July 8 | 1 Comment
When he told me his parents had made a special appointment for him upon their return, I knew what was in store for this admirable young dog. I didn’t have the heart to tell him then, so I wrote him a letter and stuffed it under his doggie bed before I left.
I don’t know whether the letter was for him or really to my younger self.
Anyway, here it is in its full form.
May 28 | 1 Comment
Well, for me, that happened this morning. Let me type what is going through my head right now, “Pants on the ground, pants on the ground, looking like a cat with your pants on the ground.”
Regardless of how much I shake my head, no I don’t have an ear infection, those lyrics just won’t leave.
What’s this got to do with pets, animals or furry creatures? Nothing other than animal cruelty knows no bounds.
To prove my point check out these videos of owners abusing their alleged loved ones.
May 24 | 2 Comments
I just found this news article about my latest efforts to save the world from itself.
Bo Hoefinger, the dog best known as the author of Bad To The Bone: Memoir of a Rebel Doggie Blogger, has offered his services to clean up the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.
As has been clearly documented, dog hair soaks up the oily remnants of drilling platforms gone bad better than sponges, handy wipes, and even wildlife. Quite simply, dog hair is to oil as paper towels are to pee in a living room.
With everyone getting angry at the lack of success in containing the oil spill, Hoefinger decided to do something about it.
May 3 | 1 Comment
This is Bo, the best dog typist in the world.
No, I don’t play piano like the cat you recently had on your show. Although the word ‘play’ is being generous to what I witnessed.
No, I didn’t save my family from a fire like Buddy, the German Shepherd, you just interviewed, but I did save them from themselves. Where’s my fifteen minutes of fame for that?
No, I didn’t have cancer, unless you count the time my mother rushed me to the vet because she thought my nipples were generous lumps of carcinoma. Yes, boy dogs have nipples, although that was news to my mother.
No, I wasn’t dumped through a library drop slot like Dewey the cat, but I was dumped at a shelter. Who’s life story sounds like it may be more eventful?
September 8 | 15 Comments
We met back in the early 90′s, December of ’92 to be exact. I just had a major blowout with my first, somewhat dysfunctional family and decided that it was best for all if I just left. My foster dad gave me a ride to nowhere that ended up at a boarding house in Albany, NY. The place was great, warm with plenty of company, and their cheesy poof biscuits were to die for. On the downside, it was loud and smelly, not unlike me.
Even a lowly pug could smell her coming from miles away. It was Monday, as I recall, and the bells on the door jingled to announce her arrival. She was a beautiful blonde with a quick smile and a big heart. We’d seen this type before; they usually left with one of the pure bred puppies, but something was different about this one. My instincts told me that any canine would be darn lucky to go home with a dame like her, so I made it my top priority to be that hound.
She wandered back to where we lived. Frankly, I was a bit embarrassed about the condition of the place. Some of my cage mates were not very clean and some even took to pooping where they ate. My next cage neighbor’s lack of etiquette was particularly noteworthy as he took to eating kitty snickers (that’s slang for cat poo in the big house) openly. Sure they taste good, but you’re not getting adopted if you’re seen eating one.
As she came closer to my humble accommodations, I tried everything I could to grab her attention. When she finally got to me I made direct eye contact with her, angled my head at a 45 degree tilt and gave her my trademark BoPaw’ reach. As a bonus, my head as a pup was fully-grown, although my body wasn’t. While it would have been abnormal on any other dog, my oversized cranium actually made me cuter.
With the paw in the air and the bobble head turned just so, I stared into her eyes. I could see instantly she wanted me. Needed me. Had to have me. Hey who wouldn’t?
With her finely manicured nails, she reached out and petted me. She was clearly enjoying our encounter. How easy these humans are to manipulate, I thought. Her hands were refreshingly cool and her smell put me in a state of delight. I was in love. I could tell she loved me too.
After a few gushing, “He’s so cute!” comments, she took her hand out of my cage, gave me one last look and proceeded to move on to Pumpkin’s cage.
What?? Move on?! Hey, we just made a connection. You can’t move on. But that’s exactly what she did.
Realizing I was still sitting there with a half-cocked head and a paw in the air, I felt my muzzle glow red hot under my furry face as the other dogs chuckled with delight. After a few minutes I got my bearings back, but by then she had moved through the room, out the door and out of my life.
My hope for a better life was gone as quickly as it had come. A depression enveloped me. The brief glimpse of a superior existence with a loving, caring humanoid was replaced with the stark reality that I may spend the rest of my life at this boarding house. What was once a fun and refreshing place became a dark and daunting cave. Read more