A Blake Bear Tale About The Kitty With The Plastic Poo Tail

When I was a pup and first came to live with Mommy and Daddy there was already a dog here, the much beloved Blake Bear. Blake was a Shih Tzu who could have been Gracie’s Mom. Every time I see that pretty baby she reminds me so much of Sister Blake.

She taught me so much. Everything I know about being a dog I learned from Blakesie. She only stayed with Mommy and Daddy a little over five years, a much too short time, but there were mountains of stories she accumulated over that time, and, with no puppy sites to blog them on, she just barked them down to me.

This is one of my favorites:

You may not believe this, but the first pet that Mommy and Daddy had was a Siamese cat named Gizmo. Now don’t think too poorly of them. They were young and in love and susceptible to making grievous errors, thankfully none of them involved breeding.

Gizmo was a good kitty, but as he got older, he got meaner. He would hide behind furniture and jump out clawing at anyone who had the poor sense to pass by, attack naked ankles, hide in the linen closet and pounce out when the door opened, and snarl and hiss at everything that invaded his space.

And he had one fatal flaw that would eventually lead to his early exit to the bridge (and his parents longing to get Blake a playmate who would turn out to be…you guessed it, a Mini Monster.) Gizmo liked to eat plastic.

And not just sandwich bags. Gizmo once ate an entire trash bag. This didn’t buy him a ticket to the bridge, just to the vet where Mommy and Daddy left lots of money. It also made them hide the plastic, but Gizmo was good at opening drawers and ripping open boxes, in his thirst for plastic.

It is from here I will let Blake take over

“Gizmo used to Vick in this sandy box upstairs, which was great. It was like getting extra crispy chicken from the Colonel. Mommy and Daddy really tried hard to keep me away from it but I still found ways of sneaking in, like the morning I woke Daddy up early to pee, then snuck away from him while he was getting a treat, snacked on a little Gizmo Vick, then climbed back into bed with him and snuggled up, and a half hour later that Vick came back in the most disgusting thing you ever saw.

“Now this one morning, Mommy and Daddy and my human sister Kellie were all rushing about getting ready for their job when we heard a screech and then saw a blur, which was Gizmo tearing down the stairs with a long piece of trash bag attached to his butt. He had eaten a trash bag the night before, and had spent several minutes trying to push it out, but it had gotten stuck when she ran out of push, and now she was trying to out run it with little luck.

“Now for me, this was the greatest gift of all, a running kitty trailing a bright piece of plastic covered in poo. Mommy, Daddy, Kellie and I all looked at one another and shared the same thought. ‘Get that kitty.’ All four of us then took off after him. Mommy tried to coax him to her, but if you’ve ever been trailing two feet of plastic that you just pushed through your intestines you know, you have no interest in being coaxed; Kellie, who did not have much experience with kitties trailing two feet of poo covered plastic, was trying to grab hiscollar, but Gizmo had more moves than Adrian Peterson, without two feet of poo covered plastic coming out of his butt; Daddy tried to stomp on the plastic but kept missing; while I tried to grab it in my teeth, but it was flipping around like Eyeore’s tacked on tail on a blustery day.

“I must give credit to Gizmo, who kept darting, dashing, jumping and swirling while the four of us tripped over one another like a game of Twister if Twister involved a cat with a tail of plastic poo.

“Finally Daddy and I worked together. I ran beside him and nudged him towards Daddy and he stomped down his foot, and it landed on the plastic, and Gizmo kept running and another foot of plastic slipped right out of him as he let out a yell like Bernie Madoff spending his first night with the Aryans.

“Gizmo ran up stairs and the four of us stood around this truly magnificent piece of trash bag trying to decide who would pick it up when I decided on the obvious choice. Me! I got my mouth on it before Daddy ripped it out of my mouth and put it the trash, which was kind of silly because that’s how all this began in the first place.

“Then Mommy and Daddy went upstairs with the kitty travel bag and I heard an ferocious fight as Gizmo clawed and hissed and spit and bit until they corralled him in the bag and took him to the vet who gave them a wonderful piece of advice: Stop letting him eat plastic.

”Well they were never able to stop him. He started figuring out how to get in the closed trash bin, and then snuck down to Chad’s room and ate another bag, which did him in. It was sad, but really, the cat was mean, plastic eating mean. And anyway, when he went to the bridge to eat the plastic trees, I got to meet my bestest friend, Foley Monster.

And I got to meet my best friend too, Blake, even if I didn’t get to know her for long, so all my friends at the bridge, keep you eyes and ears open for Blake and give her a big kiss, and for the kitty trailing the long plastic stand covered in poo.

Who laid the Vick?

Foley: Well, as our loyal followers know, I have free run of our bedroom while Pocket is confined to her crate during the day. Well today Pocket took this big Vick right in front of the TV in the bedroom and let me tell you, it smelled very nasty and I was disgusted.

Pocket: Excuse me. If you know our history, and read the above paragraph you’ll know that I was, and usually am, in the crate when Mommy is away, so I could not possibly have left the unidentified Vick in the house.

Mom: I got home from a miserable day at work where I didn’t even get a lunch break and I walk in the front door and said “Oh Mama” then hurried up the stairs to see what Pocket had done in her crate.

Pocket: Really? That’s what your first thought was? What Pocket had done in her crate? Really.

Mom: I opened the door and sweet fancy Moses there was the Vick lying on the floor and I looked down at my precious Monster and said “Foley, what did you do?”

Foley: I looked up with my deep brown eyes, pointed at Pocket and said “Jah accuse!

Pocket: I’m not sure what Foley said because I was saying “Oh my God, you’re home, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, I think I peed a little, let me out, let me out, let me out.”

Mom: I told Foley it was impossible for Pocket to Vick on the floor when she was locked in the crate.

Foley: Oh, I told my Mommy, Oh, that Pocket, she’s a magician, a real Einstein, as soon as you leave she’s using those little paws to open that crate door and then she’s all over the place, on the bed, pooping here, pooping there, I follow her around with the steam cleaner, then, just before you get home, she hops back in the crate. Today I followed her around so much I fell asleep and woke up and there was the Vick.

Mom: I told Foley I needed to get something to clean the Vick.

Pocket: I’m not sure what happened next. I think I blacked out. All I now is Mommy left and I was still in the crate and I was barking “Hey, I’m still here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

Foley: I went out to the crate, looked Pocket in her glazed brown eyes, and said: “Look here, see, this is how it’s gonna go, you’re gonna take the heat on the poop you understand, or it’s gonna be big trouble for you understand, big trouble!”

Pocket: “Hey, hey, hey, I’m here, here, hey, hey, hey, hey I’m here.”

Mom: I came back in the room and let Pocket out and she jumped into my arms. I brought them downstairs and took them outside and told Foley we would not talk about this until her Daddy got home.

Foley: Ah hah! No problem. I got that slope nosed in my back pock….uh, back…pack.

Dad: I got home and Marsha told me that Foley had laid a big Vick by the bedroom television.

Foley: I said “Honest to god she’s been drinking all day.”

Pocket: I was jumping up and down at his feet saying “You’re home, you’re home, you’re home, throw the ball, throw the ball, throw the ball, I think I peed a little, throw the ball, throw the ball, yup that’s pee, throw the ball, throw the ball, throw the ball.”

Dad: I told Foley she should have gone in the morning when I was walking her but she was too busy sniffing the leaves.

Foley: It’s the whole standard time/day light savings time thing, it throws off my whole schedule.

Mom: I told Ted that Foley tried to blame the whole thing on her little sister.

Pocket: I told Daddy and Mommy that I didn’t Vick on the floor and they could trust me because I’m a politician.

Mom and Dad: Hmmmmmm.

Foley: I might beat this yet.

Pocket: Oh for the love of god throw the ball!

Candidate Pocket discuss the issues

This week the Democratic candidates running for the Senate seat that I am seeking as a Dogpendent held a debate. As the only Dogpendent I was not invited to debate, and neither was the only Republican candidate, Guy Uzgotnochance, but I still would like to give my views on the questions asked.

The Public Option: A great deal of the debate centered about this subject. Now I don’t clearly understand this whole public option thing. I know it has something to do with health. I don’t think people should make any decisions about their health. They always seem to make the wrong ones: eating too much, exercising too little and taking dangerous risks. No, I am for the puppy option. Let us manage our Mommy’s health and Daddy’s, we’d do a much better job. We need them to be healthy to take care of us, so let’s get rid of the public option and change it to the puppy option.

Afghanistan: I am against sending troops to Afghanistan because my friend Jordan has had to go there and it’s a scary place. I don’t think anyone should have to go to another country to fight a war. But I also understand there are bad humans there. I think we should send Cesar Milan there to whisper to everyone until they become calm and submissive.

Immigration: Speaking of Mr. Milan I would ease up on the immigration issues. I have so many friends from other countries like Paco, Rain, Luca, and Benji. They are dogs just like me, and while I know humans are more set in their ways then dogs, I think down below they are more or less the same.

Green Jobs: The others talked about their green energy jobs, but I am the only one who does a green energy job. When I do my Vicks it goes into the ground and makes the grass green. Some of these candidates don’t put their money where their mouth is but I put my mouth where my butt is.

No Child Left Behind: I am not for the No Child Left Behind law. Don’t get me wrong. I love children. But I prefer them one at a time. When there is more than that I tend to get overwhelmed, so please, leave at least one behind. I am much better dealing with children one on one.

I have studied this debate and must tell you I am not worried. After watching this debate I know two things, I am not the only dog in this race, but I am the smartest dog in this race.

The ballad of Foley Madoff

I was studying the gift application tab that mysteriously appeared on all our pages a couple of weeks ago. When I first saw it I did not like it at all. I thought the gift purchasing brought a great deal of unrest to Doggyspace, and I do not want unrest here. I have a great deal of faith in my fellow pups here on TB, and you confirmed what I believed, that none of you welcomed the gift app on your pages either. So today, I went to delete if from our pagers when I saw: “Virtual Gift Incentive Program.”

I excitedly clicked this and it explained how Pocket and I, as administrators of our site, if we encouraged the lot of you to buy gifts, then we would get half the profits. HOWL! Suckers! Who has a birthday coming up? Ruby? OK everyone, you need to send Ruby a very expensive gift to how much YOU love Ruby.

And then when we find out one of the members sent her one of those freaking free gifts (I mean thanks, instead of getting half of 75 I get half of nothing) we have to send a message to Ruby stating that those members, just don’t love her like the other members.

In a few brief days resentment, animosity, and jealousy should take route. A great debate will rage about if we need the gifts, feelings will be hurt, and some members will leave. Then one of our “nosy” friends will uncover that we have been profiting from all this friction and write an inflammatory blog, which we will respond to in a brief, curt, misspelled post, including with the words, “Thread closed.”

But then great suspicion will be cast on Pocket and me, and she will roll over like a dog starving for Hemee like reality show fame submits to Cesar Milan, telling everyone that I have been making money off of this, and the entire Brigade will turn on me.

Then everyone will rise up and say: “We want our money back!” and I’ll say “Well guess what? I ain’t got it! I spent it all on fancy kibble and revisions to the kitty condo.” Then Morgan will come for me, and I’ll be led off with little handcuffs on my paws, and I’ll be brought into the courthouse with a Tanner Brigade bandana covering my face. I’ll get sentenced by Zoe Boe to do community service and my afternoons, which should be spent in the sunny spot on the landing, will be spent being touched and prodded and pet and kissed by old people at the retirement community and over medicated children at the county day care. Meanwhile Pocket won’t be able to manage the Brigade. She can’t manage anything. So the Brigade will fold, but Zoe Boe will still say that I need to pay the money back. So I’ll have to go to the White House, again, and have kibble with the President, again, and hopefully get a bailout so I can pay everyone back. Then, after getting my bailout and paying everyone back I clearly deserve a bonus and I give myself one and then the whole hoopla starts all over again.

So I’m deleting the gifts, so we don’t turn friend against friends, so there is no jealously, so our friends don’t leave, so I don’t mislead you, so I don’t collect the money then spend it, so Pocket doesn’t blow the whistle on me, so I don’t go to prison and get turned out as someone’s bitch, so I don’t get my bonus, and because Mommy is making me.

Because the best gift any on us can give one another is simply our friendship. And that, as always, will be free.

And don’t forget, on Ruby’s birthday, to send her the gift of friendship.

Foley's Book Review: The Story of Edgar Sawtelle

I had been planning for the last few days to blog about the wonderful book I have been reading.

Yes, humans, I read. What, did you just think I wrote? Does that make a lick of sense? I don’t mean to beat a dead horse (why would someone do that, cruel and senseless, just a waste of time) but I am here to do what I best, complain about how humans screw up a good thing.

The book I was reading is called The Story of Edgar Sawtelle and it is a wonderful story about a mute boy who lives on a farm where they raise a special breed of dog. The boy can only communicate by signing, and he can sign to the dogs. Plus there is one pup, Almondine, who is the best fictional creation of a dog ever. After 463 pages I was going to order all of you to read it.

Then came the end, and the author, David Wroblewski, like most humans, completely ruined the book, and I can only recommend that you read the first 463 pages and my improved ending, which is this:

Edgar came back to the barn. Almondine ran to him. With Essay at their side they chased after Claude and evicted him from the home with a sharp bite on the butt. Then they moved back in the house with his Mom and they lived happily ever after.

There. A much better ending: and I saved you about 100 pages of reading.

But the author, he based the whole book on Hamlet. And if you know Shakespeare you know what happens at the end of Hamlet. (Pocket and I often put on Shakespeare’s plays while Mommy is at work. We wear our fancy dress. For you dogs from New Jersey we wear our queeah clothes. I play one mean Lady Macbeth. Pocket usually plays someone who gets off’d in the first act.)

Here is my much better ending for Hamlet: Hamlet comes back with a bunch of Great Danes and chases the bad man from the castle and they all lived happily ever after.

Now I don’t know if you’re a creationist and believe that man has been screwing things up for 2,000 years or a Darwinist and believe man has been screwing thing up for tens of thousands of years (did you ever think monkeys evolved from you?) all I know is you screwed up a really good story for me.

So, in closing, let me say this about The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. Buy it, read it, it is funny, it is heartbreakingly sad, it is pitch perfect in depicting the relationship between dogs and their people, and then, after page 460, take the book back to the store and demand your money back.

Yours truly,
FM
(No Static at all)

Pocket gets to work on correcting her problem

I would like to give a big shout out to all my friends both here and on Mommy’s Facebook page that suggested that I may not be a persistent peeing puppy but might have a medical problem. Not that I’m crazy about having a medical problem but it’s better than being a potty school drop out.

I think we can safely rule out a bladder infection. If I had a bladder infection I would have to pee all the time. I only have to pee when I move. Like the Sundance Kid: He was a better shooter when he was moving and I am a faster pisser when I move. (I apologize to those who find the term pisser inappropriate but peeer is not a word and if I am unable go to the bathroom correctly at least I can use proper grammar.

Zoe Boe’s Mom and Hattie both suggested that my shut off valve isn’t working as a result of my being spade. I swear, they can put a monkey on the moon but you can’t do a simple spading without a steam cleaner on layaway.

Daddy was very excited about this news, given the fact that my peeing has become his cause for the winter. To think his salvation comes in a little pill, and those same pharmaceutical folks could help me with my bladder.

Now Daddy, he wants to take me to the vets right away, but Mommy says our check up is a few weeks away and doesn’t want to pay for an extra office visit. Mommy feels that if I had something wrong that I would pee in bed at night or in my crate. But Daddy says all that running around could be loosening things up down there. I don’t know how long it is going to take for me to get to the vet, that’s between Mommy, Daddy, and the egg timer.

But while I am waiting I am going to act on the advice of two very wise friends: Buttons’ Mom, on Facebook, and MacDougal, and do Kegel exercises. Now, I looked this up on the Internet, and, it seemed easy enough. Foley called a cab and we went to Wal-Mart and found the Kegel devices strategically located between the rutabagas and the snow tires.

We got home and while Foley dickered with the cab driver about how many kibbles to tip I ripped open the Kegel package. I found I had quite a problem with, um, insertion. So I waited for Foley to come back inside, had her hold it between her two paws, and I jumped off the couch right on to it.

I tell you, it was very refreshing. I think this is something all lollipops could use (in fact it even looks like a lollipop). So all of you go to Wal-Mart, look at one of those smiling old people, say “Kegel me,” go home, get it in, and lets get it on.

OK everyone, ready, one…two….three

Oompa Loompa doompadee doo
Let’s work the Kegel in and out of you
Oompa Loompa doompadah dee
This will help you when you have to pee

Happy exercising everyone

Pocket's persistent peeing problem perplexes Papa

Sigh.

I don’t know if you noticed, but at the top of our page we have been tracking how many days I have gone without an accident and how many times I went out to pee the day before. On Thursday it said “Pocket has gone three days without peeing and yesterday peed nine times.”

Friday I was doing so well. Then, just before bed, I jumped off my perch of pillows on the couch, and before I hit the floor I was already peeing. I don’t know how it happened. Sometimes I have no idea what is going on down there.

“Oh Pocket,” Daddy said. He has made, after two years, my housebreaking a priority in his life. We are in this together, him and I (although if we were really in this together he would be peeing on the floor along with me.)

I pee a lot: More than the average bear. It’s not that I have to pee all the time. When I’m crated I don’t pee. I can stay in our warm bed on weekends for ten hours without having to pee. I know where the no pee zones are. Not on the couch, the recliners, the blankets. But if I’m anywhere else I tend to let the pee hit the fan.

When I’m playing, tugging on a rope, or chewing a bone, and especially when I’m pursuing my little green ball, I leak, like an old pipe. I don’t even realize what I’m doing. Just bammo! Wetto!

Daddy developed a plan late last year. He got an egg time (who times an egg? What are they doing? Where are they going?) and set it for 20 minutes. When the bell went off, he took me outside to pee. It was like Pavlov’s dog, except instead of panting I pee.

And it worked super. I went a whole seven days without an accident. But then Daddy, thinking he’s some sort of Teddy Earnest, decided to experiment and extend the time. But I had become like the seven-minute abs guy. I was a twenty-minute pee-er. Not 25, not 30, 20, that’s the ticket.

Then the winter came, the snow, and the ice, and the cold. I wanted no part of the outside. I slipped into some very bad patterns. Mommy and Daddy tried pee pads, but if they had put them over 99% of the house I’d find that one percent.

In the spring Mommy and Daddy did everything the experts said. They took me out the same time every day, to the same spot, gave me a treat right away, gave me praise, and I’d come inside and pee ten minutes later.

After trying everything, and with the Red Sox season over, Daddy needed something else to obsess over and has gone back to the egg timer, which worked for three straight days until Friday. Then Saturday morning the buzzer went off, Daddy took me out, kept me on the grass telling me to “do my business,” which is the phrase that is supposed to make me pee, then decided to go back inside, and five minutes later, I peed. And today it snowed…..

I am trying to meet my Daddy half way. I am going to concentrate real hard to do good. But I need all my friends to send me the best puppy thoughts so please, help me out, send out good thoughts and help me treat the whole house like I do the bed.

I am going to learn to pee outside with your help.

Yes we can.