Jan 2009
A Sick Dad
30/01/09 18:47 Filed in: Pawsonal
My dad's been sick lately. I know it. I can smell it
on him. We four-leggers have exceptional senses of
smell so we can smell when someone isn't feeling
well, often before they really register it
themselves.
So he's been sick. He's coughing and hacking and sniffling and sneezing and not sleeping well. It's not a pretty sight. Not that he's ever really a pretty sight — I'll never understand what these two-leggers see in each other — but worse than usual of late.
So I've been giving him a break. I let him get away with not coming along on walks and not playing Wubba with me. I think we have to help our people when they're sick, not get on their cases. So when he's lying on the couch, I jump up beside him and give him a very long inspection, just to make sure there haven't been any new negative developments. He's usually got his eyes closed so I just look.
Then, if he seems cold lying there — again, what is it with two-leggers and being cold; I'm always warm! — I snuggle down beside or on top of him to share some of my heat. I figure it's the least I can do, right?
I hope he feels better soon, though. The wubba's getting lonely!
So he's been sick. He's coughing and hacking and sniffling and sneezing and not sleeping well. It's not a pretty sight. Not that he's ever really a pretty sight — I'll never understand what these two-leggers see in each other — but worse than usual of late.
So I've been giving him a break. I let him get away with not coming along on walks and not playing Wubba with me. I think we have to help our people when they're sick, not get on their cases. So when he's lying on the couch, I jump up beside him and give him a very long inspection, just to make sure there haven't been any new negative developments. He's usually got his eyes closed so I just look.
Then, if he seems cold lying there — again, what is it with two-leggers and being cold; I'm always warm! — I snuggle down beside or on top of him to share some of my heat. I figure it's the least I can do, right?
I hope he feels better soon, though. The wubba's getting lonely!
All Brushed Out
27/01/09 18:29 Filed in: Pawsonal
It's official. I'm a fluff ball. My mom's been at me
for seven full darknesses now since she came homeand
now I look like a big fuzzy ball.
She's got this bag of brushes and combs that she keeps around the house and, every time I get even the slightest bit drowsy, out they come. Brush brush brush. Comb comb comb. Sometimes it feels nice and sometimes not so much!
She talks to me the whole time she's going at me and tries to make it sound like my giving in is a good thing. We even fight sometimes. I grrr and bark and she tells me to shush and comes at me again. When I try to leave, she grabs my front paws and pulls me back to her. How can I resist her? She's still bigger than me!
I have to admit, now that she's brushed and combed me into submission, I am finding I don't have as many nasty skin pulls any more when I move. I think my fur gets tangled up in itself when I don't get the brushing often enough and that leads to pulls and tugs. They can really hurt. More even than the brush and the comb.
So maybe it's a good thing. But, my goodness, you should see me! I'm puffed up like a blow fish. My fur sticks out in every direction. I take up twice as much room.
I won't even let my dad take a picture of me, I feel so silly. Oh well. You'll have to take my word for it. Brushing and combing may be a good thing (and I admit that only grudgingly) but I really don't want to look like Farrah in her 1970s heyday!
She's got this bag of brushes and combs that she keeps around the house and, every time I get even the slightest bit drowsy, out they come. Brush brush brush. Comb comb comb. Sometimes it feels nice and sometimes not so much!
She talks to me the whole time she's going at me and tries to make it sound like my giving in is a good thing. We even fight sometimes. I grrr and bark and she tells me to shush and comes at me again. When I try to leave, she grabs my front paws and pulls me back to her. How can I resist her? She's still bigger than me!
I have to admit, now that she's brushed and combed me into submission, I am finding I don't have as many nasty skin pulls any more when I move. I think my fur gets tangled up in itself when I don't get the brushing often enough and that leads to pulls and tugs. They can really hurt. More even than the brush and the comb.
So maybe it's a good thing. But, my goodness, you should see me! I'm puffed up like a blow fish. My fur sticks out in every direction. I take up twice as much room.
I won't even let my dad take a picture of me, I feel so silly. Oh well. You'll have to take my word for it. Brushing and combing may be a good thing (and I admit that only grudgingly) but I really don't want to look like Farrah in her 1970s heyday!
Two-Leggers on Sticks
25/01/09 18:29 Filed in: Pawsonal
Dad and I went out for a walk at the big place with
trees. It has nice long, wide paths, covered with the
fluffy white stuff and surrounded by trees so it's a
great place to go. And, surprise surprise, my best
friend Riley met us there with his dad James. Riley
and I both had our boots on so we could feel silly
(and warm) together.
As soon as Riley and I started running around the place where we leave the rolling rooms, though, a strange thing happened. Riley's dad put long pieces of wood on his feet. And he took long sticks in his hands. Two days in a row I have to deal with this strange, two-legger phenomena! Needless to say, I told James I didn't like it in no uncertain terms. He just smiled, talked to me in two-legger language, and kept putting the wood on his feet.
When we finally set out on the trail, James took off like the fastest two-legger I've ever seen. He was amazing. Even though my dad can walk pretty quick when he wants to, James left us behind in the fluffy white stuff. Riley ran after him and so did I, even if I was still a little concerned about the sticks and the wood on his feet. He was fast for a two-legger but, of course, neither of us four-leggers had any problems keeping up with him!
Still, he left my dad far behind. So, after a couple of minutes, I gave up chasing him and went back to my dad. After all, it's him I'm taking care of, not James. Then Riley told James to turn around and come back to us and so they did. Then off they went again, into the distance, then back once more. My dad was walking for all he was worth (he even ran a couple of times) but those sticks made James too fast for him.
Dad didn't seem to mind, though. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The fluffy white stuff sparkled in the sun and there were even winged feathery darts flying through the air and singing in the trees. James and Riley were having a really nice time too. Riley would run off, then run back to me and we'd wrestle for a minute, run around together a bit, then off he and James would go again.
By the time we got back to the wheeled rolling rooms, we were all pretty pooped. Happy but pooped. So maybe these two-leggers on sticks aren't such a bad thing after all.
As soon as Riley and I started running around the place where we leave the rolling rooms, though, a strange thing happened. Riley's dad put long pieces of wood on his feet. And he took long sticks in his hands. Two days in a row I have to deal with this strange, two-legger phenomena! Needless to say, I told James I didn't like it in no uncertain terms. He just smiled, talked to me in two-legger language, and kept putting the wood on his feet.
When we finally set out on the trail, James took off like the fastest two-legger I've ever seen. He was amazing. Even though my dad can walk pretty quick when he wants to, James left us behind in the fluffy white stuff. Riley ran after him and so did I, even if I was still a little concerned about the sticks and the wood on his feet. He was fast for a two-legger but, of course, neither of us four-leggers had any problems keeping up with him!
Still, he left my dad far behind. So, after a couple of minutes, I gave up chasing him and went back to my dad. After all, it's him I'm taking care of, not James. Then Riley told James to turn around and come back to us and so they did. Then off they went again, into the distance, then back once more. My dad was walking for all he was worth (he even ran a couple of times) but those sticks made James too fast for him.
Dad didn't seem to mind, though. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The fluffy white stuff sparkled in the sun and there were even winged feathery darts flying through the air and singing in the trees. James and Riley were having a really nice time too. Riley would run off, then run back to me and we'd wrestle for a minute, run around together a bit, then off he and James would go again.
By the time we got back to the wheeled rolling rooms, we were all pretty pooped. Happy but pooped. So maybe these two-leggers on sticks aren't such a bad thing after all.