Birthday: August 4th 2005 Likes: Pennie likes the Oldest Lad the most. Mom is second. She is very fair in her treatment of the family, however, spending time with all, except she is NOT fond of the Wee Lass. Pet-Peeves: Being confined or left alone. And if the convertible gets started, she MUST go for a ride, even if she just sits in the car. Favorite Toy: Any WebKinz, CareBear or other human stuffed animal that makes a mockery of real animals. Poor Little Lad has had the noses chewed off of several stuffed animals. Favorite Food: Any human food including cantaloupe. How does a home maintain cleanliness without a dog? Favorite Walk: Anywhere, as long as she is with her family. Best Tricks: Chewing through a seatbelt in the mini-van was a good one. Only cost over $600 to repair. Arrival Story: Adopt 2010 Contest Pennie is NOT fond of talking about her adoption. Pennie's Story:
Mulligan was an overly intelligent, hard-headed brute, and as with so many of the "intelligentsia," rather difficult to get along with. He was actually quite hospitable to dogs who came into The Mulligan Compound to play with him, but he was NOT good meeting dogs "on leash."
Mom and Oldest talked about getting a companion for Mulligan for well on a year. Yes, let me repeat this, THE ENTIRE FAMILY, including DAD, were IN on conversations that perhaps a companion for Mulligan was in the works.
As Mulligan could be, well difficult, Mom and Oldest Lad decided to do any dog-interviewing without the rest of the family so that other family members would be spared the agony of bonding with a dog, only to discover that Mulligan did not care for it. One weekend Dad, Middle Lad and Little Lad were gone, so Mom and Oldest Lad visited the Shelter, without Mulligan, and picked out several "suitable" Interviewees, NOT including Me, Pennie. Mom and Oldest Lad then brought Mulligan to the Shelter. He HATED every potentiate.
Mom and Oldest Lad were quite dejected. Then someone suggested ME, Pennie, for apparently I had not been "In" when Mom and Oldest Lad made their Initial Search. Mom and Oldest Lad were not even given a "Room" to meet me, but rather met me in the Shelter Laundry; so certain was the Shelter that it was worthless to try to match Mulligan with another Dog. Mom and Oldest Lad liked me at first glance.
Mulligan and I met. Mulligan did NOT try to eat me. Mulligan and I played and "seemed" to enjoy ourselves, so I was adopted!
That night Dad came home with Middle Lad and Little Lad. He immediately walked into the house, right past me, and Mulligan, and did not notice there were TWO dogs. Then it registered on his brain. Dad threw a fit! "How could you go out and adopt a dog without telling me!" Uh, Mom, Oldest Lad, Middle Lad, and Little Lad, all claimed they distinctly remembered Family Discussions about Adding a Dog, and Dad was indeed PRESENT. Dad refused to "bond" with me for at least two weeks, until my natural charm and beauty won him over.
Dad's displeasure at my presence was not helped by the fact that Mulligan and I got along quite well at the Shelter, but once home, it was a different story. Outside we were fine, but in the house, it was two dogs ready to explode at a moment's notice. Finally on Day Five, Mulligan and I REALLY GOT INTO IT. Mom was hysterical. Mulligan ended up with a ripped ear. It was a small tear, but enough to warrant a trip to the Emergency Clinic for Repair. Ever after Mulligan always claimed to feel "Phantom Pain" from his Missing Ear, for the doctor amputated a very small portion that was "just hanging there." Mulligan could be overly dramatic at times, for he still had two perfectly intact, overly large ears.
The Good News was that after Mulligan and I had our Major Battle, we decided to get along. I learned to "let" Mulligan think he was in charge, with his overly large brain; and Mulligan learned that I, Pennie, as a Female, was really in charg Bio: Pennie is very sweet. She licks, she cuddles, she looks at a person with sad brown eyes. This all hides her darker manipulative, sneaky side. Pennie licks a person to within an inch of their life, earning her the nickname of "Personal Hygeine Princess." No one dares walk near her naked unless they wish to have a thorough, uh, inspection. Have a cold? Pennie will cleanse the sinuses better than any prescription decongestant. Forums Motto: Personal Hygeine Princess The Groups I'm In: ☆ Sam's Stinky Dog Cafe ☆, FANCYPANTS CAFE, D.A.M.N! - Dogs Against Maternal Neurosis!, Febreze® Pet Odor Eliminator™, The FURminator® Group For Dogs, ~~~*♥Dog Park USA♥*~~~
My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Exalted Highness Duchess Pennie the Insubstantial of Bartonhurst in the River Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title
My 0.46 Acres of Suburbia has become a Horror Movie. On my very own front porch a flock of birds decided to build a nest. I have heard that birds are "bird-brained," but what type of parent builds a nest for their offspring right outside the front door of a busy household?
Mom at first thought that the wind was just gathering up sticks, as it has been rather windy the last few days. Dad thought that Mom was just acting bird-brained, and creating a stick-pile.
Then Mom discovered a well-constructed nest, directly outside the front door.
Mom did not think this was a good spot for hatchlings. She thought that Alpha Pennnie would find the eggs or the hatchlings and consume them. Dad therefore dispersed the nest.
The birds are angry. They are yelling and screaming.
I refuse to go outside the front door. I am not going to be like Tippi Hedren, in "The Birds," by Alfred HItchcock. I am not going to go running about my yard with birds pecking at my hair! At least Tippi Hedren had "Big Hair," held in place by plenty of Aqua Net hair fixative, to keep The Birds at bay. I have short hair, all natural.
Mom keeps trying to get me to go outside, in the front, but I refuse to be assaulted by The Birds. Mom thinks that I am having a mental breakdown. I think I am being smart, and perhaps I shall push Mom out the front door, to be assaulted by The Birds.
Mom is continuing on her supposed program by the infamous Jon Kabat-Zinn. I wonder if it is so much of a "program," or is it "programm-ing?"
Mom has now started the Yoga phase of Mindfulness Meditations. Since everything here at MY 0.46 Acres of Suburbia should be centered on ME, Pennie, or Sophie, as well, if I am feeling generous, then we have turned this Mindfulness Meditation into Medidogitation. It would be wrong of us to let Mom embark on anything without our advice and input, particularly anything which is so focused upon The Breath. As dogs, we have an abundance of The Breath, and share it freely and lovingly with all.
Mom tried to get started with the Yoga by laying out a mat on the floor. She then installed her earphones/ear buds into her ears and turned on her MP3 player, and laid down. That was of course an invitation for Sophie and I to lay upon Mom. Mom attempted to banish ME, Pennie, to the basement, to encourage Dad to focus, focus, focus, upon his work, but I kept bark, bark, barking. In the meantime, Sophie grabbed a deer antler and lay quite close to Mom and began to grind, grind, grind, and gnaw, gnaw, gnaw upon her deer antler gnaw. Mom stopped the recording and released me from the basement. She installed Sophie upstairs, in Mom's bedroom. Sophie immediately began to whine; long high pitched, ear-penetrating whines of angst and despair. Mom turned the MP3 recording back on and attempted to block out the noise of Sophie's angst and despair.
One might ask at this point why Mom did not put Sophie and ME, Pennie, outside. Well, obviously we would just bark, bark, bark and hurl ourselves at the door to come inside. Mom did not even attempt to trap ME, Pennie, in a room. There is much photographic evidence of my penchant to become Interior Designer Pennie if I am trapped in a room.
Mom resumed her attempt at YOGA. The first position was called the "Corpse Position." What was a Pennie-Dog to do? All dogs must investigate a corpse! A dog must first determine if a corpse is really a corpse, then roll in it to enjoy the lovely corpse smells, and then eat parts of the corpse. I sniffed Mom's hands, licked her toes, then attempted to clean her right ear. Mom does NOT like her ears cleaned. Who knows what is growing inside her ears, as she will not ever let me send my long, probing tongue inside to clean it thoroughly. However, when I got to Mom's ear, I was able to definitely determine that Mom was NOT a corpse. Really, I am glad Mom was not a corpse. If I had rolled in her, then eaten parts of her, I would no doubt have ended up back at The Shelter. With my less-adoptable age of seven, plus a history of eating bit of my own Mother, I probably would be rendered "non-adoptable," and all dogs know what happens next.
Mom again attempted to re-focus upon her Mindfulness Medidogitation YOGA. I laid at her feet, just out of reach of Mom, but she could feel The Pennie Breath upon her. I offered up grumbles of either gentle encouragement, or general displeasure at Mom's refusal to give up on the YOGA. I finally decided to listen to my Gentle Pennie-Self and settled myself down to simply watch over Mom.
If Mom is determined to continue with this Medidogitation then I am certain that I am only helping: assuring her that she is still alive while she is in the "corpse pose," murmuring either encouragement or displeasure as she makes a fool of herself in her YOGA poses, and of course providing Mom with an even greater abundance of The Breath to focus upon, as I pant and offer up The Pennie Breath. In fact, me being a general nuisance will actually allow Mom to obtain greater depths of relaxation, in my Pennie Theory of Medidogitaion, even if I am not a famous PhD from a famous University.
Mom and Dad, as human parents go, are more on the "strict" side than the "permissive" side of things. Pawsonally, I don't think they are strict enough. If Middle Lad, Little Lad, and Wee Lass were MY pups, I'd bite them when they disobeyed. Mom and Dad tend to prefer more psychological than physical torture, and have never once bitten any of the pups, much as they have deserved it.
I am all for enforcing homework, limiting screen time, and expecting wet towels to be hung up.
Now things have gone too far.
Admittedly, I have been really "bad," lately. I have been getting walks, and I have been playing vigorously, on a regular basis, with Lindsey, the Pittie pup from next door. Still, I have made sure to do misbehave in just about every manner that I can think of. Dad, rather rudely, pointed out to Mom that she was all in favor of instilling discipline in the human children, but that she rarely said "no," or punished Sophie or Me.
Mom has begun to say "NO." To Me, Pennie.
Mom has even begun to put me in the "Cooler," for time out. The Cooler is of course based upon the Vietnam-Era Torture boxes. I am forced to go into the downstairs bathroom, where I must stay, in complete boredom, with no couch, chair, or blanket. There is only one heat/air duct bringing air into the room, so I feel that I am suffocating. The window is high up on the wall, so I can not see outside the room.
Sophie, even Sophie, has been forced to spend time in the "Cooler," and Sophie has looked in utter shock and amazement as she, Queen Sophine, has heard Mom say "NO," to her.
The disciplining of the human pups must continue, but I shall not tolerate being told "No." Thus far I have been in such a state of shock of being sent to the "Cooler," that I have not done what it is clear that I must do: tunnel my way out. Just wait until Dad sees how much damage one Standard American Brown Dog can do tunneling her way out of a small bathroom.
Dogster Obsessions: The Starter Kit for Dogs by Wildebeest
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