If you had told me even a month ago that I’d spend a vast majority of my day thinking about what comes out of a dog’s ass, I’d call you disturbed. And psychic. Disturbingly physic. Especially since I don’t actually believe in the powers of mind-reading so it’d be SUPER disturbing if you had guessed correctly about my dog-ass problems.
Anyway, so my dog won’t doodoo. I’m not certain how we got to this point, but I am actively googling how to help my hound drop a pound. She runs to the door, begging to be let out, circles the magnetic field area until she senses she’s pointing North to South, and then squats to take a dump, only to have her eyebrows flutter in concern, and then stand up and walk off like nothing happened. Well, nothing DID happen. And so far, nothing HAS happened. My dog has a broken booty.
I am now feeding my dog pumpkin puree and praying for poo.
10 years ago I was dancing on a box in a nightclub with electrical tape in x’s over my bewbs, and now this. I’m just gonna go ahead and call it done.
finally it seems we are finding a balance in our relationship. at best with a cat, if he is very, very awesome, you might be considered an equal. With a dog, you are immediately a god to a smelly follower who questions their religion on every walk.
we often said that we already had a dog in our cat, Fizgig. He plays fetch, growls when someone approaches the house and plays with his mouth instead of his paws. Since the arrival of a legitimate dog, Fizgig has determined to remind us that we do not need a dog.
Our noble little hound accompanied us on our trick or treat rounds last night, keeping an eye on our childrenand pulling at the lead whenever they went up to a house, upset when they were out of her view.
To punish me for relegating her to canine jail at night, my dog became an ass muncher. That is to say, she actually chewed a hole in herself until she bled.
I ran to Centinella like a spastic new parent and purchased sprays, a cone of shame, a thunder shirt, more chew toys than the dog has places to put em (take that however the fuck you want), and treats to encourage the few non-asshole traits she has.
we had a tumultuous night together, the dog and I… I tried to crate her but she kept the house awake with wails of ultimate suffering. I then put her in the kitchen which still lead to whimper-barks that eerily sounded like the velociraptors in Jurrasic Park. I tried to correct this behavior with a squirt bottle and then she betrayed me. The bitch snapped at me. Her teeth never hit me, but she snapped at me. I bumped her nose and told her firmly “no”, and then she snapped again. I think she felt guilty because I marched her back to the crate without protest where she stayed quiet all night.
For reasons varying from “burying their own feces in a very exact location” to “not smelling life earth and poo”, I still find cats to be a superior species. Fizgig agrees. More on my findings tomorrow.
Every show I’ve seen or person I’ve spoken to talks of “crate training”. This is where you fool yourself into thinking your dog wants a cave to live in, and justify putting it in there whenever you aren’t home in lieu of training your dog not to be a dick. We have a crate for a litter of kittens I rescued at my store, and I figured it COULD be a good place to let the dog hang out when we’re eating so we don’t have a begging problem. We left the dog in this cage for exactly 1 1/2 hours to run an errand. I came back to a fecal-covered hound and smelly house. So far, I’m not digging this method.
Even though I wasn’t supposed to bathe her yet, the dog now smells acceptable.