utensils in them – what’s not to love about dinner at the Huisache?

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The Supreme Mrs. B. Utthole

Internet, today I am an ass. Sounds harsh until you think about saying that in a lofty, British accent – then it just sounds like a story you shared with a buddy at a pub (yeah – a pub).

Wait, I know what most of you (my one reader) are going to say: why not spell it ‘arse’ then, my British liege?

Answer – because that sounds more Scottish and not at all the sound I’m going for.

Anywho. I have my antsy pants on today and heaven forbid you get in my way. I am a little scared of taking the dogs on a walk. Why? Because most days, my puppies are angels and can do no wrong. But Internet, on days like this, animals are assholes, and one leash tug in the wrong direction might just make me lose it.

Lose it in a ‘why-do-you-hate-me-give-me-candy-right-now-you-never-let-me-have-anything-supermarket-tantrum’ lose it.

Luckily for the beasts, this rarely results in any public display of well, anything, but I do think they can hear the internal screaming because on days like this, they tend to hide behind Husband Dearest’s legs and wait for Real Mommy to return.

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