Quick Update

I haven't had much chance to update the blog because The Big One has hogged the computer for the last week.  No idea what he's doing, but he seems to be hellbent on disrupting my posting routine.  I won't let it happen.  If he thinks he can stop me from blogging, he is sorely mistaken.  I can do whatever I want whenever I want.  I don't need his approval for anyth- crap, here he comes.  More later.

Marf (whispered),

Molly

Mark my words: I will destroy the Red Dot

You are GOING DOWN, Red Dot.  YOU ARE going down, Red Dot.  You are going down, RED DOT!!!!!

For 10 dog years our apartment has been infiltrated by a random, unpredictable menace.  Though it only shows up when The Big One is holding something he likes to call a "laser pointer," I can't figure out where the hell this thing comes from.

I am apparently the only one who can see it, it is my duty to teach this thing a little lesson.

YOU CANNOT JUST SHOW UP AROUND HERE UNINVITED, GET ON THE COUCH, THE WALLS, THE CEILING, THE FRIDGE, THE DISHWASHER, THE CUPBOARDS, OR ESPECIALLY MY CRATE, AND EXPECT TO MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME!!!

This is MY house, Red Dot.  You got that?  

You know how I know you're a coward?  Every time I catch up to you on the couch, get myself into position to strike, and lunge for you, YOU MOVE!!!  What are you scared of, Red Dot? 

If you were a real dot you'd stick around for the party in my mouth.  That's right, there's a party in my mouth and YOU'RE INVITED.   No need to be frightened, I just want to swish you around in my mouth for a little bit and then spit you out.  I won't bite down on you, I swear.

Here, I'll get in my crate.  Nothing to be scared of.  Just gonna sit here until you show up.    

Waiting...

Still waiting....

Still wai- Ooh!  Match Game's on.  Oh man, this is awesome.  Right on time.  Got into my bed, and Match Game comes on. 

Oooh, and Richard Dawson's on this one.  It's not a real Match Game without Richard Dawson.  Oooh, here comes the question...

John the fisherman said, "I had a great day of fishing today.  I caught five ladyfish.  The trick is, instead of a worm on the hook, 

I used a ______.

Mmm.  Good question.  

Well, The Little One's a lady.  

What does The Little One like......what does The Little One liiiiiiiiike??  

Mmmmmm...

Oh, vacuum cleaner!  She likes the vacuum cleaner.  Ladies like vacuum cleaners.

Say vacuum cleaner, Barbara.  Vacuuuuuuuum  cleaner.  That's the one to go with.

Wait, or the washing machi-

There it is.  

Be patient, Molly....

No sudden movements....

Act like you're sleeping....

And then.....

Strike!!!

damnit.

[sigh]

Marf,

Molly

Elevators: What the hell is going on???

Can somebody please let me know what the hell is going on?

I've never really thought about it before, but today I was getting back from my walk (man, I have to stop using that word), and The Big One and I got on to the elevator.  Some other person gets on with us, and he friggin LOVES me.  I mean he's responding to my high pitched squeels, my efforts to jump and lick his nose, clinching his hands in my paws, the whole arsenal. 

I was on fire.  Everything was working.  It wasn't anything like the typical response I get from people: "Why is she so excited?"; "What's wrong with her?"; "Is she retarded?"; "Maybe you should put her down."

But this new guy was special.  We had to hang out a LOT more.  

So the doors of the elevator open and the guy gets out.  Okay, we're going to follow him, right?  Wrong.  Jackass The Big One decides to let the door close again.

Then, and this is the unbelievable part, after only 3 seconds, the doors open, AND WE GET OUT!!!!  Why couldn't we do that 3 seconds ago?!  Marf!

I look up and down the hallway for the greatest guy ever, and he's nowhere to be found.  MARF!!!!  

He didn't look very fast to me, and the closest apartment has to be a good 50 milkbones from the elevators (what a stupid name for them, by the way).  He had a 3 second head start!  What the hell is going on??

Marf a million,

Molly

My Day

No privacy today.  The Big One was home all day today staring at paper and hogging the computer, though he did find time to take me for a walk (I can't even type that without getting excited).   Wait, did The Big One just type "walk," or was it me?.....Me?  You sure?  Okay, moving on.  

Went to the dog park and kicked around with a Siberian Husky who tries to kill me everytime we hang out.  

versus

My odds: 125,954,920 to 1

But it's our wits that make us puggles. 

If any of you ever get cornered by a Siberian Husky in the wild of the dog park, remember one thing: fall on the ground, roll on your back, and spread your legs.  The husky immediately loses all motivation to tear you to shreds.*

*Note: This might not work for male puggles.  Good luck though.

Marf,

Molly

Clothes for Dogs: A Dog's Review

This is embarrassing.  I can't believe I'm even writing about this.  

There are certain dog breeds that are well known for wearing certain accessories.  The Saint Bernard has the mug of brandy.  The husky has the reins of a sled.  Paris Hilton has the chihuahua.  

The puggle has the holiday sweater.  

Shoot me.  

I wish I had the talent to voluntarily foam at the mouth when I wear this crap so The Big One would think I was rabid and just put me out of my misery.  

The stinging laughter coming from The Little One is enough to drive a dog crazy.  I try and try and try to kick, bite, and claw these things off of me.  Nothing works.  

These things serve no purpose.  I understood the dog cone when I got spayed.  I had an insatiable desire to lick my scar, and the cone was my crutch. 

I was weak.

With the sweaters and the ridiculous costumes The Little One makes me wear  (the peacock, the elf, the court jester) I can't even look at the dog in the mirror who looks just like me.  

Marf.  

Double Marf,

Molly

Worst Day of My Life

Marf.  

My genius owners decided it would be a good idea to have this puppy person over for the afternoon while her owners went to the Steeler game.  So cute, right?  Wrong.  

This thing couldn't even talk.  I mean, I could marf from day one.  

As far as I could tell, the only redeeming quality of the thing was that it was dressed in a cow outfit. Well played, puppy person, but it was lost on me, frankly.  

I wasn't allowed to lick it.  I wasn't even allowed to play with its toys.  They looked just like mine for crying out loud!!!!!  What the hell is the line between puppy people toys and puggle toys?!!!  You expect me to know that?  Marf.

I can't write anymore, I'm getting too upset.  

Let's just say I'm eager to put this one behind me.  I keep telling myself that doggie day care is tomorrow.  I'll be able to take this agression out on that little bitch Lahsa Apso.  You got a day tomorrow, Sasha!

Marf,

Molly

Rawhide: A Dog's Review

I may just be a spring chicken (puggle), but I've learned a few things in my youth:  You eat food, and you chew toys.  That's kind of a given, I think.  

There's really no way around it.  Once I start to chew food, it kind of disappears from my mouth through some passage near my tail I think.  There's no time to chew.  With toys, I can chew forever and two things happen: either I finally get to the soft white substance similar to what's on the two ends of the ear sticks I like to chew from the bathroom trash can, or I chew off a piece small enough to disappear through the tail passage I mentioned earlier, and The Big One comes and sticks his fingers in my mouth to get it out.  I can't win.  Marf.

Then there's rawhide.  Sweet, sweet rawhide.  

The great thing about rawhide is that you can chew it, and then it gets soft enough to pull little pieces off to disappear into the tail passage.  

As of yet, I haven't been subjected to any fingers in my mouth from either The Big One or The Little One when I eat the little pieces of rawhide.  Keep your paws crossed.  

But rawhide gets kind of boring kind of quick.  Those of you who have chewed it know.  It's easiest to just chew the ends of rawhide into soft, white, wet stubs and leave them on the floor for later.  Or maybe not later.  I can do whatever I want it seems.  No matter how many I lose under the couches, marf, The Little One will just bring me more.  

The Big One and The Little One always leave some rawhide for me when I go in the crate.  It's a nice gesture, I guess, but it doesn't really pass the time.  What passes the time is the Game Show Network.  I can't hear Charles Nelson Reilly on Match Game if I'm chewing on rawhide.  Rawhide is a great thing, don't get me wrong, but I'm fine with watching Game Show Network during the day.  

Anyways, it felt good to get that out.  Tomorrow I'm hoping I get to go outside again to run around in the snow.  Yeah, I know what snow is.  I'm not a dachshund (dumb).  

Marf,

Molly

My First Marf (Post)

Hello everyone.  My name is Molly.  I am 11 years old (1 1/2 people years.)  I was born in Youngstown, Ohio, the birthplace of William McKinley and, of course, the Welsh-American movement.  I currently reside in the Strip District region in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where my owners, The Big One and The Little One, take pretty good care of me.  

I started this blog for personal reasons.  I spend most of my life in the crate in the middle of our apartment, which isn't a bad way to go considering The Big One always leaves the Game Show Network on for me.  I'm a big fan of the more vintage game shows like Match Game and Let's Make a Deal, and even Family Feud (but not the newer Family Feud with Al from Home Improvement, he's just awful.  Marf.)  So I've got a lot of time to think, and it's nice to have an outlet like blogger to vent.  

My hobbies include yawning, looking for food, sneezing, and marfing (barking under my breath) at the door at potential intruders (though sometimes I run to the door knowing full well that no one's there just to keep up appearances.)  

I look forward to sharing the details of my day with you all.  Please feel free to let me know what you think in the comments. 

Marf,

Molly