You see what I'm saying here? Mass hysteria! All we have to do is take a look at the stats sheet:
The Tail (CWIDT?) Of The Tape:
And in the dog corner we have:
Known Alias(es): Beau, Beau-retard, Flea Bag, Puppy Dowg, Houn' Dog
Brand: Basset Hound/Beagle Mix
Age: 11 years
Weight: 40-ish pounds
Height: Awfully short
Prime Directive: Consume liquid, preferably water but any liquid will do.
And in the cat corner we have:
Known Alias(es): Cat, Bootsy, Underfoot
Age: 7 months
Weight: I don't know, what's a baby go for? 7 pounds? Probably less than a baby.
Height: Shorter than Beau
Prime Directive: Bat Christmas decorations off tree.
And then there's me. I don't need to give you a rundown of myself because if you've learned nothing else from this blog (and you haven't, I've made sure of that) you've learned about me.
Okay fine, maybe just a little bit more about me: Devastatingly charming with a brain that just, like barely, fits in my skull. 95% likely that I was a knight/wizard in one of my previous life's and also maybe a haberdasher. Probably used to own Arizona as well. My energies are very highly attuned to the Earth's core (iron-nickel alloys to be specific) so I tend to become more powerful and my aural spectrum turns red the closer I am to the Equator. Anyway, enough about me. Back to the pets.
Since Beau's prime directive is to drink liquids at all costs and because he has very suspect bladder control, we can't put bowls of water out for him like normal dogs. And he has to wear a diaper inside. It's goddamn pathetic. But he's ruined a number of rugs and carpets in the house. You have to do a circuit of the house to make sure all the toilet seats are down because he will drink the toilet dry and then vomit all over. He actually goes into the bathrooms and will lick the moisture out of the shower if you don't pull the curtains or shut the door to it. When we have guests over, he'll follow them to the bathroom because he knows they aren't quite as vigilant about putting down the seat covers.
The only time of day he gets to drink water is during his morning and evening walks. He has a water dish outside. Even then he can't be trusted. Like this morning. My parents usually give him a count and then pull him away from the dish. I just let the fucker have at it. And he had at it. We barely got across the street before he was hitching and making awful noises. Then he blasted some foul pink vomit in the corner of the neighbor's yard. And even then, on the way back to the house, he wanted more water from his bowl.
And what's protocol if your dog boots in a neighbor's yard? I know you're supposed to pickup poop but what am I going to do with puke? First, that was some of the foulest smelling stuff I've ever seen. I gagged from 10 feet away. I would have puked myself if I'd tried to clean it up. And it's not like the grass was going to be saved. Hopefully it won't come up. Course the neighbor is going to have two round pink spots where the grass is dead.
Thankfully, other than taking a walk and trying to find water, Beau pretty much sleeps all day. He's good for about 30 minutes of activity a day. The rest of the time is spent moving to different parts of the house to nap.
The cat is a little more active. He moves around for about 2 hours a day. Most of which time is spent chewing on or batting at ornaments on either of the two trees my Mom has put up. And he's a sneaky fuck too. Silence and then a plastic hitting the floor followed usually by a thump. The cat will not be winning any grace or agility awards either. Cats are supposed to land on their feet from pretty high heights. Boots is only about 50/50 on landing when he hops out of my arms. A lot of the time, he crumples to the ground and just lays there looking at me as if to say, "What the hell was that?"
And he has a preternatural gift for walking beneath your feet. If I give up the ghost this weekend and go down for the dirtnap, here's what happened: Had a bottle or two of wine and was walking down the stairs late at night to get a glass of water and the cat decided to walk directly under my foot. Tumble down the stairs. Broken neck. Nobody finds me till Tuesday. End of story. In fact you should probably call the house a couple of times over the next few days. Just to check on me. Or maybe I'll only get drunk on the main floor. I don't know. I'll have to plan this out more. If I'd have only known what a potentially deadly job this was going to be I would have boarded both these little fuckwads and put a Facebook posting on the University of Alabama advertising a Beer Pong Tournament at my parents house. If I'm going to die this weekend, it might as well be from skulling Four Loko's and lurking on college skeezers.
*You probably don't remember what this asterisk was but it was about Circus Circus and getting an earful of ketchup. In case you haven't been to Circus Circus, every surface there has ketchup on it or has just recently had ketchup wiped off of it. The place is disgusting.
Have a pet-free weekend! Or a pet-full weekend! Either way remember to call on Sunday and make sure I'm not dead at the bottom of my stairs.