Where's my walk?

Mulligan is a beast. Mulligan injured Mom. Mulligan gave Mom an grapefruit sized bruise on her thigh. Mulligan gave Mom multiple smaller bruises all over her legs from the leash chain.

And now Mom can't walk Me, Pennie, because her back hurts. I am going to get even with that Mulligan. I am a woman. It is my right to get even. Just watch your back Mulligan. Or your ear. Heh, Heh, remember that ear Mulli? You know, the one I bit the chunk out of back in August?

Garage mats

Mom was irritated at Dad for taking out the mats from the garage and not putting them back. However, she was sure he had some reason for doing this and did not put them back, fearing they had a chemical spilled on them.

Dad was wondering why Mom took the mats out of the garage. He thought perhaps she had washed them off or spilled something on them.

Several days later Mom and Dad were doing yard work and finally had the chance to confront each other.

Both denied removing the mats from the garage.

Both walked over and inspected the mats.

One mat had bites out of three of the corners.

The other mat had bites out of two opposing corners.

It was determined that I, Pennie had removed the mats from the garage. In the meantime it had rained and at least the mats had been cleaned, although they were a bit smaller than before.

Caught in the middle of a cold spell

Cold weather has hit the tristate. I am not a dog to be trifled with, but I do have a short coat. Today on my walk I was quite cold and shivering whenever we had to stop.

Dad: "Are you going to get a coat for Pennie like you have for Mulligan?"

Mom: "No."

Dad, with a concerned look: "I thought you said she was shivering on your walk today."

Mom: "She was."

Dad: "Well then aren't you going to get her a coat?"

Mom: "No. After all the grief you put me through over buying my dog a coat you think I am ever buying another dog coat?"

Here I sit, shivering.

New Therapy

I have a New Therapy for treating the family. Mom, Dad and the Middle Lad were recently healed through Compression Therapy. They all had upper respiratory infections. Mom then got bronchitis. Dad and Middle Lad have asthma, complicating their illness. When Middle Lad has his asthma attacks he coughs and coughs and then spews. The family affectionately calls them Hair Balls. I think they do that so they don't kill him. Mom says she has never seen a child who can spew and cover more items. It is like a volcano. Or a Sprinkler System. In Compression Therapy, Mulligan and I would lay upon the victim, I mean Patient, and soothe them with our bodies and the healing humidied vapors of our dog breath. Sometimes we would even soothe them with the healing humidified vapors of the other end. As Personal Hygeine Pennie, I would also clean up any Hair Balls, mucus or other body fluids on an as needed basis. It was a very effective treatment and really saved on Kleenex and Lysol Wipes.

Now that Compression Therapy is on the shelf until next needed, Mulligan and I have designed a New Therapy. It is called Bladder Therapy. Here is how Bladder Therapy works.

Oldest Lad gets up very early for Swim Practice. He feeds Pennie and Mulligan and lets us out into the cold dark nether-regions of the backyard. We do our business, commence barking, and he lets us in to prevent calls to the local sheriff.

We run frantically upstairs and jump into bed with Mom in her nice warm bed.
Mulligan and I compete for places to lay ON TOP of Mom.

First cold dog feet walk upon Mom's Mid-Section, contacting her bladder area. Her bladder is fairly full from sleeping all night. Some growling and groaning from the dog bodies occur as the dogs compete for which dog will sleep on Mom's Midsection and which dog will sleep on Mom's lower legs. Mom's bladder is stressed further as more dog parts impact it and then eventually a 50 pound dog lays upon Mom's midsection. Mom's bladder reflexively contracts upon each impact, prevent any leakage or emptying onto the sheets. Mom's bladder signals to Mom that perhaps she should get out of bed and go empty her bladder as not only is it full but it is now compressed by a 50 pound dog. However, Mom cannot get out of bed because she has one 50 pound dog laying on her mid-section and one 50 pound dog laying on her lower legs. Mom attempts to go back to sleep. Now comfortable, Mulligan and Pennie go to sleep.

The point of Bladder Therapy is that eventually Mom's bladder should hold at least 2 liters, if not more, meaning that walks can go on even longer without the need to return home or find a suitable stopping place.

Terrible Game

For his birthday party the Little Lad received a terrible gift. Oh, he thinks it is great, but I must warn all dogs that if any of their humans receive this gift they must chew it up immediately! It is called Hyperslide. It consists of a small archway about the size of a shoebox. Then there are 4 colored pucks. It is battery operated because apparently American children are no longer able to play with toys that do not require voltage. A mechanical voice tells the players which colored puck to slide across under the arch. The pucks go sliding back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster.

I hate this game.

As soon as those pucks start sliding; I try to catch one. Then that puck gets slid in the other direction. I put my eye on another puck, only to have that puck go sliding across in another direction. By the time I set my eye to the next puck the game is over and it has to start up all over again.

This goes on and on and I become more and more hyper until I am Hyper Slid into the back yard.

Why can't the Little Lad just play football? If I can't manage to catch the football I can at least tackle the football player.

Something I won't eat

I have finally found something unpalatable, or merely something I won't deign to eat. I eat: brocolli, sucrets, lettuce, plastic bags, paper napkins, wrappers, yarn, rubbermaid containers.

On a recent walk I game upon a Sausage looking thing. I gobbled it up before Mom could pull me away. Proving that I do indeed have taste buds and that I do consider them with some thought, about 10 full seconds later I spit it out.

Canadian Goose Poop.

Yuck.

Thomas and Friends

Thomas and Friends from the Island of Sodor really are not very friendly for Toy Trains. I wonder why they are sold to children? First off, they are quite uncomfortable to nap on. The track layout is not smooth, what with the Engine Wash and the Roundhouse, and the Wind Mill all with bumpy parts to stick into my ribs. Then of course, shouldn't children's play things bring out positive behavior? I was dismayed indeed at the words coming out of the Little Lad's mouth as well as his play date friends.
"Pennie, don't chew on Thomas the Tank Engine!"
"Pennie, stop walking on the tracks!"
"Pennie, for the last time, those aren't sticks, those are wooden track pieces!"
"Mom, would you Pleeeeeaaaaaazzzzzze get Pennie out of the basement!"
I wouldn't recommend giving Thomas the Trains to any children, at all.

Heh, Heh, so you're so smart

Heh, Heh, Mulligan thinks he's so smart. Well yesterday one of Mom's friends called about getting a Dog. Mom's friend said she was at the Shelter and was falling in love with a Boxer Mix.
Mom said "Oh, No! Mulligan's a Boxer Mix. You definitely don't want that. Mulligan has been way too much trouble. Go look somewhere else."

If that doesn't express it in a nutshell? Excuse me I must go adjust my Princess Crown.

Yarn

Mom has been working on a crochet project. What is supposed to be an afghan, if Mom, who is not very crafty, can suitably construct it. Every time that Mulligan or I have attempted to access her lap we have been forcibly pushed away. All of this for what just amounts to a VERY LARGE KNOT.

He just THINKS he is in charge

Mulligan always has to be in charge. Always has to be first. It didn't take me long to figure this out and like all females, I just take advantage of this. Take yesterday. Mom was making an Apple Pie. She got done putting all those sliced up, cinnamony juicy apples into the crust and was going to wash her hands. Mulligan pushed his way over and started licking her fingers. Mom let him lick, but then pulled away and went to where I was waiting so sweetly and gave me the rest of her hand to lick.

Last Sunday, when Mom was done with her steak for dinner, Mulligan, brute that he was, practically pushed Mom out of her chair in the hopes of getting the remnants. Not me. I sat and Mom fed me just as much as Mulligan got. Only I ate mine from at fork, quite lady like, while Mom told me what a "good girl" I was.

Make no mistakes about it. If I am eating something and Mulligan walks up, he has learned to Walk Away.