Ragnar the Destroyer*

*primarily of walls, yards, and carpet

For all things there is a season. A time to sow, a time to reap...

A time to attempt to rip small furry rodents into small pieces, pick fights with the neighbor's German Shepherd, and a time to howl.

Welcome to teenage doghood, where it's not the hormones that cause a pet parent to contemplate murder daily, but the instinctual need to define and defend the furry male territory. If you've never experienced teenage doghood stupidity, let me give you some examples.

• Idiot Puppy will sit nicely when the truck he recognizes enters the parking lot, but when the other German Shepherd gets out he will instantly Cujo out: full hackles, teeth bared, growling lunging in all the ways that would get him kicked directly out of daycare if he pulled that bullshit THERE. 
• Conveniently for all involved, GS is older and wiser and terribly sweet. He generally looks at me when Ragnar gets growly with a pained "children, amIright" attitude, and never ever responds negatively. Interestingly, he still comes over cheerfully to say hello every time he's allowed, which is often since his parents also recognize the "BUT I'M A BIG DOG YOU CAN'T BE ON MY GRASS WITHOUT PERMISSION" cockiness. 
• IP also sits at the back door and slobber-growls when he sees the GS's TRUCK parked across the lot. This is a new development since the snow melted, prior to which his view was blocked. It's annoying at 7am. He's been warned, by both me and fAngus. 
• fAngus's warnings generally come with a cat-paw-slap to Ragnar's face or a nip on the ear. Mine do not. 
• Apparently he occasionally channels Chewy, because the leaves are dangerous and must be announced when it's windy. Birds on the back step, however, are beneath his interest. 
• Birds are NOT beneath fAngus's interest. Particularly on the back patio. It's possible this was a consideration when a certain evil me set out birdseed on the grill this spring. 
• Mwahahahahaha
• IP has taken to getting between me and others in a protective manner I find amusing and helpful until he trips me or inappropriately shows teeth/growls at someone when I don't have an adverse response. 
• We're working on that, since big black dogs with giant teeth generally cause problems if they're not behaving in public places. And I dislike getting tripped while we're walking...or any other time. 
• It's worth mentioning again: not only does he behave well in daycare/boarding/dog park (except for going in the goddamnedishymuddypond without permission) and is a total social butterfly to everyone there, he ADORES the next door neighbors' new mop puppies. 
• I don't know what they are, but they weigh all of a couple pounds and are the size of my unused-running shoes, and Ragnar LOVES them. 
• Related: the bloodhound heritage is real, and loud. The other day we were sniffing the backyard (by "we" I mean I surfed Facebook for forever while Ragnar went over every centimeter of our shared yard-space with his nose in the dirt) and the neighbor girls brought the new moppies out. They were in the front yard.  Ragnar desperately wanted to go to the front, and when I said no he sat down, raised his nose to the sky, closed his eyes, and howled the most mournful sad and FUCKING PATHETIC ATTEMPT AT MANIPULATION OF MY EMOTIONS possible. My dog told on me to the entire damn neighborhood and the gods, because I'm a mean bitch who wouldn't let him sniff puppies. 
• Yes, it worked. Goddammit. 
• Sorry moppies, for the teenage puppy slobber. 
• All the neighbors think my dog is hilarious and cute. fAngus and I are the only ones who are less than amused at the squirrel-chasing, bunny sniffing, yard digging, wall eating, adorably snuggly teenager who has zero impulse control and a whole lot of unearned swagger. 
• To date, he's been unable to capture the elusive yard bunnies OR grey squirrels, both of whom are often spotted taunting him but fast enough to escape to the trees (up or under, depending on skill). I'm thankful for that: I give him de-worm pills and stuff, but I don't want to add any sort of small furry prey animals to my "Things Ragnar Ate" list. fAngus would have to kick his ass, since I won't let him hunt either. 

In all fairness to Ragnar's Destroyer of Walls moniker, the 3 holes he originally ate during his pica stage haven't increased in size or number for at least six months. I'm cautiously optimistic that it's time to fix the walls and maybe even get someone to paint. 

He is still occasionally the Destroyer of Carpet, which does not impress me at all and let me just say I've tried every product on the damn market and NOTHING is up to the challenge of a 75lb dog's pee. I hates it, precious, but I'm afraid of replacing the carpet AND I'm afraid if I don't he'll never stop. 

I think he'd happily destroy more of the yard if I let him. Because...dogs. 

Carpet Pooping...and Other Canine Adventures

As I'm sure you're aware (since for some reason my uterus post is the #1 read post on my blog, according to the internet gremlins who decided to count random pings from Eastern Europe as "read") I have no human babies. I have fabulous nieces and nephews whom I adore spoiling.

And two excessively large canines (whom I also adore spoiling, much to the frustration of my husband). I've posted about my demonic dogs before, because what entities other than children and pets can elicit the weird shit I say out loud?

Ok that's a lie...I say weird shit all the time out loud AND in my head. But I haven't yet said "STOP HUMPING!" to anyone other than my dogs.

I said YET.
Anyway, one day last week I got home an hour later than normal, and discovered a neatly piled poo on the carpet. I'm not sure if this was poop protest or simply too long without a potty break. I'm not even sure who did it, since they were both hiding (one under the table, one upstairs) when I got home. Sigh.

I suspect Chewy: there was JUST enough room between the poopy pile and the sliding glass door to allow for one 150 pound Great Pyrenees to lie against the glass and look out (as evidenced by the additional nose marks). Chewy is a master: he can poop on the carpet and leave it alone all day, but can't poop outside without dancing around in a ridiculous dog-poop-crouch-hop so he can bark at everything.

Leaves on the wind.

Ants.

Squirrels that live across the driveway (in the neighbor's crawlspace, which she bitches about every year at the association meeting but refuses to stop putting birdseed and squirrel food in her backyard like a demented Disney princess).

People four blocks away.

Did I mention wind?

In case you wondered, EVERYTHING is poised to attack at any given moment, and Chewy is ON THE ALERT. With wa-woos. And poop dancing.

Unless he's under the influence...


I'm busy with my drink here, people.



Update: This was going to be a real post, but then there was an angry dog. And Bellydancing Chewbaccas.

There's a real post coming, and the next flash fiction entry for my Seven Deadly Sins project (which was sidetracked by broken pelvis scaffolding and hospitals). In the meantime:

My sister is a HUGE Viking's fan.

I'm not a football fan in general (although I AM quite a fan of Vikings punter Chris Kluwe, but that's a different post)... apparently neither is my sister's Chihuahua, Kiki.



Fuck. You. All.

You're welcome.
Also, I saw this today, and I CAN'T UNSEE IT. Therefore, so shall you:

What the hell...it's mid-September already?

Jesus Hannibal Christ. (Hey, the "H" has to stand for something, right?) The past two weeks have been a sleep-deprived, stress-induced blur...all of the sudden summer is dead and we've moved into MY FAVORITE SEASON.

Conveniently, this happened just when Husband is awake, out of the ICU, on the (cranky) mend, and able to coordinate his visitor schedule so he has more company. WOOHOO! While I miss him TERRIBLY when I'm not there, this does allow me at least time to go for a walk to smell the leaves change. Which allows Chewy to shuffle through dried leaves...which results in crushed leaves in his coat, on my floor, etc etc.

Speaking of Chewy, last night I left the door open to the guest room, because I'm a nice dog-mom and I know he prefers to sleep on the guest bed than on the floor. I was rewarded with dog puke on the comforter. Sigh. Apparently my delay last night providing dinner was a mistake, but still: really dude?

One of Husband's nurses told me this weekend that people bring their dogs in to visit all the time.

Imagine for a moment a 150lb white furball SKATING ACROSS THE SLIPPERY HOSPITAL FLOORS.

Now add the long, thick ropes of drool hanging out of both sides of his mouth. I mean long enough to leave a trail behind him.

Now add a fluffy tail curled up over his back and wagging madly as he tries to drag me through the lobby.

I can just see the poor security guard trying to wipe slime off his pants while Chewy bowls him over in his insistent I-will-sit-on-your-feet-and-lean-so-you-pet-me-NOW sorta way.

Does this sounds like a good idea in a very small room with an IV stand just WAITING to be knocked over?

Yeah. I don't think so either.

My Dogs: Too Lazy To Rip Each Other's Faces Off.

In case you were wondering, Thor wouldn't allow me to put the "Happy Fucking Birthday" hat on him. Apparently he has more pride than Chewy, who allowed it but only with a cranky face. This is not the same cranky face I get when it's time for nail clipping, ear cleaning, or bathing...but it's close.

The other night my fool furbabies were lying on opposite sides of the living room. Husband was gaming in his reclining chair with Chewy chilling under the footrest (so he couldn't close the chair and get up, of course) while I lazed about on the couch with Thor and caught up on Lost Girl (If you haven't seen this show yet, WATCH IT. It's funny and sexy...hello...main character is a Succubus...and all manner of awesomesauce). 

I dont' know what the hell was in the air, but much like brothers my two dogs occasionally pull the "I'M NOT TOUCHING YOU" shit with each other. Only with teeth. Chewy, our mild-mannered stuffed-animal-serial-eviscerator started it.

 Chewy leaves bodies on the floor.

And steals Thor's toys (in this case that used to be a turtle, but the shell is ripped open and he's mid-evisceration).

Usually Thor doesn't care (note his tongue sticking out).  

However, when he DOES care he reminds us all that German Shepherds have...very scary teeth. I've never been able to catch a good pic of Thor's teeth, but if you've seen ANY cop show with K-9 officers, you know what I mean. His lips curl up and he growls deep in his chest.

And Chewy stares back at him from across the room, growling. Occasionally they get up and have a scuffle (which can move furniture, since they're 100 and 145lbs). It should be noted that CHEWY ALWAYS LOSES, yet he usually starts the trouble. Sigh. When I get home from work and Chewy has a new scab on his head I know they got into it (again) and Thor (again) held Chewy's head in his mouth like "Dude, I could bite your face off, so leave me alone. Go find a toy to rip apart. I'm fucking sleeping!"

On Wednesday they were both too lazy to actually do anything except stare and smart off at each other.  So for two full hours Lost Girl had this really fucked up growling-dog undertone to the soundtrack. Later that night they cuddled on the guest bed together, so apparently the argument was over.

At least I haven't had to yell "THOR! STOP HUMPING YOUR BROTHER!" for a few weeks.

Chewy: Exhausted Hoarder

Chewy waited until Thor wasn't looking, stole the much-abused tennis ball, and climbed to his normal spot on the couch.

Where he promptly fell asleep, apparently exhausted from his efforts to again thieve toys from his brother.

Later he snored loud enough to wake himself up. Startled, he dropped the ball, barked incessantly, and searched the whole house for the horrible snoring monster that scared him.

Dogs: better than cable.

Life is HARD.

For my dogs. Which I typed as "gods" by accident once during this post.

Also, life is apparently exhausting: 

Exhausting to the point of looking dead:

Positively UnManning

Tonight a sound emerged from my husband that I've never heard before. Get your mind out of the gutter and I'll elaborate...

My husband is 6'5 and generally manages to intimidate most people simply by virtue of the serious look that seems to be his default setting, especially at Renaissance Festival. The man has dealt with all manner of violent people, ishiness, and tense situations.

Tonight he was momentarily brought low by the one of the most natural reactions a dog can have to people eating: drool. We have a German Shepherd...long ropy drool remiscent of Turner and Hooch isn't his norm. In fact, other than the explosion of shedding we deal with twice a year, Thor is quite tidy. Unless you have something on your plate that smells particularly intoxicating...tonight it was lemon chicken and couscous.

Not only one, but TWO long ropes of clear, sticky slobber slowly stretched from the corners of Thor's mouth, as he very politely tried to sit still and hope against hope that SOMEONE will drop something in the vicinity of his mouth. Of course, early on we taught him "wipe your mouth" in defense of wild dribbling following a trip to the water bowl, but the boy was just so enamored with our chicken dinners that his wiping was cursory at best.

So he reached out toward the hubby's bare leg, undoubtedly to indicate he's DONE the mouth wiping, thank you, and where's the reward?

My husband said, and I quote "EWWW!" in a VERY 13-year-old-girl tone, and jerked his leg out of the way. This is the same man who will not notice he's bleeding all over the place until he gets it on something or I holler at him.

And luckily my dog is too dingy to realize a fundamental truth in our household: Drool is power.