Dewclaws up to you, Mystery Voter

We noticed today that my fourth paw has returned to its rightful place, on my page rating. On behalf of the H./F. Family, I would like to thank you, Mystery Voter, and commend you on your clearly excellent taste. May all your bones be big and your kibble be tasty.

Livin' Large,

Chance

Festivus Tree. It's what's for dinner.

About a week ago, Mom came home with, in addition to the usual giant bookbag on her back, a large amount of funny-smelling green stuff over her arm. Apparently this time of year, some humans go outside, kill trees, and bring them and various sculpted versions of their branches inside,so they can water them and try to keep them alive for another month. Yeah. I don't get it either.

The upside to this is the snacking potential of the tree. After we barked at it for twenty minutes or so, and decided it was not going to make any further sudden moves, we decided to investigate. Mom was trying to make the tree stand up (again, would have been easy enough if it had just been left outside, but whatever), so our investigation seemed inopportune to her. Or judging from the words used during the investigation, it was a bad time.

Anyway, eventually, the arfing thing stood up, minus one of the three plastic prongs on the stand that was "just $10 extra" and which proceeded to break as soon as she tried to use it. Mom was never good at physics (and by "never good," we mean "if her physics teacher used reasonable grading methods, which he mercifully did not, that B she got would have been much lower and also more reflective of actual ability."). But we digress. She got the tree to balance and once it did, there were many, many green things all over the floor. And you know what? They were delicious. Tangy. Fresh. Different. I recommend them highly.

Amazingly, we even managed not to barf even after a hearty snack. We also managed not to bark at the tree anymore. (Why we would bark at the tree is unclear - we have had a mouse living with us for a month who basically cooks dinner, cleans the kitchen and generally hangs out - brazen little arfer for sure - and we pay him...virtually no mind. But the four-foot, NY-apt.-sized tree? Danger, Will Robinson.)

So puppalas, we recommend the tree feast to you. And for those of you with non-heathen (or Christian) parents who bring just candles or whatever into the house for the howlidays, we are sorry. But maybe wax tastes good too?

Happy Festivus,

Chance

Out of their barking minds

Mom and Dad have decided that we need a sister. They MUST be kidding. Don't get me wrong - the more huahuas in the world, the better, but in this house? Haven't we aptly demonstrated that we are plenty? Are they trying to drive themselves nuts?

The saving grace to all this is that it probably won't happen very soon because they are extremely specific in their demands, much like me. They want a very, very small female chihuahua with primarily blue coloring. If I weren't colorblind, I might think this sounded great. Anyway, it appears that this mythical beast is rather difficult to find, so at least it may be a long time before she actually shows up.

I don't know though. I am not all too sure Captain and I want to share our house with anyone else. We barely tolerate Dad sometimes. But maybe it would be good to have a lady around the house. She might keep Captain and me in line. I doubt it, but you never know.

Ambivalently yours and worried about cooties,

Chance

A desk 'hua am I

I have found a leash on life. Mom and Dad got a new desk in honor of Mom's emBARKing on three years of being a financial drain, I mean law student, so that she would have somewhere to study and Dad could still use his computer. So the new desk is pretty big. (Please note that, true to form, Dad is usually at the desk - as was always the case in the past - and Mom is usually on the couch (just studying instead of arfing around on the Internet) - as was also always the case in the past. So not much has actually changed.) The beauty of the new real estate is that I now have new space in which to roam, given the opportunity.

In my ramblings about the capacious (sic) living room I often like to make sure all is well in Dad's half, since not much changes in Mom's half, except for which giant book she is reading. Dad, because he is pretty cool, will often pick me up and put me on the desk to do a bit of exploring. I love this for two reasons. First of all, it's a snazzy, high ground for me from which I can survey my kingdom. Secondly, it means that I can often keep my sock/ toy / bone / thing-I-should-not-have-in-my-mouth-but-do-because-Dad-hasn' t-checked-and-Mom-is-reading away from Captain. It's basically a win-win. AND, I have discovered binder-diving. If I guage it just right, I can often dive right off of Mom's criminal law binder onto the floor, in a stunning display of chihuahua grace and athleticism.

If you can get your parents to be nearly so indulgent, "It is so choice. I highly recommend it." [Name that movie for an extra ten bones. Really.]

The puppy formerly known as Stripe

Has anyone noticed anything different about me? I didn't lose weight or get a haircut. I did get something else cut, but there are no photos of that (you can all thank me privately). No, the thing of which I speak is my stripe. When I was just a small tyke, I had this big white stripe on my stunning visage. (See the picture of me on the green thing.) Now I have, at best, a few white hairs upon my brow. Not earth-shattering, I know, but vaguely interesting nonetheless.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tail (which IS still white-tipped - very distracting) to chase.

I'm just sayin...

Chance

Reflections on the Change

Well, if you all have read Captain's entry, then you know that Mom has gone and done it: she's taken our manhood. To add insult to injury, the nasty doctors also took my last four baby teeth AND killed my wormy friends who were rooming with me. They run a tight ship over there - don't want us dogs to keep anything!

But it's not all bad. I am now back to ruling my Murray Hill domain, and it's a good thing too. This place goes down hill when I am gone. It's far too clean and quiet without me. (I too run a tight ship, as it happens. The vet and I just don't see eye-to-eye on what that means.)

Anyway, now I am having fun with my discharge instructions. Among other things, they said "no jumping." So naturally, I have been attempting to break my former leap records by seeing just how much HIGHER than the couch I can jump when getting onto it. I have made it to about the height of the back a couple of times. And of course, I have to keep Captain in line. He may not lick his stitches, but I will! Mom keeps threatening to put my satellite collar back on, but she has to catch me first! You'd be amazed how big a four-hundred-square-foot living room can be, if you learn how to use the space.

Anyway, I tire slowly, and if I am to be an effective ruler need my rest. But fear not, dear Readers, members of DETH and other canine and human friends, I will be up to all my old tricks in no time.

Dude where's my...

...well, where ARE my rosettes? And Captain's too? I mean, seriously, we had 'em and now they're gone. Gone I tell you! Don't make me get out the DETH members on whoever took them. Just drop them back off anonymously, and we will be juuuuussst fine.

Constitutional Law tastes good!

Well, pups and pupettes, I know that Captain and I have been MIA from the Dogster scene lately, but between Mom's planning of her and Dad's nuptuals (I mean, they're next MAY. I can't even contemplate my next hour. Humans.) and her starting law school last week, our diary entries have been relegated to a level of import wholly unsatisfactory to me. Nevertheless, as my typing skills leave something to be desired, I have no choice but to wait for Mom to get around to things.

The upside to Mom's having started school is that she is actually home with us a lot. Not as much as when she was being generally useless this summer, but certainly more than when she was working. And Captain and I are released on our own recognizance in the living room and kitchen during the days now, pending continued (reasonably) good behavior. So instead of having a seven-by-three foot space, we have the whole living room in which to bother each other. And having the living room also means unlimited couch access. As this is where we store our bones, the importance of this cannot be underestimated.

When Mom is home with us, we will admit it's harder to score some lap time. She has all these big heavy books on her lap most of the time these days. The upside to this is, they have heavy, leather-like covers on them that are quite tasty and texturally pleasing. The downside is, we aren't technically supposed to chew on them. You can't blame a dog for trying though.

Otherwise, it's business as usual. Captain and I have been having tiffs interspersed with...well, let's just say, overt displays of affection, of a kind...and Mom keeps talking about this "getting fixed" thing. In fact, the word on the street is that it's coming next month. Methinks none too much of this, from what I understand of it. But we'll see. Maybe I can hide in the couch and Mom won't be able to find me for it. It works with my bones - I can never find them there.

Anyway, Mom has more work to do, so I am again being downgraded from doggie author to mere chewer-of-pig-ear status. It's a dog's life.

Chance

Today, I am a man

But not for long. After another reasonably miserable trip with us, Mom says it's T-minus days and counting till we get "fixed." This time, it was a plane trip on which we chose to squabble basically the entire way there and back, in between doing things that, to humans, seem entirely unnatural between brothers - leave it at that. The bottom line is, our hormones have started to throw keggers in our little bodies. Gone are the days that Captain and I travel docilely together in our little travel bag. Mom had bought a bigger one for us, and we had been doing fine in it, but from the car ride to the airport, it was clear that they were in for a treat. We would be fine for a while and then, from under the seat and our bag would come this dog-awful shrieking - the sounds of Captain attacking me. Or so I will maintain.

In addition to our squabbles (which were, in my mind, worthwhile, as we managed to spend the bulk of both plane rides in Mom's lap, under a blanket and at the sufference of nice stewardi), we were rude to basically everyone we encountered on the trip. Usually, we are not so interested in other people - we bark at them at first and then ignore them. This time, we threw fits every time we saw another person. We growled at everyone, including Mom's grandfather, who is 95, weighs 80 pounds and is bedridden (not exactly a threatening presence) and her two-year-old cousin. Basically, we were total jerks.

So now we are back home, fighting and romping, though at least we are not confined to a bag. I have to dash, as Captain is making advances on me again, but hopefully we will check in again before Mom starts law school next week and disappears until Christmas.

Ears up, paws down,

Chance

If you can't eat it, what's the point?

Well, I have been a rather absent Dogster of late, but Mom has had "other things" (um, like what could be more exciting than reporting on my adventures?) to do. See, we came back from Washington, D.C. where we were visiting Mom's aunt and learning not to pee on carpet in her apartment (we think carpet is a big wee wee pad, since we only have hardwood floors) on Saturday, and had to eat dinner on the roof with our leashes tied to chairs, because Dad had taken Mom up there and there was a strange man in our kitchen cooking dinner and another strange man bringing them food on the roof. Well, when he brought the dessert up, he also brought up a present for Mom, and when she opened it, she started crying and laughing a lot. Weird - who cries when they open a present?

Anyway, now Mom has a square rock on her left hand, and I keep licking it and trying to bite it, but she doesn't seem crazy about that choice. And to add insult to injury, she hasn't been helping me do Dogster entries, because she says she has to do "wedding" stuff. Sounds boring to me. Dad jokes that we can be "flower puppies" and, as he put it, "spew rose petals down the aisle." I'd rather sniff the guests, personally.

So that's the big news - Mom and Dad are making us legimate Chihuahuas next May. Otherwise, it's business as usual - Captain taking stuff from me, pushing me off the couch, etc. But I am getting better at defending myself against that bruiser brother of mine. I will show him one day.

Have to dash - we are going on another trip this weekend (to visit another person's wedding - man, humans like this stuff) so Mommy has to get busy packing our puppy accoutrements.

Remember not to eat the clear stones on people's fingers,

Chance