Purple People Eater

Our dogs probably hate us.  We recently took a couple of the pups hiking.  Since the high for the day was only mid-20s, we put hoodies on them.  Jack is quite a bit smaller than the rest, so we had to cut his hoodie down to size.  While we had the scissors out, we thought that he might need ear-holes in the hood, too.  It's a good thing that we are much taller than him, otherwise he might try to eat us, like he did with the kid in his last home.  Maybe this is why he pooped on the rug.

The Art of Play

Happy is recreationally challenged.  She doesn't like it when the other animals play, especially if it involves growling or wrestling.  When we blended our animal furmilies a couple of years ago, she all of a sudden had a dog-sibling that loved to play.  While that drove her crazy, it also sparked her interest in playing.  We started to hear her bouncing around the living room after we went to bed.  She has an affinity for tiny toys.  Her favorite was a rubber duck that was not much bigger than a pencil eraser.  She would toss the duck in the air and try to clumsily catch it.  "Try" being the key word.  It's amazing that she didn't swallow the damn thing!  What she lacks in finesse, she more than makes up for in enthusiasm.  Her current favorite toy is a dirty sock.  If we miss the hamper and a sock ends up on the floor, we will catch her playing a solitary game of fetch with the stinky object.  You would never believe that this bounding fool is almost 10 years old!

Well-Trained Guardians

Operation Spoil-the-Shit-Out-of-Andy is fully underway.  He is in maintenance mode and we do whatever we can to make him comfortable.  He has a ramp out the back door (even though he proceeds to go up the stairs to the deck in front to be let back in).  He gets twice the treats that the other dogs get.  We even carry him up the steps to the front door if he is too tired after a walk.

The one thing that is getting ridiculous is his feeding routine, though.  He gets a medley of essential oils, anti-inflammatories, and pills for joint health, with a topping of canned kitten food.  We're pretty sure that the kitten food has done as much good for him as all of the other junk combined.  He went from being hand-fed one kernel at a time, to doing a happy dance while we prepare his feast.  His Papa spoils him so much, that he insists on letting him sniff the cat food lid to make sure that it is to his liking.  He really gets excited when you tap the fork on the side of the bowl to signal that it is ready.  I think he has us trained.

Gas Masks

To borrow a prayer from one of the sisters:  "Dear Jesus, please help this stink go away quickly.  Amen."

After yesterday's birdseed buffet and the ensuing gastrointestinal mayhem, we apparently didn't learn our lesson.  We woke up this morning to spit-shined floors.  It actually took a little while for us to realize that anything was amiss.  Then we saw it.  Under the dining table was evidence of recent destruction.  Just a couple of shredded plastic baggies and an open plastic container that USED to contain a variety of homemade holiday goodies.  Not a crumb left.

These bastards have no shame.  Even though our house is uninhabitable due to toxic gas, and the yard has numerous piles of soft-serve poo, they were still hungry for dessert.  At least they didn't eat the sugar cookies...yet.

Combustible

We got home today and were greeted by three guilty dogs (Andy is too old to care about being guilty).  It seems that a brand new bag of birdseed for Zacques, the amazingly dumb house sparrow, spontaneously exploded all over the house.  I'm pretty sure that Happy will have similarly exploding diarrhea all night long.  For now, we are being tortured by room-clearing dog gas from more than one source.  I think that they are trying to blame the cats.  I would too.

The amazingly dumb Zacques, and his BFF, Sir George Boogers

Rotten Roni

Today's post is from our guest blogger and sister, Rose.  Rose and her hubby, Thomas, are the masterminds behind the beautiful creations at Bittersweet Designs.  They currently share their studio apartment in San Antonio with two Boston terrier/ pug rescues - Meatball and Pepperoni. 

Revenge of the Pizza
 
Roni found some rotten pizza on the ground the other day and had to surrender to the mozzarella monsters in the middle of the night. He stood on our heads until we took him out to poo. Guess our boys have made it to middle age!

Roni and Meaty

Bad to the Bone

Our dogs are badasses.  That's right.  Don't mess with them, because they might eat your face!  Okay, maybe only Jack will.  Old and young dogs in our house are no match for Sir George Boogers.  Even our breast-fed (by her Papa), home-schooled, not-just-a-princess-but-she's-the-fucking-queen takes second seat to a four-pound kitten.  She drools on the floor while Boogers eats her food.  We are sick people who enjoy making her wait to eat while he chows down.  The little snot doesn't even back down once Sky is given the okay to eat.  Boogers is bad to the bone.

Unsolved Mysteries

Does your home suffer from unsolved mysteries?  Ours does.  Over time, we've solved a few of them - like when food disappears off the counters, it is most likely our counter-surfing pup, Sky.  Especially if it is carbs that vanished.  She is truly our carb hound.  And, the others are a bit too dumb to know where to find the good food.

Every once in a while, we have unexplained happenings around here.  Like yesterday, when a mysterious, lone turd was found in the hallway.  It was fresh, soft, and a bit smaller than a cat ball (the toy, not the reproductive part).  Did Jack decide that he really doesn't like the snow, like his last family warned us?  Did a dingleberry fall from Andy's hairy butt?  Did one of the cats do it and try to frame the dogs?  Where is the rest of it?  Do we have a poop-eater in our midst?  We may never know the answer.  Shit happens.

Sky, the carb hound

Don't Let the Boogeyman Get You

Around our house, nothing is safe.  We have a new kitten, Sir George Boogers, and the boogeyman will attack anything that moves - or doesn't move.  This morning, he was hiding under the bedskirt and attacking Happy's feet.  When he wasn't in "under covers" attack mode, then he was blatently attacking her tail.  Of course, we just encourage Happy to wag her tail and enjoy the entertainment.  It's a great way to start the day, for us at least!  Happy doesn't seem to mind much, either.

Oh, Crap!

We got up and let the dogs out this morning.  Anderson was quick to run around the house and want back in.  A few minutes later, he had pooped on the floor.  He is a traveling pooper, so he left four strategically placed turds on the floor - one for each dog in the house.  I guess he was hoping to spread the blame.  All the other dogs looked guilty when we came back in the house after shoveling the driveway - except Andy.  They started dancing around the turds like it was a pow wow, while we tried to turd-herd them away from the mess.  Andy didn't give a shit - well, he gave us four shits.  Got to love old dogs and their poor sphincters!

Happy

My mom put a curse on me back when I was a teenager.  She told me, "I hope you have a daughter just like you someday."  Ha!  I just won't have kids!  Wrong, I got my curse in dog-form.

Happy is ridiculously goofy, uncoordinated, stubborn, sweet, and one hell of a playground monitor.  She can't stand it if one of the other dogs growls playing tug-of-war, or the kitties wrestle.  She will come and try to break up any perceived fight.  This foster-failure is an absolute whore for attention and knows how to work a room.  Please don't wear black clothes when you come visit.

 

Anderson

Anderson is a forever puppy.  At 13 years old, he is still muppet-like.  He has been mistaken for a black bear on more than one occasion.  When he gets his annual haircut, he is a chupacabra.  These days, he keeps the couch warm and collects leaves, branches, and snow every time he ventures outside.  He is better than velcro.  Even kittens stick to his fur.

 

Jack the Skipper

We recently gained another old dog - Jack the Skipper.  Jack is somewhere between 12 and 15 years old.  He came to live with us because he tried to eat a baby's face.  So, we took him hiking and bought him doggy ice cream.  I guess you could say that we rewarded him for bad behavior.  Yep, that's what we do.

Welcome!

Welcome to The Old Dogs blog!  We (the old dog guardians) are a couple of non-conforming, permanently immature, fur-loving, kids-at-heart-but-not-a-fan-of-kids, Colorado-living sweetpeas.  Our home is currently (as of this hour) shared with four dogs (1 middle-aged, 2 seniors, and 1 ancient), 2 cats, and a tremendously dumb house sparrow.  It is required to have a healthy sense of humor to enjoy the stories that we are about to share.  Also, there might be profanity, so you've been warned.  There is the inevitable sadness when you share your life with an old dog - but fuck that (we warned you), this blog aims to entertain.  Put on your thick skin and enjoy the endearing qualities of old dogs.