Anyone Can Blog ~ Commenting Is Hard
It's not really about him learning to love me.
It's about me learning to love him.
If that makes any sense.
Almost makes me want one.
Look at his ears. What a sweetie.
I shouldn’t laugh.
I think you got it right, dave. The reason why dogs are such great friends is because they are open conduits of our love and attention.
That’s it, I’m taking some pictures of Pepper, and then you will all have to admit that scabby nose or no, she is still infinitely cuter than any of your dogs.
Come to think of it, I have an old picture of me and Pepper somewhere, taken waaaaay back when, while I was still wearing braces (shut up, Bart), and prior to the scabbity nose. I might see if I can find it.
What’s not to love?
Awwwwwww. So cute! *melts*
Well, it’s not just about having a puppy, it’s about having the patience to teach him how he needs to behave, to be a good dog that doesn’t jump up on the guests and drive them nuts, not to dig holes in the yard… you know, me using kindness instead of yelling to help him learn, that kinda stuff. Loving him is not just hugging him, it’s playing with him when he needs your attention, investing your time in him, that sorta thing.
And teaching him crimefighting skilz, right?
Crimefighting skilz? Like biting your pastor right through his blue jeans when he comes to call, and having to apologize — explaining that the dog usually has better judgment of character.
Crimefighting skilz? Like deciding that the skunk in the backyard needs some discipline — and taking a direct hit right in the eyes, muzzle and mouth. It took a half-dozen tomato juice baths just to be able to tolerate the smell, which actually stayed in the dog fur for about a month. And the dog needed psychological counseling afterwards. Those kind of crimefighting skilz?
It sounds like you don’t really have a crimefighter dog. In fact, your dog sounds like my worthless mutt Casey.
Worthless? Hey – crime-fighting skills take practice and development. Lawyers practice! Doctors practice! Even shrinks practice. So why not crime-fighting dogs!
There are some superb commercial preparations now that you can spray on a dog that has been hit by a skunk. There’s one I don’t want to live without, though I can’t remember the name right now. It is amazing. Literally spray and work it in with bare hands, spray the air or other surfaces, and the smell disappears like magic. Can be found in large chain pet stores.
Tomato juice just doesn’t do much at all.
Here’s a good home concoction that WORKS:
1 lb. baking soda
1 Tablespoon liquid soap
First dust the dog with a few handfuls of baking soda where he is hit the worst, if you can tell. If you can’t, just sprinkle it all over and work it into his fur with a crappy old brush or gloved hands. You want this dry material to absorb as much of the oily musk as possible before you wet the dog.
Brush out the dry stuff quickly with an old hairbrush that you were planning on throwing away anyway.
Mix the remaining 1-2 cups of baking soda with the liquid soap and add peroxide until you get a runny paste.
Slather 1/2 this all over the dog. If your dog is big, multiply the recipe until you get enough.
Let it sit on the dog for about ten minutes, rinse thoroughly and repeat.
Works like a charm, even at 11 pm on a dark outdoor patio when its 35 degrees outside and drizzling.
You know what else works?
Wrapping the pooch in an old blanket, putting him/her in your trunk, and driving about 35 miles away from home. Open the trunk and let out the dog. Discard old blanket on the ground. Drive home. Set traps for skunks. Destroy captured skunks and display the carcasses for all of his skunk-friends to see. Pick out new dog.
Y’all zapped another of my comments?
Ignore the above comment.
Not me. I’ll check the filter.
Bart, nothing is hung up here. Are you sure it’s not just the lag?
This site’s behavior is erratic.
Sometimes a posted comment will appear and then disappear for a while, finally reappearing.
By the way, since I have your attention, how about a word of the day post? Commenters can have fun, while learning, by trying to use that word on the blog or in real life.
Bart, I’ve noticed the same thing, so it’s not just you.
Anyway, if blogger supported trackback, or if I weren’t too lazy to install haloscan, you would see that I’ve linked back to this post. Since neither of those is true, here is a manual trackback.
Responding to Bart’s recent post, don’t know if this will help: A Word A Day.
Lately every picture you have taken of your dog shows him sleeping on the couch. Are you loving and training him by slipping him sleeping pills?
Thanks, Muslihoon. But I was thinking we could make a game of using obscure words to insult Michael, the Internet Pimp.
Elzbth, he’s totally drugged. Benadryl. I put vodka in the water bowl too.
Last night one of the neighbors caught me drinkin out of it. That was pretty embarrassing.
I will get a live action shot next time around.
lauraw, thanks. We live out where the skunks come by, and I remember as a kid trying to use tomato juice to clean up our mutt, and thinking “whoever recommended this is retarded. My dog stinks and now I do too”.
BTW, does that concoction work for a dog that has been rolling in it’s own shite? *g
We had a beagle when I was a youngster and we lived in horse country. That dog came home green more times then I care to remember.
So you put a yellow scarf aroud his neck and pretended he was Bart Starr? Crazy Packer fan.
I hate to do this, but this is a must-see.
A challenge? Perhaps.
So, as the Dalmation is Fire Station’s dog, the Beagle is the gay man’s dog?
You know Bart, that might have been my biggest subconscious objection when my wife and eldest daughter called me when I was OUT OF TOWN to tell me they got a beagle puppy.
Even now, I check for “latent” warning signs.
Say, what are you wearing?
I wouldn’t stress about it. Over the past couple of years, I’ve been seeing lots of guys walking those little 5lb creatures some people call dogs. Compared to them you are Conan.
“So you put a yellow scarf aroud his neck and pretended he was Bart Starr?”
He may have looked like a Packer but he smelled more like a Bronco.
some dogs should be called cats.
I’m just sayin
Dave’s gay? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Gayness is a latent condition? How does one *check*? Is that like gaydar?
I think I speak for the crowd here.
We’re honored and touched that you feel comfortable enough to finally come out of the closet to us.
Good luck with your new, free life.
I had a miniature Schnauzer when I was a kid. Best damn dog ever. He was the runt of the litter, so he was extra miniature. Karl Kleiner was no ass-sniffer. He was the bravest little dog — he would fight any dog, anytime. One dog nearly killed him.
I was very young when dad brought home the little puppy. For the first few years of Karl’s life, I was a real pain in the ass — always bothering him, always picking him up. As a result, he avoided me like the plague. When he saw me coming, he ran. And I ran after him.
When I was about 11 years old, Karl was 4, I had close friends and spent all of my free time with them in their houses, on their streets.
Karl was no longer my little toy. He was happy.
Karl always slept on someone’s bed at night, except on mom’s and dad’s. But with seven kids bed’s to choose from, he always had a warm place to sleep. As we both got older, and the other kids moved out of the house, Karl would nudge my door open and hop up on my bed when he was tired. Gone were the days where I had to drag him into my room and make him sleep in my bed. And when I came home, he ran towards me with his tail wagging. We were finally friends. We were both happy.
By the time Karl was about 8 eight years old, he stopped fighting dogs and became more mellow. He still enjoyed being an explorer, but he was no longer conquering more territory. Karl liked his freedom. He refused to wear a leash or a collar. We gave him lots of freedom by installing a doggy-door so he could come and go as he pleased.
One morning in September, as I was getting ready for school, I heard my mother scream. She saw Karl laying on the side of road as she was pulling out of the driveway. He was dead. A car had hit him.
He was laying on the ground peacefully, not a mark on him. Thank God, for that. We buried him in the backyard. I cried like I was burying a brother. He was good dog.
Thank you for sharing that, Bart. It’s nice to know how close you two naturally and gradually became.
I always wondered why Dave didn’t hit on me.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” he said as I allowed a single tear to stream down my cheek.
“But…why?” I sniffled.
“Someday you shall know,” he whispered as he flipped on the Wayne Brady Show.
At least my ego has been spared.
And when I came home, he ran towards me with his tail wagging. We were finally friends. We were both happy.
Reminds me of my first dog when I was in my early teens. Rosie, a beagle actually. She was killed by a car too. I could tell you all about how close we were, and how we used to snuggle, and how devastated I was when she died. But I just can't bring myself to sound as frickin' gay as Bart just did.
Okay — maybe I’m a little off base, but when you all look at the photo of the dave’s dog — did you notice that the nose is nuzzled in the area of the couch where the butts reside? I mean I think that dog is really enjoying a good sniff of something from someone’s kiester. Butts and armpits! That is what they like!
I meant to say earlier — Thanks,Lauraw …for the recipe for the skunk smell fighter for our crime-fighting friends Sounds like a better alternative to tomato juice.
They say dogs are very olfactory-oriented.
“Someday you shall know,” he whispered as he flipped
When I was reading this, I expected the next words to be “me over”. Sorry.
Dog-lover-too, all male dogs are 50% crotch-hound, no matter what the pedigree says.
“all male dogs are 50% crotch-hound”
I’m thinking there is one too many words in this sentence.
BrewFan. Would that “one to many words in this sentence” be the word male? ‘Cause my female dogs have liked crotches, pits and butts.
No, d-l-t, the surplus word is “dogs.”
I thought of that, but rejected it, because then the sentence would read “All male are 50% crotch-hound.” The word “male” becomes the subject of the sentence but it is singular in a plural structure with the words “All” and “are.”
I thought you were the watchdog of good grammar around here?
Go to bed straight.
Wake up gay.
no wait, I don’t like that wording…
Michael is correct. I took some grammatical license to make a ‘joke’. Its ok to do that. Mrs. Pennington, my third grade teacher said so.
Well since Mrs. Pennington said it was okay… then okay. Most women (I think) like the idea of males being crotch-hounds anyway.
Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean it’s not true.
This crotch-ward tendency of dogs is so very unsettling. How should one take it/react?
Dogs are just more honest than men. Either way, push their head away and say “NO” firmly.
Dogs gather information about you by your scent. Certain areas are information-rich.
NEW VERSION — Kinda has a nice ring to it!
You aint nothin but a CROTCH hound
Cryin all the time.
You aint nothin but a CROTCH hound
Cryin all the time.
Well, you aint never caught a rabbit
And you aint no friend of mine.
When they said you was high classed,
Well, that was just a lie.
When they said you was high classed,
Well, that was just a lie.
You aint never caught a rabbit
And you aint no friend of mine.
I leave you to interpret the metaphors for yourself, folks!
You guys really have to be careful. You are going to drive Michael crazy. He’s trying to be highbrow, and the most active thread consists talking about your dogs. That’s the internet equivalent of wearing a fanny pack – middle america squaresville. What’s worse, is that you are focusing on crotch sniffing.
Okay, Steve. You are right. Your comment about wearing fanny packs sent a chill through me. We can switch over to talking about crime-fighting aardvarks.
I see steve_in_hb has uncovered my evil plan and revealed it to you all.
mwah ha hah ahhahahaaaa
What’s next, talking about household products that can be used for stain removal? Or maybe organizational uses of empty egg cartons? I use them to sort my button collection by color and size.
I don’t wear a fanny pack. Anymore. And I do drink heavily.
You know, the key to making a good breakfast at home is timing — having everything done at the same time — toast, eggs, bacon, pancakes. When you go to a diner or a restaraunt, the cook can throw everything on a huge cooking frying surface. That’s the key, folks.
Is drinking heavily your way of mourning the loss of your fanny pack?
Do you own sweaters like these guys? (No nudity, violence, blood, etc)
I used to love making a big breakfast on weekend mornings. But these days, I’ve stopped being a breakfast person. I usually just have a couple of slices of toast and some tea.
First of all, my brief moment of Internet Stardom is over. The Sitemeter is returning to normal. Now I have to put up with this.
Do you people have no conscience at all?
I supress mine with a well designed program of vodka ingestion. not_steve_in_hb designed the program, and I’ve had remarkable success with it.
Organic Earl Grey.
Re: fanny packs
I wear mine when i go out and shoot sporting clays. Bet none of you would tease me then.
Not in season, but amusing nonetheless. Check this out too.
Organic Earl Grey? As if Earl Grey were not bad enough? (But I shouldn’t say anything. The only beverage I drink is water.)
I don’t think this thread would be complete without mentioning the Dog Star. Dogs – they’re celestial.
Not me. Shooting sporting clays is cool. Kind of like golf with firearms. If I ever move back to Texas, I’m going to think seriously about investing in a quality over/under. But damn, they are expensive.
There’s never a good time for a man to wear a fanny pack. Never.
I used to have a fanny pack to carry my Glock.
Screw that over/under crap.
Get yourself a Beretta semi-auto 12 gauge.
You won’t ever shoot another shotgun. And you don’t have to blow $1400 either, the Urike model is around $800 and it’s schaweet.
No sir. A fitted over/under is a Texas gentleman’s gun, unsurpassed for it’s accuracy and workmanship, and well suited for the task of wreaking havoc amongst the Texas doves, with style.
If you want to take out a second mortgage on your house, you can get a genuine hand-made gun from a London gunsmith. Or, you can get a manufacturer’s version fitted by a reputable Texas gunsmith, and you might only have to pay $15K to $20K.
An off-the-rack Beretta semi-auto, or any semi-auto for that matter, is a proletarian instrument that is unfit for the custodian of a fledgling crimefighter beagle.
I know that sounds harsh, but someone had to tell you.
Hokay, I’m here. In London. Where there are no guns and CERTAINLY not sweet-ass shotguns (it’s all about the Mossberg 590, people), even for ex-Texans here for just a few months with orders in place from almost complete strangers to kick George Galloway in the nyuts, smack down that commie Livingston, and bitch-slap that wierdo Madonna.
My head says it’s 5am. It’s actually 10 o’clock in the morning here. Grrrr. I gotta pull myself together in time for an interview on Monday.
Oh you didn’t tell me you wanted a DANDY’s shotgun to keep under glass in the library.
I’ll bet you never shot a lawyer on a quail hunt.
Speaking of training dogs, someone taught me the coolest way to teach a puppy not to jump up on you or someone else. Roll up a sock and put a rubber band around it. Whenever he jumps up, throw it at him.
Dogs HATE having things thrown at them. And this doesn’t hurt a bit. You don’t even have to raise your voice.
This was Moses’ worst habit, and I cured him of it in about 15 minutes.
Your guests look at you funny though when you hand them a rolled up sock with a rubber band around it.
Say hi to The Queen for us, Gabriel!
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