wideeyedfunk

Tag: dogs

  • Hamish the Corgi Achieves Master Craftsdog Status

    Press Release:

    With the intuitive senses of a nascent master of his craft, Hamish eyed the 107th Annual Strawberry festival at the Church of the Good Shepherd at the corner of Jewett and Summit Avenues. A cluster of younger people with their kids and older folks sat in the shade trees sharing strawberry desserts, music, and good fellowship. I could see that he thought it looked promising and he was considering a performance for the Festival attendees.

    He didn’t commit to it and we walked on. How fortuitous that we did so. Although perhaps it wasn’t luck but a deeper sensitivity in Hamish’s newly proved mastery.

    Diagonally across the intersection, the Darwin Martin house was having a red-carpet affair: valet parking, bejeweled and well-dressed middle agers climbing from luxury autos, and hors d’oeuvres and cocktails inside what is itself an architectural master piece.

    Hamish walked to the groomed corner lawn of the Martin House Complex and stopped. He cast his glance uphill to the Strawberry Festival, clearly within sight and scent. His ears swiveled backward, and he turned to eye eyed the glitterati atmosphere of the Martin House event. Two large huskies live in the corner house directly across the street, his nose tilted in their direction. Three small beagles inhabit the yard on the fourth and final corner of intersection of Jewett and Summit and while they gave a final sense of completion to his pending performance, they were clearly supporting, rather than critical elements.

    Positioning carefully, Hamish turned his hind quarters in profile to the Festival and the Red-Carpet Affair, he faced the Husky House and put what is really the least interesting view to the beagles.

    In an act of pure artistry, simple in appearance yet complexly composed and powerfully nuanced, Hamish achieved his Mastery of Display Defecation. Please join us in our congratulations for this new Master Craftsdog.

  • Saturday morning along some Buffalo roadways.

    HamishGrillHamish the Corgi supervised the assembly of the new Weber Smokey Mountain Smoker last night. Miss Tibbit broke the packing material down into pieces small enough to fit into the recycling bin. They waited at home today while their WideEyedHumans drove out to Adventures in Heat in the suburbs for hardwood charcoal and some black cherry and apple wood chunks.

    The world between the house and the shop teemed with life. Two security guards in Buffalo Central Library lamented the arrest of a regular patron. He was caught with 20 grains or grams of something.  That’ll get him 20 years in prison, one guard said.

    A Princess (her license plate told us so) in an elderly Nissan Altima hocked a wad of gum into the shrubs in the Tim Horton’s Coffee drive through. Across the street jets lifted off at the airport, taking people somewhere else. For once, on this rainy Saturday morning, I didn’t feel the wanderlust.

    A few miles down the road, a Dad opened the rear door of a limousine and helped his daughter bride into a tiny white church. We rolled passed the intersection where an 18 year old on a motorcycle blasted himself to a 100 mile an hour oblivion on the front of a BMW last Wednesday. I expected it to look different there now, but it didn’t.

    A senior citizen hauling her groceries in a rolling bin stopped for a smoke break in an empty bank parking lot. Brindled and shaking, a tiny dog stared at me from the next car over when we arrived at the bbq shop.

    On the way home we stopped at Fairy Cakes Cupcakery for a couple of treats: orange-chocolate and oatmeal cookie cupcakes. The WideEyedSpouse has a birthday tomorrow. Two delicately oversized giraffes living at the Buffalo Zoo peered over their oversized wrought iron fence at passing events. I saw their long eyelashes blinking at the world and wondered what they thought about. Did they want a cupcake?

    Just now I stood in the garden, contemplating on mulching even though the maple hasn’t released its helicoptering seed pods yet. It is raining a bit and Miss Tibbit and Hamish asked if we might instead nap in front of public television. Sure, I told them, let’s go in.

    The world will have to get by without me watching it for a little while. I hope I don’t miss anything.

  • 10 Reasons Miss Tibbit The Useless Little Black Dog May Not Lick My Face

    10. Miss Tibbit is a dog and has aromatic dog mouth.

    9.  She licks the floor.

    8. She licks the sidewalk. Oh, why? Because it has on it flavorful substances like gum, bird crap, spit.

    7. Miss Tibbit bathes herself and her pal Hamish the Corgi with her tongue. I don’t want that on me.

    6. Miss Tibbit enjoys cat litter snackies. She eats the crumbs from the basement floor. You know how it works: the cat jumps out with litter stuck to his feet. The litter scatters. Tibbit cleans that up. Two strikes – basement floor and cat litter.

    5. Two days ago I yanked a rotting baby bird carcass out of her mouth by its little feet. It was mostly down her throat already so I had to have a good, strong grip on those curled up bird toes.

    4. Miss Tibbit has sticky spit.

    3. She sniffs the cat’s butt, and I can’t be sure she does it from a sanitary distance.

    2.  She licks her own wet nose.IMG_1762

    And finally, the hard limit, the final unarguable reason:

    1. I just now saw Miss Tibbit eat cat crap that some city cat left in my garden. Yes, I am glad it is gone. No, I am not happy Miss Tibbit ate it.

    Miss Tibbit is a sweet, lovey useless little black dog who likes nothing better than to greet people with kisses. Just saying, think about it.

  • Woodstock ends his days.

    Woodstock moved in with us Friday.

    This evening he was sleeping on the rug in the front parlor.

    Woodstock

    Tibbit pretended not to notice.

    Tibbit2

    When she believed no one was watching, she sampled a small taste of Woodstock.

    Tibbit1

    Delicious.

    Hamish interrupted the tasting, as he is of the opinion that that Woodstock flavors belong only to the elder dog.

    Both1

    Hamish spent a little time with Woodstock, lulling the little bird into a calm. Hamish says that Woodstock’s succulence is improved when the fear adrenaline no longer courses through Woodstock.

    Hamish4

    Don’t be fooled little Woodstock. Your time is nigh.

    Hamish1

  • Sweet Tibbit’s Very Bad Day

    She thought it was a great idea at the time. A remarkable opportunity even. How often is a dog left alone in the basement after all? As she snacked her way through the tasty cat box bites, Miss Tibbit savored the rewards of her momentary independence. The biggest, best bits gone, Sweet Tibbit thought she would have just one more nibble of the wheat cat litter. Delicious. She paused, licking her chops, and yes, perhaps one more sample. And another. Perhaps a bit more.

    I admit, that part is recreative speculation based on observations taken during subsequent events.

    The first hour after Tibbit was found in and removed from the basement, she couldn’t get comfortable. Her belly was too achingly full to lay down and she sat on the bed next to me awkward and tense, staring intently into the middle distance. I wondered then, did Miss Tibbit regret her feast?

    I left for a couple of hours of work, where concentration was hard won as I imagined the messy horror Sweet Tibbit may have been producing. Returning home finally, I was relieved to see that all was well.

    All wasn’t well. I simply remained ignorant of the coming storm.

    Sweet Tibbit’s belly decided it had enough of the tasty little box treats and it evicted the partially digested material. Voluminously. Twice. On two separate rugs. The aroma was remarkable. It was an aggressively physical miasma that billowed out from the sloshy and disturbingly lumpy source puddles. The WideEyedSpouse retched helplessly as he cleaned the first puddle. Later I came across him retching over the second puddle as he prepared the steam cleaner. Again I wondered, does Miss Tibbit feel regret? Has she learned her lesson?

    Feeling better and prancing around the house, Miss Tibbit decided she would like to spend some time in the yard. I was only too happy to oblige her. It was an elegant justification for removing myself from the event horizon. But then of course, Sweet Tibbit engaged in Stage 2 processes. Not nice. Not nice at all.

    It is now two days later, and Sweet Tibbit apparently is empty. She is getting tired of bland rice for breakfast. Bland rice for dinner. Bland rice for snackies. She licks at the rice and rejects it as inedible. Which, given recent events, I find pretty amazing.

    Did Miss Tibbit learn a lesson from her Very Bad Day?

    Ten minutes ago I caught her doing preliminary investigations of the litter box while I was in the basement. Useless little black dog.

  • No Dogs Allowed? Hamish the Corgi Finds a Way.

    “Where are we going?” Hamish the Corgi asked as he watched me dig the hiking pack out of the coat closet. It wasn’t easy. Five months of hats, scarves, gloves, reusable bags, dog towels, and YakTrax had crammed themselves on top of it.

    HamishSteps5I looked over my shoulder and up the steps to look at Hamish. He stood in the hall, big ears perked wide and high. He was smiling. “Tifft Nature Preserve over by the lakeshore,” I told him. “Awesome,” he said, “that’s not mine yet.” He disappeared into the kitchen and I heard rummaging in the dog cupboard.

    I yanked the day pack strap and slammed the closet door before all the other stuff escaped. I went up to the kitchen to fill my water bladder. Hamish was waiting by the sink with the dog hiking water bowl and dog water bottle. He looked from me to the treat bin on the counter, me to treat bin, me to treat bin. “Don’t forget to pack the go-go crunchies,” he reminded me, nudging my ankle with his nose.

    “Oh no Hamish,” I looked down at him, “Tifft doesn’t allow dogs.”

    “What?” he was outraged. “No dogs?” he couldn’t believe it.

    “Nope. Sorry Little Man,” I screwed the lid on my water bladder and eased it into my pack. Hamish stared at me for a while longer, tilting his head left and right. His ears shot straight up and he trotted out of the room on his stubby Corgi legs. Clearly he had an Idea.

    I was in the dining room fussing with the camera when Hamish bustled back 10 minutes later. He was carrying something Very Carefully in his mouth. He set it down next to my foot. “Whatcha got there Hamish?” I asked him absently, there was a smear on the lens that just wouldn’t give up.

    “Will you please take this with you and squeeze out a few drops every couple of feet?” He asked. “Trees are best, but a good clump of grass is ok too.”

    “What?” I peered down at the vessel bumping my foot. It was a translucent squeezey ketchup bottle, the kind you see in diners, and it was half full of a pale yellow fluid. I blinked at it. I wrinkled my brow. “Hamish, is that? Wait, what it that?” I asked as I leaned down to feel the temperature, yep, warm.

    Hamish gave me his soft warm Corgi look. “Tifft can still be mine, even if I can’t go,” he explained. I shook my head. “Ok,” I said, sort of doubtful. “But I don’t know if it’ll work.” Hamish bounced out of the room to tell Miss Tibbit the Useless Little Black Dog.

    It wasn’t until a few hours later that I wondered, as I dutifully dribbled the base of a nice big tree, how did Hamish with his stubby little legs fill that tall bottle? I shrugged to myself. Better to not think about it.

  • Love is…a gentle evisceration.

    The lovey hippo receives affection.
    The lovey Hippo receives affection.
    Miss Tibbit savours the delicious lovey Hippo belly contents.
    Miss Tibbit savours lovey Hippo belly contents.
    Hamish administers love to the thinner lovey Hippo.
    Hamish administers love to the thinner lovey HIppo.

    We all celebrate Valentine’s love in our way.

    I prefer mine with less evisceration.

  • Job wanted for newly graduated smallish black dog of limited skills.

    TibbitDiplomaLast Tuesday evening the WideEyedSpouse and I marched down the block with Miss Tibbit to her training final exam and graduation, belching the happy taste of Sahlen’s hot dogs and a reasonable lost-grape-of-Chile Carménère red wine. We were all nervous. Miss Tibbit had been nervous all day with an upset stomach which she emptied explosively on the side of the bed, the bed post, and the floor.

    Miss Tibbit passed the test with what might be considered a C. Maybe a C+ with a special commendation for savant treat catching. She walks beautifully, sits like a dream, and will not/can not resist throwing herself on people to demonstrate her love. She escaped her leash during Cooper the standard poodle’s walking exam. Mayhem. Demerits. She won a ribbon for showing the most improvement during the course. Which means, of course, everyone recognized her remedial start state.

    Miss Tibbit waking from a rejuvenating post-baccalaureate nap.
    Miss Tibbit waking from a rejuvenating post-baccalaureate nap.

    Yesterday the WideEyedSpouse stood gazing down at Miss Tibbit, who was lounging across three remotes, the Xbox controller and the WII wand on the living room sofa. He asked when she intended to take her newly inked diploma out on the streets to look for a job. Miss Tibbit stretched and blinked at him. She needs time to chill after the intense discipline she used to earn her degree, she told him. She has to get in touch with what will make her fulfilled, figure out what the next step is. She heard there’re advanced degrees in dock jumping, agility, and citizenship. She’s going to ask around, see what other dogs think of the different programs. Maybe travel a bit. WideEyedSpouse stared at her for a moment and then walked with purpose out of the room and down the hall.

    I heard ice cubes clackle into a glass in the kitchen and then the fizt of one of my Fever-Tree tonic waters opening. The WideEyedSpouse was mixing himself a nice, super-premium Gin and Tonic rather than pursuing the conversation with Miss Tibbit. He knew, as I know, soon enough the WideEyedHousehold will be writing more checks for Miss Tibbit’s graduate education. Her dog brother Hamish the Corgi knows it too, and I can see him planning something expensive to even the score on his own account.

  • Hamish Believes He’s Been Cheated.

    Hamish the Corgi is guest writing this week. I, WideEyedFunk, bear no responsibility for the opinions expressed below.

    I am disgusted by recent household events and I am done with sulking. Miss Tibbit was forced to attend dog training classes a couple of weeks ago because she is mildly disobedient, and in my opinion, really obnoxious. She is a toy-stealing, leash pulling punk. I believed Dog Training was a punishment. I have recently become aware of some facts that have made me rethink that notion. I now believe that I have been cheated.

    Here are the top 10 reasons I believe I have been cheated.

    1. Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class.

    2. Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class.

    3. Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class.

    4. Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class.

    Sit? Stay? Come when called? Ridiculous to treat for these. I sit WITHOUT treats. I don’t need to be called because I am attentive to my people. Who knew a dog could GET treats for simple assignments.

    Oh, she’s sitting. How charming. Let’s give her a treat.

    Which brings us to point 5.

    5. Miss Tibbit gets treats for normal, decent behavior.

    6. Miss Tibbit is bad, regularly, and gets treats during the short moments of being good.

    7. Miss Tibbit is upstairs barking right now. She is going to get a treat when she makes the decision to stop barking.

    I bark and then stop barking all the time. Do I get fed treats? You know I don’t.

    8. Miss Tibbit gets treats for walking nicely in the park. Guess who has been walking nicely in the park without a leash, for years? Treats? Don’t be absurd.

    9. Miss Tibbit gets a treat for sitting nicely when the WideEyedSpouse comes home. That is simply no way to display love and absolutely does not deserve a treat.

    10. Finally, the worst offense: Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class.

    It’s on.

    I now realize I have been going about this all wrong. I have made poor lifestyle decisions. Sniff the winds of change WideEyedHousehold. Say hello to Bad Hamish. Say hello to well-treated Hamish. You have been warned.Good bye and good day.

  • Why does Miss Tibbit smell like meat?

    Something isn’t fair.

    I crouched down so I could see under the table. Hamish was worried and had squeezed himself under the low shelf of the stainless steel prep table in the kitchen. He looked across the floor at me and asked again, “Why does Miss Tibbit smell like meat today?”

    I sat back. “Well, you know Tibbit is a Bad Dog most of the time on walks, right?” Hamish just looked at me. In his opinion, being a Bad Dog was no reason to smell like meat, unless the Bad Activity had been stealing a packet of meat from the counter. No dog has ever perpetrated this act in the WideEyedHousehold. Hamish would have known.

    He kept staring at me, waiting patiently for an explanation.

    “Hamish, remember when we all left the house last night and left you upstairs in your room?” He blinked. “We went to dog training school.” He stared at me some more, still not clear on the meat connection.

    “Apparently Miss Tibbit is so bad, that the Dog Teacher said to give her a treat if she was good for even a second. The treats are bacon beef snacks and she was really bad and then really good a lot during training.” Hamish perked up. “I’m good all the time,” he suggested, “if I am bad first do I get meat?”.

    I sighed. Of course Hamish is good all the time and I didn’t want him to be bad. He also tends to portliness. But, peace in the household was important. “Want to have some dog school here in the kitchen?”

    Hamish popped out from under the table.

    Hamish walked like a man. He sat. He stayed. He went into a down. I tossed Hamish meatie snacks, cheerios, kibble.

    Walking like a man.
    Snack down the hatch.

    Miss Tibbit watched all this training with increasing concern. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

    Miss Tibbit tried to walk like a man, but instead she jumped 5 feet in the air and snatched a treat out of my hand. She sat. She stayed. She went into a down. “This is it,” I told her and tossed the last snack.

    Snack really down the hatch.

    Hamish smiled at me and snuffled the floor next to Miss Tibbit just in case someone missed a treat.

    Peace in the WideEyedHousehold. Until someone rings the doorbell.