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