I am being violated every night by Foley Monster

Among my many humiliations on this earth none have been worse than the recent forced teeth brushing that has been inflicted upon me.  Starting on Saturday, at the most unsuspecting moments, Daddy grabs me, sits on me, and violates me.  Now I know how Scott Brown felt.

I should point out that he doesn't actually sit on me.  What he does is shove me between his legs and presses them together with his weight down on me.  Upon reading this back I agree the giant pervert should be arrested.

Then he forces my mouth open.  Then he takes out a brush, sticks it in my mouth and begins to stroke this thing across my teeth and gums while I struggle to get free, sneeze, sniff and gasp in desperation.

He says that it was for my own good (that's what they always  say, even on the witness stand.)  He says he has to do it because of my tar-tars.  Sicko.  (He claims I have tar-tars on my teeth.  I would really like to join the DA"s office to nail this bastard.)

He also does it to Pocket.  But he does it to me first,  I am happy he does it to me first.  I don't want to get the sloppy second brushing.  Pocket doesn't like it either but she's too young and innocent to know how she is being violated.

Now the humans, they think that we are so stupid, that all they have to do is flavor the tooth paste with chicken and we're going to fall in love with it.  You know who else likes chicken?  Humans.  If chicken tooth paste was such a great idea why don't humans have it?  "Honey, I can't stop brushing me teeth, this Duck La'Orange tooth paste is to die for.")    Believe me, putting a dead bird on the brush doesn't make it any more tempting.

Because we have teeny tiny mouths Mommy went to Oz to get a tooth brush from the Munchkin Dentistry.  There is a little pick at the end of the teeny tiny toothbrush. Daddy gets his Dr. Szell on and tries to pick away at my plaque.  I fight him and fight him on this, but I shouldn't.  I should just let him chip off the plaque and make my teeth nice and sharp.  Then I'll bite his hand off.  They say you can't bit the hand that feeds you but no one said you can't bite the hand that brushes you.

I say we rise up as a group and say no more tooth brushing.  Turtles live for like a million years and they don't brush their teeth.  And neither do Londoners and the Queen is 102.

If the government can be shut down by about 600 dumb people in Washington then 200 smart dogs can shut down tooth brushing.   United we stand, divided we floss. 

Who is with me?

Pocket Change(s)

It has been a busy time here in Monster Town.

It has been almost three weeks that I have been crated for five hours or more because Mommy and Daddy were working. Since December 23 one of our parents has been home with us except for three or four hours at the longest.  This has been a big boon to small businesses in the house, like ball chasing, squirrel harassing, and barking at passing cars out the window.

(An interlude, from Daddy's first dog Barney from the Bridge:  "Why, when I was a pup we didn't sit in the house and watch cars go by, we chased them.  We ran right next to them, smelling the rubber hitting the road, nipping at their bumpers with our teeth.  Sure, we often got swerved into, knocked over, or killed, but we were glad, glad to be killed, because that's the way it was back then.  You young pups and your barking at cars from the window, you're just a bunch of wussy lap dogs that's all".)

You may remember that Mommy got sick earlier this month.  If not I can replay the video.  What?  No?  OK.  Well she's back at work but Daddy is home with us.  Daddy has worked a very long time in a very bad place and it has had some effects on his health and he at least needs a break, or possibly a new job.  But Daddy is going to be out of work until at least March and Mommy may be retiring as early as April so there's a possibility that our days of being abandoned while both our parents are out earning the kibble are over (as long as it doesn't effect the kind of kibble we get.)

That of course means more time roaming where ever we want in the house and not being confined.  I am working very hard on getting Daddy on a schedule while Mommy is out.  He is working very hard on finally potty training me.  I believe I am doing an excellent job in training him.  As for his training me, well he still needs to work on some things.

Our early mornings are the same.  But Daddy doesn't wear the shirt with the buttons and the ribbon around his neck.  When Mommy goes to work Daddy goes for a walk at the loony bin.  We are all worried when he leaves because Daddy is a loon and if they catch him in their big net they won't let him come back.  He walks all over that place, in the woods where they bury they experimental babies and everything.

He gets home after an hour and I bark to him to let me out.   This part of my training is failing.  He doesn't come upstairs to get me right away.  He does the laundry, and shampoos the floor, sometimes he put away groceries, this morning he straightened up the house and emptied the dish washer.  I don't know why he can't do this while we're downstairs.  There are still some kinks in the system.

He finally takes us, after waiting forever, out of our crate and outside for my third pee of the day.  He then sets the alarm on his phone for 15 minutes and sets up the computer on the couch, sits on the floor, and throws the ball for me, until the alarm goes off, then he takes me out for pee number four.  Fifteen more minutes and pee number five, and sometimes, if I have it in me, 15 more minutes then pee number six.

Then Daddy sits down after 45 minutes of ball throwing for some work on the computer and to wait for Mommy to come home. There is usually one more pee in there to make seven.  When Mommy comes home I get taken out for pee number eight.  Then three more fifteen minutes sessions of ball with pee break numbers nine, ten, and 11.

We snuggle down with Mommy before supper, maybe play a little more ball, have a couple of more pees, then  three more after supper to bring my pee number up to 16 a day.  So, I am doing a very good job of teaching Daddy to take me out to pee 16 hours a day.
 
On Friday we went to the vets where we were prodded, poked, and completely humiliated.  May I ask you who squeezes your anal glands and then decides to check on your teeth.  I mean I know I eat poo but I want to be the one who makes that decision.  I shall not have poo thrust upon me. 

They found the usual tarter on Foley's teeth and made an appointment for her to get her teeth clean.  Then they said there was some tarter on my teeth.  What?  I'm perfect.  Then he pointed to some discharge around my eyes that needed to be cleaned daily.   How rude?  So now I get my teeth brush and my eyes cleaned.  Everyone said what a good pup I was taking my shots but truthfully I was just in shock from the eye and teeth news.

So now I get brushed, and I get the fur around my eyes combed and it pulls and it hurts.  Mommy says the important thing is that we are healthy.  Then again no one is brushing the hair under her eyes.

Starting today my parents are going to keep track of how many days I can go without an accident in the house and if I do go the circumstances.  I think that this will become a very popular game on the Tanner Brigade with lots of kibble going back and forth.  Wish me luck.  I'm so happy I am doing the happy dance.  Oops.  OK, we'll start tomorrow.