We'd Gladly Eat YOU, You Know...

The boys are convinced they're starving  and totally unimpressed that I left them outside until AFTER their water and food bowls were filled.

I tried to get the licking-of-the-chops picture, but they were uncooperative.

Hey, is that water? I'm hungry. Can we come in now?

Fuck you. We're not doing the super creepy staring-while-licking-our-chops thing. NONCHALANT!

They're assholes (who dump brownies on the floor and throw up at 2am...it's been a rough week), but they're cute. 

Furballs Run My Household

Shit I've said to the dogs in the past week:

But my feet are so TASTY! It's exhausting...

• Stop licking your feet.
• NO HUMPING YOUR BROTHER!
• Thor, don't bite Chewy's face when he's coming back in. Wait until he's through the door, fucker, it's COLD out there.
• DO NOT EAT THAT POOP!
• Seriously, Thor, stop eating your goddamn feet.
• It's rude to stare at my plate.
• No, you can't have anything here (pointing at plate). MINE.
• NO LICKING MY FORK, ASSHOLE!
• Uh Oh!! (note this is immediately followed by two lumbering oafs barreling into our little kitchen to clean up whatever edible bits of tasty goodness I dropped on the floor).
• Thor, I can pee on my own. I don't need your help. Wait outside.
• Godammit, I said DO NOT push the door open!
• Sigh Fine. Get your nose out of my face...I saw you eat poop earlier.
• THOR!  (followed by a pointed look from me to the dog who's foot is in his mouth. Again. He generally drops it, sighs, and stares at me forlornly).
• Chewy! NO BLOWJOBS!! Leave your brother's junk alone, dude. That's gross.
• NO HUMPING!
• Biscuit!
• Chew! Get out of the way or I'll have Luke cut off your other arm.*
• Breakfast!**
• Dinner!**

*Chewy = giant white fluffball, with teeth. Although he's unlikely to save people in his ice cave to eat later (because it's really way too much work), he'd probably enjoy an ice cave of his own. Also, he's never met a Jedi, but I imagine he'd like them. The only people he dislikes are those who run through HIS backyard and disrupt his view of the frozen tundra.

That would be root beer all over my nose. It was yummy.

Seriously, if you STILL don't get this reference, all I can say is go have a Star Wars marathon. In the proper order: IV, V, VI, I, II, III (if you must...I hated II and III, to be honest. All that horrific WHINING by Hayden Christensen...ugh).

**Both of my dogs do actually know the words "Breakfast" and "dinner." It's the best way to get them to come a-runnin if they're dawdling during a pee break. They also know "biscuit," "bath," "ball", "Furface," "treats," "cheeseburgers," "ride/car/go," "walk," "dog park," "wipe your mouth" and "use your words." Sometimes their vocabulary is entertaining. Sometimes it's irritating as hell.

SyFy's Next Sharknado: CARNICORN!

Because who the fuck wouldn't watch a bad Saturday night movie with a flesh-eating-attack-unicorn?? People, it's goddamned genius: the ultimate symbol of innocence and purity ravaging a city with impalement carnagey death.  Somebody who's not me and can actually write scripts: get on that shit.

I wonder if the Snakipeder Army could defend against Carnicorn...hmm.

Also, the fundamental difference in my dogs' personalities are most evident during the early morning's first pee rituals. This is a daily occurrence and does not deviate by season, time of morning, weather, or my location (sometimes if it's cold or rainy or I'm lazy I just stand in the doorway and put them on the extendo-leash instead of going outside. Stop judging me.)

Thor: sidle quietly up to my right side from behind me (so I have to turn away from the door to put the leash on) and nimbly trot out the door. Sniff all the things in the entire radius of the leash's available square footage. Pull the leash-holder as hard as possible to eke out an additional foot or two to the sniff radius. Eat poop if available and tasty (this depends on which dog's turn it is to be first to pee in the morning, as fairness requires taking turns). Make seven back-and-forth passes in a line to find the ideal pee spot. Pee while watching everything in the area as a silent but alert awkward statue. Take final sniffs of the air in all four directions, just in case. Watch silently if a car/person walks by. Bark only if another dog is within line-of-sight. Return to the house for breakfast. Wait patiently for Chewy to finish fucking around so the bowls are filled. Eat breakfast while growling and keeping one eye on Chewy for any theft attempts. Retreat to the couch. Nap.

Chewy: lie in front of the sliding door like a large fluffy rug, wait for the leash to be attached. Fall through the open space in a clumsy trip down the step to the patio. WA-WOO loudly upon exiting the home, to formally announce the presence of THE MAN in the yard. Proceed with tail up in flag-formation to all areas of the leash radius and WA-WOO in all directions, including toward the house. Watch a leaf blow by: wa-woo at it. Pee. Wrap self around the fire-pit in the yard and look confusedly at the back door for help from leash-holder. Unwrap self from fire-pit. WA-WOO toward the neighbors' yard to announce FREEDOM. Squat and poop. Take a 1/2 step forward. Poop again. Another step: poop. Leave a line of turds as a potential trail back to the house. Check for squirrels/rabbits/shrews/ravens in all trees/bushes/under the step on the patio. WA-WOO at any creature disturbed by investigation. Should any person, truck, dog, or debris pass line of sight, dance in place, growl and bark as ferociously as possible while stepping in the fresh poop pile you just left behind for Thor to eat. WA-WOO repeatedly while cantering back to the patio and pushing leash-holder aside to barrel into the living room. Chase Thor in the room before the leash is unsnapped. Wreak havoc. Eat breakfast. Return to the window and WA-WOO at any changes in the yard since coming in. Nap.

I don't have a problem...

In follow up to my post extolling the remarkable awesomeness of Cait's present, I need to point out the awesomeness of Zack. Who gave me a Witchking helmet ring, a knitted "zombie" coffee cozy, and this:


To be hung in my library/office. As a warning? Or an explanation...



Indeed, it IS perfect for me.

In other news, I managed to drop my toothbrush in the toilet Saturday morning. Ever have those moments where time slows down but you can't move any fucking faster? Yeah. I set it down on the sink. I promptly (in my normal clumsy manner) knocked it off said sink, and watched it flip in slow motion into the toilet bowl.

Stop judging me. I hadn't had coffee.
Of course I forgot to buy a new toothbrush when we were out causing trouble running errands this weekend.

Oh, I also tortured my dogs. I took them to the groomer (THE HORROR!). Because I'm fucking tired of the hairsplosion (the shepherd has been in mid-winter shed for 2 months, and he's already killed one vacuum). Thor thought the experience, complete with Furminator (which I envision as a giant robotic hair sucker that says "I'll be back" at the end of the appointment) was FABULOUS. He was all perky and excited when I picked them up, proud of his shiny coat and blue Petsmart kerchief.

Chewy was...less than thrilled. Great Pyrenees require daily grooming, and with the accident and everything else last fall going on I'll admit I'd gotten lax. He had some mats, and I opted to let the groomer just shave him instead of tormenting the poor dude with hours upon hours of de-knot-brushing.

Chewy is now naked.



I hate you Mom. I'm so embarrassed.





STILL NOT LOOKING AT YOU.



This coat doesn't even fit. My butt's cold! What's WRONG with you?

That was Saturday. He spent most of the day lying on the floor next to Husband, staring woefully at me with accusatory attitude and large, forlorn sighs. Luckily, biscuts have made things better. 

Indeed, you WON'T like me when I'm angry.

The boys are pissed of this week.

I can tell. The carpet by the upstairs bathroom has a brand-new-pee-spot EVERY GODDAMN NIGHT.

They're so mad, they're not even peeing on the tile.

Do you have any idea how much urine a 100 or 145 pound dog carries?

A. Lot. Sigh.



I may be the pee devil, but I'm cute. And currently POSSESSED.


And I'm not sure which one did it. All I know is they BOTH hide when I get home.



I don't know who you're yelling at, but it wasn't ME.

 UPDATED: I'd still rather deal with pee than eyeballs. That should've been the title of this post.

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.