That Wascally Wabbit!

Here comes Peter Cottontail, hoppin’ down the bunny trail, hippity, hoppity…

Oh forget this Bunny Foo-Foo crap! I can’t pretend any longer. The ASPCA will probably yank my membership, but confess I must. I KILLED a rabbit. There. I’ve said it. Hate me if you will. But I just couldn’t help myself – hunting is an innate, inborn quality in Weimaraners. It is ingrained in my very nature. I simply cannot be held responsible for my occasional acts of random violence. I am born the lord of my lair, the queen of the backyard jungle, the hunter extraordinaire. Be my victim beast or fowl, you must judge me not guilty by reason of my basic nature! (Damn, I knew co-opting Tanya’s nursing classes was a waste of time – I should have gone to law school).

I thought Todd and Tanya understood all this. They seem perfectly fine (although a little squeamish) when I rid the yard of pesky squirrels and chipmunks (I once brought Tanya a lovely trophy and laid it right at her feet – I know she just loved it. And, while she turned a rather sickly shade of green, there was certainly no crying over “Alvin”).

So honestly, I really don’t understand the whole Bugs Bunny mentality. OH MY, touch a floppy-eared wad of bunny fluff and both fur and shit go flying! Not only did Todd pry my jaws open and take the damn thing away from me, but he and Tanya practically gave it a king’s burial after apologizing profusely to its family members, who weren’t really wearing expressions of mourning at all, but smirks at watching my undeserved humiliation.

In actuality, the fun is all in the hunt anyway. So, if no one appropriately appreciates the depths of my skill then the wascally wabbit has bested me nonetheless, just as he did Elmer Fudd, every time.

So fine. Given the poor reaction by my humans, and the fact that yesterday was Bugs Bunny’s 75^th birthday, I’ll do my best to forget further dreams of rabbit stew.

For now…

Bugs Bunny at 75: http://time.com/3967572/bugs-bunny-75/

This is My Fault, How?

It started out as a typical evening in the Cass Casa. Todd arrived home needing to de-stress from a tough day of work and Tanya needing to de-stress from a tough day of looking for work (now that she’s completed her BSN and RN I’ve had to switch from quizzing her for exams to proofing resumes and cover letters – but of course, no one seems to care about my need for work de-stress!). Anyway, all of this de-stressing required something called “cocktails” on the couch for Tanya and Todd, and me serving as petting and cuddling therapy (otherwise known as DD – designated dog). When in the midst of all this coziness, some lowly neighborhood canine walked his human into my front yard, took a big poop on my grass, and sauntered on down the street with not so much as a thank-you, let alone a courtesy clean-up! I was irate and incensed – flying across the couch to the front window and letting said offending dog have a very loud piece of my mind! Unfortunately, my defense of territory (and OK, possibly some resulting minor cocktail spillage) apparently aggravated Todd’s aforementioned stress level – he jumped up, grabbed his truck keys, and raced barefoot out the door intending to hunt down the pooping pooch and his owner!

While Tanya seemed strangely concerned about this turn of events (or perhaps it was the huge knot on her elbow, suffered during the melee), I was actually quite flattered by Todd’s eagerness to avenge my sovereignty. So when Todd came running back into the house I was eager to hear the gory details. But wait – where’s Todd’s truck?! Left down the street, doors locked and engine 

Mystery box

running! At this point I am not the only one frantically chasing around the house barking my head off (or as humans call it, cussing) since the spare set of truck keys are somehow nowhere to be found! Now doors are slamming, boxes are being rummaged, and drawers are being turned on end. Finally, Tanya locates a mystery box, keys are grabbed, and both Tanya and Todd jump into her car and head off to rescue the truck (offending dog and owner long forgotten).

Well, with both Tanya and Todd conveniently occupied elsewhere, I can’t help but eye the large plastic container of leftovers sitting on the kitchen counter in preparation for dinner (Tanya really doesn’t like to cook on de-stress nights).  Famished by all the excitement, I grab the spoon and dig in. Yummy – sausage jambalaya with green peppers – my new favorite! But, just as I begin to make significant progress, my humans return and I am now in BIG trouble!! More cussing ensues, I’m trying to make myself as small as possible, my remaining luscious (and only slightly slobbered on) jambalaya is thrown in the trash, and Tanya is on the phone to Peking Garden.

The leftover
leftovers

So my question is – Tanya and Todd spill drinks on the couch, Tanya bangs up her elbow, Todd locks his keys in a running truck and is forced to race home in bare feet, keys are lost and house is ransacked, Tanya throws away perfectly delicious leftovers… and this is somehow all MY fault? Really?? All I did was try to keep poop off the grass and encourage Tanya and Todd to enjoy a nice Chinese carryout!

Of course, there was the matter of the dog vomit that needed clean-up later. But hey, a minor imperfection just makes me all the more lovable, don’tcha think?

Hasta la Vista, Baby

“Arrivederci”, “Adios”, “Ciao”, “Au Revoir” “See you later, alligator”, “Woof-woof”. There may be fifty ways to leave your lover, but there are at least 100 ways to say good-bye to your dog. And I hate every one of them! Because it means that my people are leaving me alone while they go somewhere fun, like the grocery store or a restaurant (both of which I have heard are awesome places). So where does that leave me? Spending hours frustratingly trying to open bags and boxes that I’ve pulled from the counter top or kitchen pantry, staring out the back door at squirrels who mock my inability to chase their furry little butts, and running from window to window barking furiously at the neighbors who have the nerve to walk their dogs right in front of MY yard. But the very worst good-byes? When I catch Tanya and Todd packing suitcases! This means that I too, will soon be sent packing – off to the Home for Wayward Dogs - otherwise known as the kennel, or sometimes disgustingly referred to as the “puppy spa”. What BS! Why would I possibly want to relinquish my comfy couch, yard, and spot on Tanya and Todd’s bed, in order to spend several days in a mosh pit of unruly canines, sharing both my personal and my potty space? I know it’s been years, but don’t Tanya and Todd remember what dorm life was like? Sleeping with a whining, homesick, neophyte on one side, and an all-night party animal on the other! How am I supposed to get my beauty rest?! While I’ll grudgingly admit that the opportunity to flaunt my specialness in front of a large group of far less superior dogs (they call it “play-time”) does do wonders to stroke the ego, I really am perfectly secure in my self-grander and have no need to be idolized by anyone but my adoring humans.

So when the suitcases came out this time, I hatched my plan of sabotage. I waited patiently (gotcha - you didn’t think I knew what “patience” meant, did you?) until the two large bags were sitting open on the master bedroom floor, completely filled with neatly folded human-wear like swimsuits and Hawaiian shirts. Then, when Tanya and Todd had once again left me alone to do what-ever-it-is they do, I struck! Nabbing a package of jumbo marshmallows procured after opening the pantry door, I took them to the bedroom, tore them open, and began my slobbery work. When my masterpiece was complete, I then carefully removed two of Tanya’s blouses from her suitcase, wadded them up on the floor, and glued them together with a nice, gooey mass of yumminess! Hasta la Vista, baby!

While the satisfaction was maybe not quite worth the retribution I endured when my handiwork was discovered, I did achieve a partial victory. No kennel this time – I got to have my favorite replacement human, Howie, come spend a few days with me, and then I got to enjoy some quality time at Jake and Brynlee’s (other favorite humans) with my nephew Westin, a vizsla. And Westin simply adores me. How could you not - I come bearing marshmallows. 

Too Much of a Good(?)Thing...

Tanya uploaded a new photo editor. Need I say more?