Those of you who have had the fortune (or misfortune, take your pick) of meeting us in person know that Kate and I like to entertain ourselves by giving each dog a voice and talking for them. It’s a constant source of amusement, which means that we: a) really need to get a life; b) we’re easily amused; and/or c) we have I-S-S-U-E-S.
ANYway, each of the dogs has developed their own set of catchphrases. Elli likes to point out, in her Southern belle accent, that she wants nothing to do with “all these animals.” (She’s a person, you see. Just ask her, she’ll tell you.) Ian often points out that he knew so-and-so was going to kill us all. Saphira is a happy, sweet little thing who will enthusiastically point out, at any given opportunity, that she loves popcorn. Magnum… um, well, we can’t repeat a lot of what he says.
And then there’s Whiskey. Whiskey’s voice came to us about 30 seconds after she arrived, fresh from the airport, with Kathy Glover. She has a high, girly voice, but she can be rather elitist, pointing out that other dogs are not very classy, etc. Right now, Whiskey is in the heart of a very awkward adolescence. Hormones are raging, she looks leggy and awkward, she’s had The Big Shed so she’s nekkid, and she is taking teenage brattiness to whole new canine levels. One of her new angry-adolescence catchprases is “I’m gonna cut a bitch!” Not content to try and just boss the other dogs around, she also thought she’d mouth off at me and Nate. We had a couple of long, loooooooooong talks about life in the wake of that. I think she was sufficiently chastised. She gave major stank-face (and NO ONE gives stank-face like this bitch), but she was chastised.
Also, I present to you Exhibit A:
Whiskey was not at all destructive as a puppy; she is more than making up for it as a teenager, however. So, in an effort to contain the beast, she and Saphira (or, as Whiskey likes to call her, “Minion“) have to stay in the Princess Playhouse when no one is home:
Sounds reasonable. Toys to play with, beds to lie on, water, and no way to do any major damage. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, there’s this:
Yes, that’s a steak knife. I found it under the dog bed when I moved it to straighten things up.
No, I don’t know how it got there. Near as I can figure, it was on the table next to the ex-pen, and someone managed to get it down. There was also this:
I’m thinking maybe we need to strike the phrase, “I’m gonna cut a bitch!” from Whiskey’s lexicon; she’s taking it a little TOO much to heart!
All things considered, though, I really can’t complain. I have a small house and a growing dog-pack that gets along remarkably well when you take into account that everyone except Elli is in possession of his or her family jewels. The result is a lot of dog piles, most of the time on or next to us.
Photos inserted gratuitously for no other reason than OMG Teh Cute!:
I’m sure you’re thinking it must take a lot to keep this crew fed. You’d be right. Exhibit B:
30 (or maybe it was 50) pounds of chicken necks, just one of the items in our $200 raw meat order. There was also a big box of duck necks, 30 pounds of ground duck, 30 pounds of ground turkey, 30 pounds of ground beef, and a tube of raw green tripe. Or thereabouts. So, basically, a shit-ton. Thank Dog for the chest freezer.
But, well-fed pets are happy, healthy pets. And when you’re happy, you make rainbows.
May all of your homes be as happy as this one!