Dear Diary,
I smiled today. I know, amazing. I can't believe it either. While shopping for gourmet cheeses on line, I got off the beaten path and ended up on YouTube. As one does. And I came across this GEM. Sweet Florida blueberries!! I could watch this all day. Silly humans. Thinking that all dogs were put on this Earth to catch things. Why would we do this? You're throwing MY stuff. And I should go catch it? The mini-person throws his dinner all over the floor. He doesn't say, "Go get it!! Go get it!! Catch it! Come on! Good Mama!" No. No is doesn't. And if he did, boy howdy there would be hell to pay. So why is it ok for dogs?!?!? Injustice.
I do feel for this little pup. Being that I can read "dog," I'll let you in on what this dog was thinking. "Oh lordy, I have to catch this? Ugh. Fine. Ok, I'll trrryyyy.... and! I fell over. I think I'll just stay here for a minute to see if they feel bad... NOPE! Not feeling bad. Laughing. Swell."
He's doomed to a life of learning how to catch and being haunted by the laughs of the humans as his fuzzy non-weeble body falls to the ground time and time again. Me? I just watch the stuff the humans toss go right past me. And then look at them with my best, "You disgust me," look. And I saunter off. (Perhaps a spite poo is in order?)
I haven't said misery once in this entry! What's happening to me? Misery. Oh phew. There it is.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Showing posts with label moms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moms. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
March 8, 2013
Dear Diary,
Misery.
This is so metaphorical for my life. I try to find some warmth and comfort on this cold ball of mud called Earth. I find something fuzzy, fluffy even. I snuggle in, feeling the safety of the organic cotton swaddling my sinewy body. AND BOOM!! I'm in an arm hole. What is that?!!? Who does that?!?! Oh, people with arms. Sure. Sure, rub it in that I and the mighty T-Rex share the same leg to body length ratio issues. I see the memes. I know I'm the butt of jokes. That's on-line hazing people. Injustice.
Things haven't changed much. Same ol' same ol'. Sleep. Snuggle. Throw up a pile of thread from left over socks stuck in the gullet. Read the NY Times Real Estate section. Sniff. Repeat. The mini-person is "potty training" now. Mother Person and Soft Touch think he's just "soooo clever." Not for nothing, but I was paper trained in a weekend. When I was 12 weeks old. Why the arrested development with this one?!?! (Now I have the song "Tennessee" in my head, and a penchant to upgrade my Netflix account...) I mean, sure, I happy wee sometimes. I spite poo more than I wish I had to. I rarely spite wee anymore. (Results aren't as satisfying.) The mini thing is more than happy to point out my spite poos and run around the apartment all pell mell about "bad wiener dog! bad wiener dog!!" AM I THE BAD ONE?!?! Or is that horrendous mother of mine who only gave me 27 seconds of snuggles and love when she came home?? Injustice!!! I deserve 45 on the SHORT end. Truly it should be more like 5 minutes, unless you bore me then it's fine if I leave. You deny me snuggles, you get a deuce in the middle of the bathmat. That's how this goes. Get used to it. Misery.
I have to go source a decent blanket. And I better get a handful of treats tonight, or bathmats beware.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Saturday, August 25, 2012
August 25th, 2012
Dear Diary,
It is a dark dark day. The internet has always been my happy haven for on-line poker, ordering Omaha Steaks, and laughing at cat videos (cats are so dumb!!!). But now, there is a black hole of misery and injustice that is ruining the internet AS WE KNOW IT. Hateful speech and discrimination!!!! Dog-shaming.com. WHAT IS THIS!??!!? People finding fault in dogs?!?!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! What is even WORSE is that people are asking Mother-Person to put ME on there. ME. Beans Aloysius Wienerdog. INJUSTICE.
I won't have it. So I am fighting back the only way I know how: to act first.
Take that internet. Take that people. You can't shame me!! I SHAME YOU FIRST. Neener neener. (And yes, that is my nose moisture on the paper. It's hard getting things out of a printer when you don't have thumbs.)
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
It is a dark dark day. The internet has always been my happy haven for on-line poker, ordering Omaha Steaks, and laughing at cat videos (cats are so dumb!!!). But now, there is a black hole of misery and injustice that is ruining the internet AS WE KNOW IT. Hateful speech and discrimination!!!! Dog-shaming.com. WHAT IS THIS!??!!? People finding fault in dogs?!?!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! What is even WORSE is that people are asking Mother-Person to put ME on there. ME. Beans Aloysius Wienerdog. INJUSTICE.
I won't have it. So I am fighting back the only way I know how: to act first.
Take that internet. Take that people. You can't shame me!! I SHAME YOU FIRST. Neener neener. (And yes, that is my nose moisture on the paper. It's hard getting things out of a printer when you don't have thumbs.)
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Friday, May 4, 2012
May 4th, 2012
Dear Diary,
There is no sun now.
What great misery I feel.
Cold sorrow soaks in.
See that, Diary? I'm forced to speak in haikus now. THAT'S HOW BAD IT IS. The hallway monsters were bowling last night and making me VERY nervous. Mother person explained it as thunder. I looked at her perplexed. I thought thunder was a derogatory way to explain thighs. I don't even know what goes through her head anymore.
She bought another vacuum cleaner. Why. Why must she do this!??! Why doesn't she just get rid of the thing that makes the mess that requires said vacuum cleaning?! Don't you say it, Diary. I do not shed. Stop judging me.
Misery is sad.
I have no justice anymore.
Vacuum you suck bad.
Oh, that one even rhymed. Nice touch if I do say so myself. And a pun? Wow, I think I've really hit my stride on these.
I am so pretty.
Long ears and snout are so grand.
Please give me bacon.
Must rest. All this creativity wears me out.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
There is no sun now.
What great misery I feel.
Cold sorrow soaks in.
She bought another vacuum cleaner. Why. Why must she do this!??! Why doesn't she just get rid of the thing that makes the mess that requires said vacuum cleaning?! Don't you say it, Diary. I do not shed. Stop judging me.
Misery is sad.
I have no justice anymore.
Vacuum you suck bad.
Oh, that one even rhymed. Nice touch if I do say so myself. And a pun? Wow, I think I've really hit my stride on these.
I am so pretty.
Long ears and snout are so grand.
Please give me bacon.
Must rest. All this creativity wears me out.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
April 11th, 2012
Dear Diary,
Now I've done it. Boy howdy. Why am I so bad? Why is what I do considered to be "bad"? Why isn't it applauded as free thinking? Why is opening a closet door, ripping open a plastic bag, and then eating 5 oz of 72% pure dark chocolate considered a "bad" thing. On the contrary I think is shows: initiative, cunning, understanding of physics, and an advanced palate. Believe me, other canines can't figure out these things. I was with Squeak the Chihuahua. (I forget her real name, but it doesn't matter. She's a divot with hair who squeaks ALL THE BLOODY FLIPPIN' TIME. She will not pull it together and for that, I have no patience.) Squeak was all, "Hey! Whatcha doing?! What's going on? IS THAT A SHADOW?! I AM AFRAID OF SHADOWS! IS THAT A REFLECTION?!? HEAD FOR THE HILLS!!" I'm all, "Chillax. If you put your knobby head right there and push, we can get this door open and help ourselves to the chocolate buffet." She was on board, as she listens to everything I say. Bless her. So, knobby head went in, the door moved! Huzzah! Then she fell right into my plan, "Is that a plastic bag? Oh I do so love to play with the plastic bag! May I play with the plastic bag with the swishy swishy swishy noise and the pulling and the ripping? Oh please may I?" Well, who was I to dash her dreams!! Rip away, fuzzball! And so she did, and then the chocolate presented itself and we dug in. I admit, she moved on to the chocolate faster that I thought she would. I thought I'd have a good head start, what with her bag obsession and all... But we both chowed down pretty good. I was quite pleased!!! Then, the people came home. The crying. The waving of hands. The panic and hysteria! The flapping to get us to the... VET. Why? To find out how I'm so incredibly brilliant so it can be documented for medical history? To get Squeak's vocal chords snipped? Oh diary, you'll never guess what they did... They... They... Sorry. I am a bevy of emotion!! Where is my embroidered hanky?!?!... they made me throw up... INTO A BUCKET. Like a common frat boy on a Friday night!! MISERY. They didn't even hold my ears back. Injustice.
Apparently, they're all "concerned" about "heart failure" when "dogs" "eat" "too much" of the "dark chocolate." What do I have to say about that? Poppycock!!!! That's right. When's the last time you heard that phrase? Well, I'm bringing it back as I feel it's appropriate. You make me throw up glorious deliciousness and then make me sleep overnight with IV fluids, I will yell poppycock at you.
This is me the next day. Like Tiny Tim! Why would a genius like me be reduced to a pathetic Tiny Tim! INJUSTICE.
Terrible. Just terrible. Yellow isn't my color. I'm hopping. Dachshunds are good with the hopping. We just look silly, and THAT is VERY UPSETTING. My image team is very disappointed with this. So please, diary, don't share this with anyone.
Misery.
For the record, I got no treats to make up for all the food I was forced to upturn. Injustice.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Now I've done it. Boy howdy. Why am I so bad? Why is what I do considered to be "bad"? Why isn't it applauded as free thinking? Why is opening a closet door, ripping open a plastic bag, and then eating 5 oz of 72% pure dark chocolate considered a "bad" thing. On the contrary I think is shows: initiative, cunning, understanding of physics, and an advanced palate. Believe me, other canines can't figure out these things. I was with Squeak the Chihuahua. (I forget her real name, but it doesn't matter. She's a divot with hair who squeaks ALL THE BLOODY FLIPPIN' TIME. She will not pull it together and for that, I have no patience.) Squeak was all, "Hey! Whatcha doing?! What's going on? IS THAT A SHADOW?! I AM AFRAID OF SHADOWS! IS THAT A REFLECTION?!? HEAD FOR THE HILLS!!" I'm all, "Chillax. If you put your knobby head right there and push, we can get this door open and help ourselves to the chocolate buffet." She was on board, as she listens to everything I say. Bless her. So, knobby head went in, the door moved! Huzzah! Then she fell right into my plan, "Is that a plastic bag? Oh I do so love to play with the plastic bag! May I play with the plastic bag with the swishy swishy swishy noise and the pulling and the ripping? Oh please may I?" Well, who was I to dash her dreams!! Rip away, fuzzball! And so she did, and then the chocolate presented itself and we dug in. I admit, she moved on to the chocolate faster that I thought she would. I thought I'd have a good head start, what with her bag obsession and all... But we both chowed down pretty good. I was quite pleased!!! Then, the people came home. The crying. The waving of hands. The panic and hysteria! The flapping to get us to the... VET. Why? To find out how I'm so incredibly brilliant so it can be documented for medical history? To get Squeak's vocal chords snipped? Oh diary, you'll never guess what they did... They... They... Sorry. I am a bevy of emotion!! Where is my embroidered hanky?!?!... they made me throw up... INTO A BUCKET. Like a common frat boy on a Friday night!! MISERY. They didn't even hold my ears back. Injustice.
Apparently, they're all "concerned" about "heart failure" when "dogs" "eat" "too much" of the "dark chocolate." What do I have to say about that? Poppycock!!!! That's right. When's the last time you heard that phrase? Well, I'm bringing it back as I feel it's appropriate. You make me throw up glorious deliciousness and then make me sleep overnight with IV fluids, I will yell poppycock at you.
This is me the next day. Like Tiny Tim! Why would a genius like me be reduced to a pathetic Tiny Tim! INJUSTICE.
Terrible. Just terrible. Yellow isn't my color. I'm hopping. Dachshunds are good with the hopping. We just look silly, and THAT is VERY UPSETTING. My image team is very disappointed with this. So please, diary, don't share this with anyone.
Misery.
For the record, I got no treats to make up for all the food I was forced to upturn. Injustice.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
March 28th, 2012
Dear Diary,
Oh my stars, Diary. You know how I hate to be catty. I find that very unbecoming a proper Wienerdog as myself. BUT, that little trollop of Bogart, has sunk to levels I never thought a Wiener could sink. And coming from animals with less than one inch ground clearance, this is REALLY saying something. Trollop's name is Dolly. Ridiculous. Dolly wrote me a letter via Mother Person's Bookface page. Facebook? Whatever. On the internet super high way her words come careening towards my already broken heart. Here is the attached photo and her text:
Dear Beans-- whose soft terry cloth "Oprah's favorite thing" robe am I sitting, you may stop licking your lack of balls to ask yourself? That's right. Sam's. And what's that in the background? No, it's not a 4x3 ft linai you can barely fit a pee pad on. It's a yard. And who pray tell is sniffing my gorgeous arese? The BUBS and he loves it-- jealous?? In respond to your delightful literature in which you so sadly pretend you are some sort of Ariana Woofington, may I just say this: no one cares what you have to say. Despite your clever phrasing and alliteration. Save it for your memoir. Which I'm sure will be titled: Diary of a Mad Black Weenie. To that-- I give you this coy side glance. Interpret how you will. And stay away from my man. Signed, Dolly
SACRED BLEU! It's worse than I thought. She must be holding our Bogart, aka "The Bubs" hostage. It's like the Hunger Games *SPOILER ALERT UNLESS YOU HAVE READ PAST PAGE 148 IN BOOK 3* when Peeta goes all goofy. Bogart, my simple little mutt, you just don't know what's happened to you. Forcing you into early marriage. Silly clothes. No devil pigs. I can't help but think of this Dolly as our Yoko. Oh misery. Terrible misery. Like a sock just out of reach... Or a chicken bone on the street that I'm forbidden to eat. (Why do people eat bone in chicken on the street, btw?!?) It's all unfair. And those words... oh how they cut me... But come on, of COURSE people want to know what I have to say. That's just ridiculous to think otherwise. Clearly, she is delusional. With a very long snout.
I do admit, I miss her Man Person, Sam, and his exceptionally soft robe. That Oprah knows a thing or two about comfort... and I don't think a chicken bone has ever been out of HER reach, know what i'm saying? That's right, a fat joke. That Dolly has shaken me to the core and I'm reduced to making FAT JOKES. About OPRAH. Where is my fainting couch?? I must rest. I need a lime seltzer and a nap. Maybe then, this will all stop.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Oh my stars, Diary. You know how I hate to be catty. I find that very unbecoming a proper Wienerdog as myself. BUT, that little trollop of Bogart, has sunk to levels I never thought a Wiener could sink. And coming from animals with less than one inch ground clearance, this is REALLY saying something. Trollop's name is Dolly. Ridiculous. Dolly wrote me a letter via Mother Person's Bookface page. Facebook? Whatever. On the internet super high way her words come careening towards my already broken heart. Here is the attached photo and her text:
Dear Beans-- whose soft terry cloth "Oprah's favorite thing" robe am I sitting, you may stop licking your lack of balls to ask yourself? That's right. Sam's. And what's that in the background? No, it's not a 4x3 ft linai you can barely fit a pee pad on. It's a yard. And who pray tell is sniffing my gorgeous arese? The BUBS and he loves it-- jealous?? In respond to your delightful literature in which you so sadly pretend you are some sort of Ariana Woofington, may I just say this: no one cares what you have to say. Despite your clever phrasing and alliteration. Save it for your memoir. Which I'm sure will be titled: Diary of a Mad Black Weenie. To that-- I give you this coy side glance. Interpret how you will. And stay away from my man. Signed, Dolly
SACRED BLEU! It's worse than I thought. She must be holding our Bogart, aka "The Bubs" hostage. It's like the Hunger Games *SPOILER ALERT UNLESS YOU HAVE READ PAST PAGE 148 IN BOOK 3* when Peeta goes all goofy. Bogart, my simple little mutt, you just don't know what's happened to you. Forcing you into early marriage. Silly clothes. No devil pigs. I can't help but think of this Dolly as our Yoko. Oh misery. Terrible misery. Like a sock just out of reach... Or a chicken bone on the street that I'm forbidden to eat. (Why do people eat bone in chicken on the street, btw?!?) It's all unfair. And those words... oh how they cut me... But come on, of COURSE people want to know what I have to say. That's just ridiculous to think otherwise. Clearly, she is delusional. With a very long snout.
I do admit, I miss her Man Person, Sam, and his exceptionally soft robe. That Oprah knows a thing or two about comfort... and I don't think a chicken bone has ever been out of HER reach, know what i'm saying? That's right, a fat joke. That Dolly has shaken me to the core and I'm reduced to making FAT JOKES. About OPRAH. Where is my fainting couch?? I must rest. I need a lime seltzer and a nap. Maybe then, this will all stop.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
March 27th, 2012
Dear Diary,
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Um, no. Whoever coined this trite phrase never met a wienerdog. Especially THIS wienerdog. My heart is broken in a million little pieces. I haven't gone to pilates in a week, and I can't bare to even look at my French homework. WHY you ask? Look at this filth.
See that fetching character on the right in the bow tie? THAT is my former best friend forever, or BFF as the kids say. Bogart. Look at his luscious ears!! There may not be much between said floppy ears, but that Bogle (part dog, part Beagle) was my dear friend. We would vacation together while my people were out of town (ie they deserted me with nice people who loved me, but "deserted" I certainly was, none the less.) I would sleep in Bogart's bed, he'd get the floor. I'd play with his squeaky devil pig, he'd watch. He'd find me socks to munch on, I'd let him. It was a good relationship. He moved to Louisiana a little while ago and apparently, fell in with a bad crowd. And replaced me. With that. Another wienerdog. Injustice.
Not only is this wiener not of my superior coloring. She's a GIRL. ICKY! BLEH!!! And she makes him wear funny clothing!!!!! What is this, role playing?!?! It's not right, I tell you. Not right at all!!! He should only be taking orders from ME!!! That is how this friendship worked out so perfectly!!!! MISERY!!! I would never make him wear a bow tie. That's not edible at all. What a waste! And it doesn't even keep your little hound body warm. This is only worn to delight the humans. Terrible. What's next, Bogart? Fetching their balls and herding their sheep? You'll be a slave to them!!! It's bad enough we have to work CONSTANTLY to ward off the hallway monsters and the vacuum cleaner gnomes. You've turned into a puppet... And I blame that lady friend! She's not properly advising you on how to be a hound. She may not really be a real wienerdog at all. Maybe some Swedish knock off or something. I don't see "stern German" coming from her... I shudder to think about it.
Now who's my best friend? The whiney Beagle across the hall? The Chihuahua that barks at shadows?! The hapless labrador? Who can I boss around?!?! WHO WHO WHO?! Misery.
I will lie on the couch, taking up more room than one thought possible, while my heart aches like no other heart has ached before. A lamb chop would really hit the spot about now.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Um, no. Whoever coined this trite phrase never met a wienerdog. Especially THIS wienerdog. My heart is broken in a million little pieces. I haven't gone to pilates in a week, and I can't bare to even look at my French homework. WHY you ask? Look at this filth.
See that fetching character on the right in the bow tie? THAT is my former best friend forever, or BFF as the kids say. Bogart. Look at his luscious ears!! There may not be much between said floppy ears, but that Bogle (part dog, part Beagle) was my dear friend. We would vacation together while my people were out of town (ie they deserted me with nice people who loved me, but "deserted" I certainly was, none the less.) I would sleep in Bogart's bed, he'd get the floor. I'd play with his squeaky devil pig, he'd watch. He'd find me socks to munch on, I'd let him. It was a good relationship. He moved to Louisiana a little while ago and apparently, fell in with a bad crowd. And replaced me. With that. Another wienerdog. Injustice.
Not only is this wiener not of my superior coloring. She's a GIRL. ICKY! BLEH!!! And she makes him wear funny clothing!!!!! What is this, role playing?!?! It's not right, I tell you. Not right at all!!! He should only be taking orders from ME!!! That is how this friendship worked out so perfectly!!!! MISERY!!! I would never make him wear a bow tie. That's not edible at all. What a waste! And it doesn't even keep your little hound body warm. This is only worn to delight the humans. Terrible. What's next, Bogart? Fetching their balls and herding their sheep? You'll be a slave to them!!! It's bad enough we have to work CONSTANTLY to ward off the hallway monsters and the vacuum cleaner gnomes. You've turned into a puppet... And I blame that lady friend! She's not properly advising you on how to be a hound. She may not really be a real wienerdog at all. Maybe some Swedish knock off or something. I don't see "stern German" coming from her... I shudder to think about it.
Now who's my best friend? The whiney Beagle across the hall? The Chihuahua that barks at shadows?! The hapless labrador? Who can I boss around?!?! WHO WHO WHO?! Misery.
I will lie on the couch, taking up more room than one thought possible, while my heart aches like no other heart has ached before. A lamb chop would really hit the spot about now.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Friday, March 9, 2012
March 9th, 2012
Dear Diary,
Diary. Look at this.
I haven't diary-ed in a while... just, so sad. I went on a sock binge. The mini person moved his sock drawer, and the dumb human people have all his stuff in bins that slide out, with no lids. What do they think I am, a retriever?! A trainable and affable dog that isn't ruled by a small evil German brain?! Have they even met me? So, yes, of course, I got into said sock drawer and munched through them like Mother Person when see gets a whiff of tater tots. (Which she DOES NOT share. Who has the evil brain now, hmmmm?) But, yes, I threw up 6 socks one day, and 2 the next. The 2 even surprised me! There we were having our Daily Show cuddle and I felt a gurgle. Next thing you know, there are 2 dead socks on the couch. Mother Person was visibly disturbed. Soft Touch even gave a little yelp. Who knew I had 2 more in me?! Where do I store them!? It's a mystery. I am a marvel, that's all I can say.
I have stopped counting the amount of treats and cuddles I recieve. My therapist said I should concentrate on the positive. I think that was her way of saying, "These jerky treats are mine and I'm not sharing." That session definitely wasn't worth the co-pay. Misery continues.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
February 15, 2012
Dear Diary,
WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!
Ok. Deep breaths. Maybe that's a bad angle...
Nope. Not the angle. It looks like that stupid vacuum robot covered in hair!!!! That's not a dog!!!! And that vacuum is evil and demented and must be smashed. I don't trust it. And don't cover it in hair and think that I can be fooled! I digress...
This is a dog....
She's me on stilts! She's German!! (Ok, her name is Fifi, but she's German at heart...) THAT is a dog. It's not as great as this Dachshund....
But. Whatever. Injustice. Why should I be so surprised at life being so horrible to me?? Did I get a consolation steak last night??? No. Did I get snuggled all night? Oh, yeah, I did... BAH. I don't even get to complain about lack of snuggles!!!!!! MISERY.
I need to eat some socks.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
February 14, 2012
Dear Diary,
Valentine's Day. Or, the memorial of the day I lost those 2 little dangly bits. That's right, I was neutered on Valentine's Day. While my Mother Person went to the Westminster Dog show and whored herself out with other dogs. I think that pretty much sums up my life. Misery. Oh sure, she coddled and snuggled me after I came home and I got "special" treats for awhile... but that was just her GUILT. Her GUILT for fraternizing with other dogs who still have dangly bits. She told me I was prettier than them.... and she's right. So, at least she's not blind. There's a win.
I have to admit, I am VERY excited as this year the wire-haired Dachshund won the hound group!!!! OH THE EXCITEMENT!!! Sure, they're inferior to the smooth coated, but heck. A Wiener recognition is a Wiener recognition and I'll take it. I mean, basically, the dog looks like me, only as an old man.
Good luck, Raydachs Playing With Fire V Glesihorbach. (That's a mouthful.) It should be noted that her sister's name is Wire Wire Pants on Fire, which is fairly awesome. Anywho.... Make us proud, you little bitch! (Rarely does one get to say that and not get yelled at for salty language.)
I better get treats tonight... Ugh. Probably won't. Misery. And apparently I can't see in 2-dimensions so I can't watch the finals on TV? INJUSTICE!!!!! Don't tell me what I can do or not do!!! And if I have to hear Mother Person squeal over the big dumb Labradors, I may need to break out the Scotch.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Valentine's Day. Or, the memorial of the day I lost those 2 little dangly bits. That's right, I was neutered on Valentine's Day. While my Mother Person went to the Westminster Dog show and whored herself out with other dogs. I think that pretty much sums up my life. Misery. Oh sure, she coddled and snuggled me after I came home and I got "special" treats for awhile... but that was just her GUILT. Her GUILT for fraternizing with other dogs who still have dangly bits. She told me I was prettier than them.... and she's right. So, at least she's not blind. There's a win.
I have to admit, I am VERY excited as this year the wire-haired Dachshund won the hound group!!!! OH THE EXCITEMENT!!! Sure, they're inferior to the smooth coated, but heck. A Wiener recognition is a Wiener recognition and I'll take it. I mean, basically, the dog looks like me, only as an old man.
Good luck, Raydachs Playing With Fire V Glesihorbach. (That's a mouthful.) It should be noted that her sister's name is Wire Wire Pants on Fire, which is fairly awesome. Anywho.... Make us proud, you little bitch! (Rarely does one get to say that and not get yelled at for salty language.)
I better get treats tonight... Ugh. Probably won't. Misery. And apparently I can't see in 2-dimensions so I can't watch the finals on TV? INJUSTICE!!!!! Don't tell me what I can do or not do!!! And if I have to hear Mother Person squeal over the big dumb Labradors, I may need to break out the Scotch.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
January 25th, 2012
Dear Diary,
Socks consumed: 3
Underwear consumed: 1 (but it was a thong, so really, .5)
Treats consumed: Why do I bother counting?? It's so depressing.
Injustices: Lost count, but an educated guess would be 637
Stupid shirts forced to wear: 1
DO YOU SEE THIS??! My Mother Person forced me (and the whole bloomin' household) to wear goofy shirts to support "her team." I would like to note that I don't force her to wear "LET'S GO BACON!!" shirts, or "SOCKS ARE YUMMY!" Ok, she may actually have the bacon shirt... But I don't force her to wear it. I have several issues with this forced clothing. 1, not my coloring. Grey?? Honestly. 2, the cut. This is a v-neck. A V-NECK. I look like a common mall-goer in Northern Jersey! It was terrible!!! My hairy chest bulging out. Embarrassing. I never ever wished in my life that I had a dickie until then. A nice mock turtle neck? Something. Terrible. Misery.
As if that wasn't enough, Mother Person starts rolling out a feast for all the sports show watchers. This lady hasn't make anything more exotic than a Hot Pocket since Mini Person came along but that day? She made a lasagna, from SCRATCH and what did I get??? Hmm? Nothing? Did you guess nothing?! That would be correct. INJUSTICE!!!!!!
Ok, well, I did get this....
That would be one of those condescending toys that have this "treat" in a ball that's impossible to eat and is suppose to keep me "occupied" so I don't cause "problems." (Note Mini Person's shirt... He didn't even know the propaganda machine that she turned him into for an evening. Sad.) Can you see the plate in the foreground? That dish holds delicious chips and dips, but I'm relegated to the FLOOR to eat this meat lick ridiculousness. Say it with me now... Injustice.
So, that night, I threw up a 3:34am. Neener neener neener.
But alas, not only did I interrupt the people's sleep, but it wore me out.
Gosh, I'm cute when I'm cozy. I wish I had a Queen bed all to my own all the time. Someday... Someday.... On my wienerdog farm where meat licks are outlawed and lasagna is served every hour on the hour.
Sigh.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Socks consumed: 3
Underwear consumed: 1 (but it was a thong, so really, .5)
Treats consumed: Why do I bother counting?? It's so depressing.
Injustices: Lost count, but an educated guess would be 637
Stupid shirts forced to wear: 1
DO YOU SEE THIS??! My Mother Person forced me (and the whole bloomin' household) to wear goofy shirts to support "her team." I would like to note that I don't force her to wear "LET'S GO BACON!!" shirts, or "SOCKS ARE YUMMY!" Ok, she may actually have the bacon shirt... But I don't force her to wear it. I have several issues with this forced clothing. 1, not my coloring. Grey?? Honestly. 2, the cut. This is a v-neck. A V-NECK. I look like a common mall-goer in Northern Jersey! It was terrible!!! My hairy chest bulging out. Embarrassing. I never ever wished in my life that I had a dickie until then. A nice mock turtle neck? Something. Terrible. Misery.
As if that wasn't enough, Mother Person starts rolling out a feast for all the sports show watchers. This lady hasn't make anything more exotic than a Hot Pocket since Mini Person came along but that day? She made a lasagna, from SCRATCH and what did I get??? Hmm? Nothing? Did you guess nothing?! That would be correct. INJUSTICE!!!!!!
Ok, well, I did get this....
That would be one of those condescending toys that have this "treat" in a ball that's impossible to eat and is suppose to keep me "occupied" so I don't cause "problems." (Note Mini Person's shirt... He didn't even know the propaganda machine that she turned him into for an evening. Sad.) Can you see the plate in the foreground? That dish holds delicious chips and dips, but I'm relegated to the FLOOR to eat this meat lick ridiculousness. Say it with me now... Injustice.
So, that night, I threw up a 3:34am. Neener neener neener.
But alas, not only did I interrupt the people's sleep, but it wore me out.
Gosh, I'm cute when I'm cozy. I wish I had a Queen bed all to my own all the time. Someday... Someday.... On my wienerdog farm where meat licks are outlawed and lasagna is served every hour on the hour.
Sigh.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Monday, January 9, 2012
January 9th, 2012
Dear Diary,
Injustices: 3905
Periods of Misery: 85
Treats: 2 (Ok, maybe more, but I can barely tell I ate them)
Another year shot in the ass. And here I am, still without any real estate holdings. The sun still moves. Vacuums still exist. I expected more for 2012. Thankfully, I can always count on Mother Person and Soft Touch to provide entertainment while the mini person runs circles around them. (That circle usually ends up with me getting my nose honked or a gooey baby kiss. Either way, misery.)
This morning was no exception. Soft Touch was "fixing" a toy with none other than a sock and super glue. Sure. Sure. I eat socks and I'm told I'm a "bad dog." He afixes it to the drive train of a toy car and he's "clever." UGH. You guessed it, injustice. So, all was going well in this sudden case of Johnny Fix-it, but then the mini-Human-tornado finished his yogurt and got out of his giant chair. What did that monkey do? You guessed it, made a beeline for the sock/superglue haven of sticky terribleness. NEVER have I heard Mother Person be so alarmed. HE'S GOING TO GLUE HIS HANDS TOGETHER!!!! Followed by a great deal of flapping and high pitched squeals about nail polish remover. (This lady hasn't worn nail polish since 2009, you know, when she got married and let herself go. Pathetic.) She picked up Tornado like a football and separated his hands-- not an easy thing. This kid likes to clap like nobody's business... But alas, she made it to the acetone (probably had to dust it off, next to the pile of mascaras and neglected beauty products) before the munchkin became set in a permanent clap. Crisis averted!!! And while that happened, I got to hop on the giant chair and clean up some Cheerio remains. It was a win-win. Apparently, after your kid almost glues their hand together, seeing the dog in the high chair doesn't seem like as big a deal as it usually is. FINALLY, win 1 for the Wiener Dog.
I don't know why they took Martha Stewart off the air. I feel like she understood me. First Ricki, now this. Wherever will I find my classic tea towels?!?! Misery. I missed French class today. Merd. I can't miss pilates, though. My core is suffering.
Sincerely,
Beans A Wienerdog
Injustices: 3905
Periods of Misery: 85
Treats: 2 (Ok, maybe more, but I can barely tell I ate them)
Another year shot in the ass. And here I am, still without any real estate holdings. The sun still moves. Vacuums still exist. I expected more for 2012. Thankfully, I can always count on Mother Person and Soft Touch to provide entertainment while the mini person runs circles around them. (That circle usually ends up with me getting my nose honked or a gooey baby kiss. Either way, misery.)
This morning was no exception. Soft Touch was "fixing" a toy with none other than a sock and super glue. Sure. Sure. I eat socks and I'm told I'm a "bad dog." He afixes it to the drive train of a toy car and he's "clever." UGH. You guessed it, injustice. So, all was going well in this sudden case of Johnny Fix-it, but then the mini-Human-tornado finished his yogurt and got out of his giant chair. What did that monkey do? You guessed it, made a beeline for the sock/superglue haven of sticky terribleness. NEVER have I heard Mother Person be so alarmed. HE'S GOING TO GLUE HIS HANDS TOGETHER!!!! Followed by a great deal of flapping and high pitched squeals about nail polish remover. (This lady hasn't worn nail polish since 2009, you know, when she got married and let herself go. Pathetic.) She picked up Tornado like a football and separated his hands-- not an easy thing. This kid likes to clap like nobody's business... But alas, she made it to the acetone (probably had to dust it off, next to the pile of mascaras and neglected beauty products) before the munchkin became set in a permanent clap. Crisis averted!!! And while that happened, I got to hop on the giant chair and clean up some Cheerio remains. It was a win-win. Apparently, after your kid almost glues their hand together, seeing the dog in the high chair doesn't seem like as big a deal as it usually is. FINALLY, win 1 for the Wiener Dog.
I don't know why they took Martha Stewart off the air. I feel like she understood me. First Ricki, now this. Wherever will I find my classic tea towels?!?! Misery. I missed French class today. Merd. I can't miss pilates, though. My core is suffering.
Sincerely,
Beans A Wienerdog
Monday, December 26, 2011
December 26, 2011
Dear Diary,
TREATS: LOADS!!! Well, by the usual paltry standards.
SNUGGLES: TONS!!! Again, the bar is low, but I'll take it.
INJUSTICES: 12, give or take
It's that time of year. The weighing of the "naughty" with the "nice." What does this mean anyway? Isn't one man's naughty another's nice? Isn't eating someones cake a nice thing to do? Says, "Gosh, you made a nice cake that's deserving of being eaten!" and "Let me eat this for you so your bum doesn't grow any larger." Semantics. It's all I'm saying.
Look at me here on Christmas morn. Hardly eaten anything and trusted into the task of ripping through heavy stock paper. But look at what it says?? Does it say GOOD DOG! Or BELOVED PET? Sure doesn't.
Ugh. Injustice. But it was filled with treats! However, they were treats that insinuated that perhaps my breath doesn't smell like a dewey meadow filled with rosebushes and unicorns. (I hear unicorns smell divine!) Rude. I didn't give them presents that said, "You stink!! Fix it!" or "You call that a haircut?!" Where is the sensitivity?!
As promised, I found some holiday photos of me from the good years. You know, before mini-person (and the 2nd vacuum. Who needs 2 vacuums?!?!?! Pure evil.).
See what I did there? Shine? Lights?? Oh forget it. Puns never pay off. Or is that a metaphor? WHATEVER. I look amazing and that's the point. Look at that face! I really am a treasure. And how dare they put all those lights around me! I could have been electrocuted! I guess it was worth it for the sake of the art.
Here I am now....
... resting with my latest friend. Pink Dog, I named her. She doesn't say much. Just a few crinkles and squeaks. It's best that way. These people need a bigger couch. Criminal how I have to curl up like this. And no blanket!!!! No hamburgers! Misery.
Naughty or nice... I'm still gorgeous.
Yours,
Beans A. Wienerdog
TREATS: LOADS!!! Well, by the usual paltry standards.
SNUGGLES: TONS!!! Again, the bar is low, but I'll take it.
INJUSTICES: 12, give or take
It's that time of year. The weighing of the "naughty" with the "nice." What does this mean anyway? Isn't one man's naughty another's nice? Isn't eating someones cake a nice thing to do? Says, "Gosh, you made a nice cake that's deserving of being eaten!" and "Let me eat this for you so your bum doesn't grow any larger." Semantics. It's all I'm saying.
Look at me here on Christmas morn. Hardly eaten anything and trusted into the task of ripping through heavy stock paper. But look at what it says?? Does it say GOOD DOG! Or BELOVED PET? Sure doesn't.
Ugh. Injustice. But it was filled with treats! However, they were treats that insinuated that perhaps my breath doesn't smell like a dewey meadow filled with rosebushes and unicorns. (I hear unicorns smell divine!) Rude. I didn't give them presents that said, "You stink!! Fix it!" or "You call that a haircut?!" Where is the sensitivity?!
As promised, I found some holiday photos of me from the good years. You know, before mini-person (and the 2nd vacuum. Who needs 2 vacuums?!?!?! Pure evil.).
Have you ever seen anything cuter than this?!?! Look at my adorable ears!!! And my tiny little legs! Oh, how I love this photo. I don't really like that coat so much, but I look so good in it, it's hard to poo-poo it.
Here's where I really shine through....
See what I did there? Shine? Lights?? Oh forget it. Puns never pay off. Or is that a metaphor? WHATEVER. I look amazing and that's the point. Look at that face! I really am a treasure. And how dare they put all those lights around me! I could have been electrocuted! I guess it was worth it for the sake of the art.
Here I am now....
... resting with my latest friend. Pink Dog, I named her. She doesn't say much. Just a few crinkles and squeaks. It's best that way. These people need a bigger couch. Criminal how I have to curl up like this. And no blanket!!!! No hamburgers! Misery.
Naughty or nice... I'm still gorgeous.
Yours,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
December 21st, 2011
Dear Diary,
Injustices since last entry: 89
Evil Hallway monsters: 32
Treats: 7
I am offended. And appalled. Aghast even. Apparently, people are upset that a dog is on the White House Christmas card. Why do you people think one has a dog??? It's to put a cute photo of them on your holiday card!!!! Oh and the snuggles, and cleaning up food that's dropped on the floor.
Injustices since last entry: 89
Evil Hallway monsters: 32
Treats: 7
I am offended. And appalled. Aghast even. Apparently, people are upset that a dog is on the White House Christmas card. Why do you people think one has a dog??? It's to put a cute photo of them on your holiday card!!!! Oh and the snuggles, and cleaning up food that's dropped on the floor.
Look at that poor mutt!!!! (Wait, he's a pure breed??? From where? Portugal?? The heck you say... Well, ok.) Look at that poor odd breed European raised dog who apparently can swim well!! MISERABLE!!! And do you know why??? It lives in a house with 2 mini-people who suck up ALL the air in the place. ALL the attention. And a staff of 3080 who probably hoover the floors before Portugese Mutt can sniff out the treasures. I can think of nothing worse. Well, ok... There is a fireplace. That's pretty nice. It's like constant sunshine that doesn't move, which is quite handy. I wonder if those gift boxes are full of socks and peanuts and porterhouse steaks and fluffy blankets. The dog should be on that table investigating!!! Not lolly gagging around the fire. Lock it up, pooch!!!
I, of course, am prominent on this year's card for the family... I SHARE the limelight of course. OF COURSE. Share. What does that even mean. Just say it, it's a holiday card hijack. This mini-person can't rock a santa suit like I can. If I can figure out that foul-filthing photo scanner, I will prove this point. Stay tuned, Diary. Stay tuned.
Merf,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Thursday, December 15, 2011
December 15, 2011
Dear Diary,
DO YOU SEE THIS?!?!? Yes, I look adorable. I know. That's not the point, but I can see how that's your immediate take-away... I had to tuck myself in!!! MYSELF!! I don't have thumbs. I barely have legs! I have these sweet little T-rex arms. But yet! I was forced to pull the blanket over me all by my wiener lonesome. Sad sad day. I'm thinking of starting a union. First thing on the contract, more treats. Then, personal blanket tucker. More sunshine. And that personal blanket tucker will need to be an experienced belly rubber. I will put this on Craigslist!!! Hold please.
... Oh woe. Woe is me. Craigslist told me this was questionable and not suitable for people under the age of 18. They don't understand me. No one does. Meanwhile, that mini-person keeps kissing me and then gets all excited and dances around. Come on. Calm down. I need to rest. All this tucking.... wears you out.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
DO YOU SEE THIS?!?!? Yes, I look adorable. I know. That's not the point, but I can see how that's your immediate take-away... I had to tuck myself in!!! MYSELF!! I don't have thumbs. I barely have legs! I have these sweet little T-rex arms. But yet! I was forced to pull the blanket over me all by my wiener lonesome. Sad sad day. I'm thinking of starting a union. First thing on the contract, more treats. Then, personal blanket tucker. More sunshine. And that personal blanket tucker will need to be an experienced belly rubber. I will put this on Craigslist!!! Hold please.
... Oh woe. Woe is me. Craigslist told me this was questionable and not suitable for people under the age of 18. They don't understand me. No one does. Meanwhile, that mini-person keeps kissing me and then gets all excited and dances around. Come on. Calm down. I need to rest. All this tucking.... wears you out.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Thursday, December 8, 2011
December 8th, 2011
Dear Diary,
Today was going so well. Grand I'd even venture to say... Then that mini-person left half a fruit bar on his high chair. I knew I shouldn't jump up and take it. But, it was sitting RIGHT there. And I had clearance to pounce and take it. The honey badger in me beat up my Jiminy Cricket a LOOONNNGGG time ago, so of course, I took the fruit bar. And got caught. Oh sweet misery. No treats for me today. I got the "bad dog" talking to. Even mini-person got in on that. How condescending. He poops his pants and I'm the one who's wrong?? This is survival people!! This is how wienerdogs live in the wild!! Yes, by stealing Whole Foods Fruit Bars from high chairs! I think our wolf cousins taught us this... I don't know, ask Darwin. He'll know... (Darwin is a wise Malamute I once met in the park.)
I need to rest. This fiber is going through me like a dumptruck. Why do they buy the multi-grain fruit bars?!! They're rough on my system. They should know better. Course it may help me work through this sock I've been digesting. The mini person's friend's sock hasn't reappeared yet, nor her nanny-person's. Huh.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Today was going so well. Grand I'd even venture to say... Then that mini-person left half a fruit bar on his high chair. I knew I shouldn't jump up and take it. But, it was sitting RIGHT there. And I had clearance to pounce and take it. The honey badger in me beat up my Jiminy Cricket a LOOONNNGGG time ago, so of course, I took the fruit bar. And got caught. Oh sweet misery. No treats for me today. I got the "bad dog" talking to. Even mini-person got in on that. How condescending. He poops his pants and I'm the one who's wrong?? This is survival people!! This is how wienerdogs live in the wild!! Yes, by stealing Whole Foods Fruit Bars from high chairs! I think our wolf cousins taught us this... I don't know, ask Darwin. He'll know... (Darwin is a wise Malamute I once met in the park.)
I need to rest. This fiber is going through me like a dumptruck. Why do they buy the multi-grain fruit bars?!! They're rough on my system. They should know better. Course it may help me work through this sock I've been digesting. The mini person's friend's sock hasn't reappeared yet, nor her nanny-person's. Huh.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
December 6th, 2011
Dear Diary,
Number of injustices since last entry: 14
Number of snuggles: 12
Number of treats: buh
Number of insincere snuggles: 12
Wearing a hat??
In a stocking???
Number of injustices since last entry: 14
Number of snuggles: 12
Number of treats: buh
Number of insincere snuggles: 12
Mother person put up the sparkly tree in the house again. She's so lazy. TAKE A WALK OUTSIDE WOMAN!!! THERE ARE TONS OF TREES OUT THERE!!! Why bring it in the house?!?!! Course, it is adorned with several replicas of my gorgeous face. None of them do me justice, mind you. No one can recreate my bronze patches.
The mini-person seems to think this whole this is AMAZING. And he's even impressed-- or a little shocked-- that there are replicas of ME and none of HIM on said tree. WELL!!! Isn't THIS a shocking turn of events!!!! Is there a figurine of YOU driving a car??? NO!!! (He does call it the "Dogger bruum bruum" which is slightly adorable, but only slightly.)
Wearing a hat??
In a stocking???
HA!! I WIN!! I BEAT YOU LITTLE PERSON!!! Just this once. I'll take it and be joyful that I am supreme ornament muse. For about 5 minutes I will know bliss... and then it will fade away again. And I'll just be a wienerdog who doesn't get to eat an entire ribeye steak. Even when I ask nicely. Misery. I need my iron intake!! No wonder I'm so very weak.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Monday, December 5, 2011
December 5th, 2011
Dear Diary,
As you can see, it's been a LONG time since I've been able to diary my life. I've been so withdrawn, you see. The misery and injustices just keep coming. Did you know I wasn't suppose to eat a plastic toddler snack cup???? (It doesn't hold toddlers, it holds their cheesy or peanut butter snacks.... Just clarifying.) It was delicious. Even if a bit hard on the gums. But NOOOOOOO. That's not FOR wienerdogs. Quell surprise?! What IS for wienerdogs?!?!?! Snuggles 24-7??? Cozy down blankets?! Sunshine patches all day?!?! Nope. None of those things happen either. I find ONE bit of joy in a stupid plastic cup... and I get a stern talking to and some plastic in my morning BM. Misery.
Look at me. How terrible is this?? They didn't fluff my blanket!!!!! It's "microfiber." I deserve nothing less than macrofiber!!! I don't know what that means by micro sounds small and something the cleaning staff sleeps with.
I'd like to mention I haven't eaten a sock in 3 days. And frankly, I don't think the mini-person's friend's sock... and her nanny-person's socks should count. I mean, it was fairly hilarious watching them walk home with only one sock each. Sigh. No one gets my humor.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
As you can see, it's been a LONG time since I've been able to diary my life. I've been so withdrawn, you see. The misery and injustices just keep coming. Did you know I wasn't suppose to eat a plastic toddler snack cup???? (It doesn't hold toddlers, it holds their cheesy or peanut butter snacks.... Just clarifying.) It was delicious. Even if a bit hard on the gums. But NOOOOOOO. That's not FOR wienerdogs. Quell surprise?! What IS for wienerdogs?!?!?! Snuggles 24-7??? Cozy down blankets?! Sunshine patches all day?!?! Nope. None of those things happen either. I find ONE bit of joy in a stupid plastic cup... and I get a stern talking to and some plastic in my morning BM. Misery.
Look at me. How terrible is this?? They didn't fluff my blanket!!!!! It's "microfiber." I deserve nothing less than macrofiber!!! I don't know what that means by micro sounds small and something the cleaning staff sleeps with.
I'd like to mention I haven't eaten a sock in 3 days. And frankly, I don't think the mini-person's friend's sock... and her nanny-person's socks should count. I mean, it was fairly hilarious watching them walk home with only one sock each. Sigh. No one gets my humor.
Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog
Monday, October 31, 2011
Oct. 31st
Dear Diary,
WOE IS ME. Oh woe. Woe has befallen my delicate ears, walnut sized head, and edibly cute feet. I have thrown up every AM since Friday. Usually around 5am. Am I pregnant, I asked myself?!?!? No. That's impossible. How ever could my greatness multiply?! Alas... I have decided that Mini Person's socks have gone rancid, and that's what's making me sick. Who leaves unfit to eat socks laying around?! He's a menace to the world and must be stopped. Mother Person said something about finding a new hamper for him that's dog proof. Good luck, lady. I know physics which is freakish for a dog-- I'll admit it. So you can't keep me away, maybe you should figure out why his socks make me sick, huh?? This isn't a "me" problem here. I am "sock free" at the moment though. I hope I don't get peckish this afternoon.
So, after Mother Person told me off for the vomit on the carpet (I don't like vomiting on the hard wood floor-- it seems rude to the wood and the tree that died to make it) she put me in this.
WOE IS ME. Oh woe. Woe has befallen my delicate ears, walnut sized head, and edibly cute feet. I have thrown up every AM since Friday. Usually around 5am. Am I pregnant, I asked myself?!?!? No. That's impossible. How ever could my greatness multiply?! Alas... I have decided that Mini Person's socks have gone rancid, and that's what's making me sick. Who leaves unfit to eat socks laying around?! He's a menace to the world and must be stopped. Mother Person said something about finding a new hamper for him that's dog proof. Good luck, lady. I know physics which is freakish for a dog-- I'll admit it. So you can't keep me away, maybe you should figure out why his socks make me sick, huh?? This isn't a "me" problem here. I am "sock free" at the moment though. I hope I don't get peckish this afternoon.
So, after Mother Person told me off for the vomit on the carpet (I don't like vomiting on the hard wood floor-- it seems rude to the wood and the tree that died to make it) she put me in this.
Not even the comfort of Soft Touch's lap could save my disgrace. She thinks I'm JUST a skeleton, and not Johnny from Karate Kid. She just doesn't get me. Soft Touch gave me snuggles and I licked his nose till he couldn't stand it any longer. That was fun. Mother Person did the same but I don't count those as genuine. I know pandering when I see it.
Mini Person has also starting telling me "no" when I bark at the Evil Lurking Hallway creatures. Really? Fine. FINE. When he gets eaten by a Hallway monster because I wasn't allowed to protect him, don't come crying to me!!!!!!
Sigh.
It snowed this weekend. What the heck is that?! I couldn't go to French class. I couldn't sniff the sidewalk properly. I see Mother Person eying my puffer jacket with way too much excitement. Misery. Je suis malheureux. (Phew, I haven't lost it... Je suis si intelligent.)
Sincerely,
Beans A Wienerdog
Friday, October 28, 2011
Oct. 28th
Dear Diary,
Number of Mini Person kicks to the head: 4
Treats given: 2 (sigh)
Mini Person likes to snuggle. He is NOT very good at it. He bounds over saying things that apparently refers to my species. (Dog? WTF?!! When did this happen?!?!?) Then there's either gentle patting, or a flurry of excited squeaks, strokes and giggles followed by loss of limb control. What do I do with this??!?! Soft Touch and Mother Person tell him to be "gentle." Sure. Just throw down the food, Bucko. That's all I need you for. Misery.
I saw Mother Person get out my skeleton costume. Or, as I refer to it, Johnny from Karate Kid. Johnny, pre-leg sweeping, dresses as a skeleton for Halloween. He then beat the tar out of that sniveling brat, Daniel. I mean, Daniel's pants fit funny and he MAYBE weighted a buck twenty. EAT SOMETHING DANIEL. I don't blame, Johnny, and I like his style sense... so I don't "mind" the skeleton costume, but I refuse to have it be labeled as something so mundane.
Napping. Must nap. But I do enjoy hiding under a good chair. Mini Person will never find me here... or will he... Misery.
Sleepless in NYC,
Beans A Wienerdog
Number of Mini Person kicks to the head: 4
Treats given: 2 (sigh)
Mini Person likes to snuggle. He is NOT very good at it. He bounds over saying things that apparently refers to my species. (Dog? WTF?!! When did this happen?!?!?) Then there's either gentle patting, or a flurry of excited squeaks, strokes and giggles followed by loss of limb control. What do I do with this??!?! Soft Touch and Mother Person tell him to be "gentle." Sure. Just throw down the food, Bucko. That's all I need you for. Misery.
I saw Mother Person get out my skeleton costume. Or, as I refer to it, Johnny from Karate Kid. Johnny, pre-leg sweeping, dresses as a skeleton for Halloween. He then beat the tar out of that sniveling brat, Daniel. I mean, Daniel's pants fit funny and he MAYBE weighted a buck twenty. EAT SOMETHING DANIEL. I don't blame, Johnny, and I like his style sense... so I don't "mind" the skeleton costume, but I refuse to have it be labeled as something so mundane.
Napping. Must nap. But I do enjoy hiding under a good chair. Mini Person will never find me here... or will he... Misery.
Sleepless in NYC,
Beans A Wienerdog
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