“To all my fans, especially that little sheltie next door.” — Love, Stanley
Maybe it’s the strong nose. Or the full lips and scruffy grey beard. Or possibly the big, brown bedroom eyes. Whatever the reason, since Saturday’s post
, I have been inundated with requests for “full body” shots…
…of my dog, Stanley.
In fact, within 10 minutes of posting a shot of his nose, my dog surpassed the number of “selfie” requests I have received since joining Twitter three months ago. It doesn’t matter my only request came from a spam link to a senior citizens dating website called “Old Dogs Seeking New Tricks.”
What matters is that I have been unable to shake a stalker called “Granny C-Pap.” Continue reading
At three o’clock this morning I propped myself up on my elbows, removed my ear plugs, looked directly at our dog and delivered the following ultimatum:
This has to STOP.
My wife turned to me and quietly said I’d need to speak up if I wanted to be heard over the dog’s snoring. Admittedly, it was my bright idea to have Stanley sleep in our room. That’s because, when he was a puppy, he was prone to chew up things we might leave out overnight.
Such as the living room or kitchen.
However, at nine years old, his snoring now sounds like a 250-pound man sleeping-off a three-day bender. Part of Stanley’s problem is genetics. Being half Shar-pei, he has a lot of loose skin and wrinkles. He essentially looks like a chocolate Labrador in need of ironing. In desperation, we took him to the vet, who told us that the loose skin around his face causes him to snore.
I’m not sure why he told us this, but I think there’s a good chance Stanley has the same problem. Continue reading
Sundays always include sleeping in late, breakfast in bed and a deep tissue massage — as long as we keep in mind this only applies to the new royal baby. Which isn’t to say Sunday mornings around here aren’t just as glamorous, depending on the kind of T-shirt and underwear I have on while standing at the coffee maker counting the drips. However, the one thing the Royals DON’T have are Sunday Flashbacks (Not counting Prince Harry). This week, we are again digging deep into the archives, back to 2003, when I still thought blogging was yet another intimate activity that raised more questions than answers. So pull up a chair, grab some coffee and let’s agree to move on from that image of me in my underwear…
This is the face of rising homeowner’s insurance.
Each year, we gather as a family to have our pets blessed on St. Francis Day. We do this because we want to give our pets every advantage, particularly if there’s a chance — through divine intervention — that our Chocolate Labrador’s IQ could be raised above that of a standard carrot. I know this is supposed to be a general blessing situation, but I think God would agree there was a serious oversight during Stanley’s creation process.
I know He is very busy.
I know He sees all.
But maybe He was also trying to catch the season finale of “Hell’s Kitchen.”
Whatever the reason, somewhere in the world there’s a dog with two brains. Undoubtedly, its owners are very happy. They don’t care that their dog’s enormous cranium causes people and other dogs to stare. That’s because their dog is smart. Their dog has an instinctive understanding of things like gravity. These owners give thanks to St. Francis each day because their dog, in spite of its bulbous cranium, would never high-center itself on a coffee table in front of company. Continue reading
If you have a cat, I’m sure you’ve heard about the world’s first TV program specifically designed for cats. This groundbreaking show premiered — ironically — on the Oxygen Network, which demonstrates what can happen when creative minds are allowed to collaborate freely and openly in a room that is actually being deprived of oxygen. That’s the only explanation I have for some of the things I saw on this show; things like cats doing yoga. Cat haiku. And a cat that eats with chopsticks.
Yes, I said a cat that eats with chopsticks.
As you might’ve guessed, the cat I saw doing this was Siamese, which is a breed known for its intelligence. I watched in amazement as Ying-Yow (which is Cantonese for “always hungry”) demonstrated his supreme cognitive skills by using chopsticks fitted with special “booties” to eat a mixture of dry cat food and squid. As impressive as this was, he still isn’t as smart as our cat, which would have simply run away to find a new family.
But not before breaking his chopsticks in half and shoving them into the nearest “booty.” Continue reading
Most of us expect to begin taking medication at some point in our lives, particularly those of us with small children. What many of us don’t expect, however, is for the family dog to begin taking medication. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure this is the first generation to actually provide dogs with things like health insurance, plastic surgery, organ transplants and dentures.
When I was a kid, our dog seemed content eating table scraps, chewing on car tires and barking at the hot water heater. Those things were referred to as character.
Now, of course, these things are referred to as a schizoid embolism requiring psychological treatment, a diet plan and regular nightly flossing. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that we shouldn’t provide our pets with the kind of health care they deserve. I’m just saying that I should have the option of being covered under my dog’s health plan, which — with its dental coverage — is far superior to my own. Continue reading