Posts Tagged ‘dog humor’

Brofurs furever.

You know what’s more aggravating than one aggravating animal? It’s two of them. They don’t even have to be the same species.

harry foot up nose

This is Harry. Otherwise known as Carraig’s Hunka Hunka Birman Love. Harry is the product of 15 years of striving to preserve and promote the very distinguished Birman cat ( the breed, not this particular example). Harry is very handsome. He is even a champion. And while he doesn’t always present himself in the best manner, he is indeed, an impressive sight. Unfortunately, he is a wee bit of catnip short of a full mouse.


This of course, is Grady. And while we don’t know his origin for sure, he appears to have been the product of a breeder who didn’t care. And an owner who cared so little, they let him go blind then turned him out on the street. But to spite them all, he is a beautiful, and stunning example of his breed. Regrettably, like Harry, he is short some kibble in his bowl of mental faculties. You see where this is going, don’t you?


Neither one of them has the sense God gave a turnip, and I suspect that would be insulting turnips. Whenever I see a furry kitty behind flying through the air and knocking things over, you can be sure it’s Harry. And that thumping herd of elephants following his path of destruction is Grady.

They stick together like someone velcro’d them. And if you do manage to divide and try to conquer, they’ll each give you that dewy-eyed, injured look that says “I had nothing to do with the cascade of water that is now heading for your keyboard.”

bromance with harry

Yes, they do get into trouble individually at different times but they’re each so jealous that the other is having fun, the non-involved party promptly does something bad. Thus perpetuating the non-stop cycle of mayhem.


You wouldn’t think from looking at a picture like this, that there is anything but domestic bliss and harmony in my household. Hah! She said. I dare you to come and spend 24 hours with the pair of them. And if you are emotionally intact at the end of the day, you’ll have passed the audition for a remake of “Survivor”.

Excuse me, but my last nerve is starting to unfray. I need to go curl into a fetal ball with my thumb in my mouth while they play leapfrog over my cold, unconscious body. Please close the door carefully on the way out. It would be a cruel trick on the world to let them loose.


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Believe it or not, there are people who just don’t understand why you would want to adopt a blind dog. So instead of explaining it over and over, I decided to put together a list of pros and cons.

PROS: You can make all kinds of faces at them, stick out your tongue, wiggle your ears, and they’ll gaze at you intently, like you’re giving an address to the United Nations.
CONS: Unfortunately, you’ll also find yourself giving them hand signals they can’t see. And they’ll look at you like you’re some kind of stupid, so you give them a cookie.

PROS: They are great advance warning systems. Relatives, neighbors, religious solicitors…they hear them coming before the turn signal comes on for your driveway.
CONS: They can also hear a gnat with flatulence who “vents” in his burrow under a mountain, ten miles away. So to get them to shut up, you give them a cookie.

PROS: When you realize that the only way your job will get better is if you die or quit, they will come to where you’re sitting in your office chair, eating everything not nailed down, and tuck their head into your chest.
CONS: The warm fuzzy moment only lasts until they realize that you did not drop anything on your shirtfront, at which time they will give you a very cold, calculating stare, despite being blind. So you go and get them a cookie.

PROS: They can’t see you naked.
CONS: But they can make you feel like they can. So you toss a cookie into another room to make them leave.

PROS: They aren’t constantly barking at things the car passes by as you drive.
CONS: You can’t get within 5 miles of Tim Horton’s because they can smell the doughnuts. That’s why you carry cookies in the ash tray – to toss one in the back so they’ll let you keep driving.

PROS: Quite often, people will not believe they are disabled.
CONS: Quite often, they won’t believe those people don’t have cookies hidden in their bodily orifices.

PROS: As a handicapped dog, your vet clinic always has time for them.
CONS: And the first thing they say when you arrive is that it’s time to cut back on the cookies.

yes me

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Remember when you were young, and the thing you wanted most in life just never seemed to appear? Like when you really, really, wanted a pony and got a bike. Or a science kit. Or even worse – a doll.

Well…..prior to the celebration of Grady’s Gotcha Day, for which he was showered with toys and treats, he got another….gift. Not quite what he wanted, I’m relatively certain. Grady enjoys his live squeaky toys, also known as cats. He was not so much impressed by the new squeaky toy that growled. And barked. And barked and barked and barked.

The beginning of June I inherited my late father in law’s dog. Or what he called a dog. I called her many things not postable here. My father in law could be best termed …stubborn. And fractious. Pig-headed works well too. During the years I was breeding and showing Golden Retrievers, I offered him a puppy many times, but he always refused because he didn’t want a dog in the house. The year he turned 85 his brain cells apparently turned into compost and he decided he wanted a puppy that was advertised in the paper. And my mother in law bless her, bought it for him. “It” was actually what I called her for years, but he called her Brandy, because the poodle something cross was supposed to be a peach colour and turned out more to have random pale blotches. I determined early on that she was actually one of that rare breed: the SBT, or Small Barky Thing.

It was not in my plans to get another dog, especially when facing major surgery. But I had promised my mother in law before she passed away, that I would make sure she was looked after. So when my brother in law basically said take her or I get rid of her, I took her home to Grady. He was so thrilled. Not.

Brandy is ten years old, and has never lived with another animal. You can imagine the uproar in my house when the cats descended on her all at once, and Grady promptly tripped over her. It was kind of hard to explain to Brandy that Grady couldn’t see her. But Grady knew there was something different. This squeaky growled instead of hissing!

Needless to say, the transition was not an easy one. I set up a Great Dane crate in the living room so that she would have a safe place, and this is where she sleeps at night. In the beginning she barked and barked. For what, I was never sure. She was only ever put outside on a tether to “do her business” and then brought in when they remembered her. So in addition to new animals, there was new food, new routine, new home, new stimulus…it was exhausting. For all of us.

Her barking excited Grady. (I so needed that when I was already over loaded with work and arrangements for taking some time off.) It made noise, therefore it was fun! Brandy did not think so at all. There was some mutual barking, a little growling from Brandy, and Grady pretty much understood that this toy was not as much fun as the alligator with 16 squeakies in it.

As it was now summer weather in July, Grady wasn’t all that upset when Brandy took over his extra large orthopedic dog bed. The cats however, were not impressed. There was a sort of détente over who got how much room for several weeks. Then every once in a while, Grady would wander over and flop down. Sometimes barely missing Brandy. He still didn’t understand what the growling was about.

with brandy on bed

grady brandy together

But all things work out in the end if you have enough patience. Not that I had a lot over this summer, but Brandy eventually tolerated Grady on his own bed, and if they are not best buddies, they do now live in relative peace (the barking has stopped thank doG!). Grady however, being the sweet, brainless soul that he is, still bowls her over by charging down the stairs, and Brandy, being the SBT thing that she is, appears to be plotting revenge.

A word of thanks to our blogging friends for keeping us entertained over the summer. I realize that we were absent a long time, but I found that pain tends to cancel out the sense of humour that our blog is built on, and after I had knee replacement surgery in early July, I found myself poor in laughs, but rich in friends.

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Photo ops come along so seldom. It all depends on whether my son is visiting, Grady is willing to cooperate, and I honestly think the phase of the moon has something to do with it. So when Michael came down for dinner on Sunday and sat down on the couch, I grabbed the camera, ready to capture the perfect photo.

But first they had to get into position

And Grady tried out at least 129 positions.

But he couldn’t quite get Michael posed the way he wanted him. Nor could I keep my fingers out of the way.

Then miracle of miracles, somewhere between the head stands and the whirlidog spins, we got this.

Then you have the boys will be boys moments, whether they have two legs or four.

Which quickly becomes another wriggling match.

During which we get one more prize picture

Before the whole session turns into “Twilight – Breaking Bones, Part 1”

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Consisting of the commandments, dictates and musings of a spoiled dog.

1.Thou shalt not go to the kitchen alone. You are prone to dropping food and leaving it unattended, and it would not be good if the cats got fat.

2.Thou shalt take me out when I have to pee, or I will bark. Twice. Maybe three times.

3.Thou shalt not hold back a timbit. I can count, and I know there are two. If I get only one, I will have to start riding shotgun in the front seat of the car.

4.Thou shalt crawl under tables and other furniture to retrieve my ball. Unless you want me to do it myself and upend said furniture.

5.Thou shalt be patient as I smell the roses while attending to the call of nature. Or I will find hitherto undiscovered reserves in my bladder that guarantee you are out there until it rains.

6.What’s mine is mine. What’s yours is mine too, if it’s A: edible, and B: within my reach.

7.Stuffed toys are meant to be unstuffed. That’s why they stuff them. If you do not understand this, give me back my pile of stuffing.

8.If you love me as much as the cats, and we are all “brothers” under the skin, my skin should be allowed in your lap/recliner, just like the cats.

9.If people do not want to be loved by a big dog, they should not come to the door. Let them climb in through the windows.

10.Balls are the raison d’etre for a Golden Retriever. I require great quantities of all kinds of balls, tennis, rubber, cat’s crinkle balls, etc. And never, ever must you lose track of where my beloved snowball is or there will be no peace until it is found.

Grady and the beloved “snowball”

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When my mind derailed while following this train of thought, I wondered “Dear doG, is there anybody still alive that studied Latin in high school?” If there isn’t, surely there are at least a few, once-teenaged people who somewhere in the recesses of the mind where things like answers to calculus questions hide, may remember hearing the phrase/expression: Veni, Vidi, Vici. It’s attributed to the great Julius Caesar on taking a city after a very short war in 47B.C. Considering that Caesar only lived another three years and was stabbed in the back, the victory was also short lived. It means “I came, I saw, I conquered.”

What does this have to do with a blind dog, you may wonder. Well, I am nothing if not a realist. That’s not to say that reality can’t be viewed from a more advantageous perspective. I know that Grady is not a beautiful dog. A generous term would be “handsome”. But I used to breed and show Goldens, and I know that huge, long body, the somewhat bizarre head structure, and the narrowness of his frame, might look good on oh…say, an Irish Wolfhound.

The two things that stand out about him are his topline (the outline of the dog from the withers to the tail), and his gait when trotting. He has a gait that most horse breeders would kill for. Grady can move so smoothly his topline doesn’t go up and down at all. Then he stops and you see the real dog.

Ever one to look for the silver lining, I decided he has a very noble stance, much like a warrior contemplating his next battle (the cat with claws at noon or slippers in a showdown at dawn?). He stands tall, and proud. Just like the ancient Romans. To see him standing at the top of the front stairs, you’d almost…almost but not quite feel like he was saying to himself “Veni, Vidi, Vici.” But no. Grady has a somewhat different motto. It’s Veni, Vidi, Comedi.

Now, you might think that has something to do with comedy, or funny things, and I’ll be the first to admit that living with Grady is a hoot. But it stems from his propensity to steal anything even remotely edible. The first week he was here, it was a cheese sandwich off the cupboard. The next victim was nearly a whole loaf of French bread. And just last week I had left half a bumbleberry crumble in a 10” pie pan, in the pie box, on the back of the counter. Then I went downstairs. I did hear some thumping and scuffling but the cats were playing. So was Grady. When I came back up he was just taking his head out of the box which was now on the floor. There wasn’t a crumb left.

So yes, Veni Vidi Comedi suits him to a T. It means, I came, I saw, I ate it. All hail the Emperor Grady!

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