View Full Version : It's a Dog's Life 27/5

27th May 2008, 20:04

Normal morning in the Fos household, let out Idiot, but these days, it’s just a quiet recce instead of the full scale house search at top speed. Idiot loo, Fos loo, coffee and news.
Walk into the TV room, Idiot’s lying on the floor watching TV.
‘Morning dog, what are you watching.’
Idiot: ‘I don’t know. People. It is breakfast time you know.
Break-fast now push-lease’ Get head butts.
‘Idiot if you spill my coffee I’ll, I’ll…walk into the kitchen and make you breakfast.
Can’t open those tricky sardines can you.’
Put the dog dish down, no sign of Idiot. Ah well, suit yourself.
Go back to TV room and there's a huge puddle in the middle of the floor.
Jesus, did I kick something over. It’s clear, give it a tentative sniff.
Good grief, it’s wee. Go and find the dog hiding behind the sofa.
Idiot: ‘Look, I’m sorry, I’m leaking, don’t beat me.’
‘You’ve just been to the loo, how much water can you hold, should I squeeze your head? I’ll let you off the beating.’
This has been happening a lot since the visits to the vets.
Which isn’t good news at all.
There’s no way I’m walking a hunter killer in a nappy.

I had really bad insomnia. So if I suffer Idiot suffers.
And she has to wee a lot now anyway, even it is at 4.am.
Idiot: ‘I am not putting my bum anywhere near anything that is that cold, like outside, you can’t make me.’
‘It’s either a wee in the garden or I’ll drag you to the beach.’
Idiot: ‘I hate you.’

The next morning at 5.am, same thing all over again.
Idiot: ‘You have got to be joking, this isn’t up time la la la la I can’t hear you.’
Lean in to persuade her via pulling by the ears (no collar, it’s bedtime) and wallop my head of the corner of a cabinet in the utility room above her bed.
Idiot: ‘See, that happened because you’re mean to me all the time.’
‘And stop squeezing my head, I can’t wee anymore.’

So the following morning at about 4.30am decided completely sober, to get up, sod wee duty and do a watercolour of the dog, well there’s nothing on TV is there.
Idiot: ‘No. It is NOT up time, I’m not listening.’
‘Look Idiot, no coat, no lead. Biscuit? Fancy a biscuit.’
Lead the dog into the living room, there’s another bed there.

‘Sit, go on, sit.'
Idiot: ‘But you just told me to get up, I don’t understand, I’m just going to stare at the hearth.'
Right, The model is sitting, it’s early morning sunshine (lighting, you know) and start to do my Tony Hart.
Idiot: ‘My biscuit is finished. Can I have a biscuit?’
Got plenty of time, dog will be comatose in a minute or two.
One minute, two minutes...
Idiot: ‘I really have to lick my bum. Maybe walk round three times as well.’
‘You lie like a corpse for hours at a time, the one time, ONE time I want you to be still for a minute or two, you start break dancing and licking your own arse, Jesus.’
‘This is hardly going to make into Tate Modern, ‘Dog licking Bum’. Christ on a bike. SIT. LIE DOWN.’
Bet Tintoretto never had this problem.

Finished the painting and returned to loo patrol. Right, there’s something seriously wrong here with her waterworks and I bet it’s serious and expensive. Better phone the vet.
‘See those two pills you give her each morning, cut it to one, they’re pretty strong steroids.’
Steroids? The Idiot’s on steroids. Brilliant.
‘Oi dog, apparently you’re on steroids. See when Arnie says ‘I’ll be beck’, why don’t you ever come back.'
Idiot: ‘Shut up. I hate you. And those coloured sweets on that little tray in the living room taste horrible.’

27th May 2008, 20:19
You do realise, Foss, what those steroids will do to her chances at the Olympics?

27th May 2008, 20:25
Great to see you back with Idiot:ok:

27th May 2008, 20:28
Fos..... :ok::ok::ok::ok::ok::ok::ok:

27th May 2008, 20:37
Yepiee, Idoits back :ok: (Oh and Fos:))

Solid Rust Twotter
27th May 2008, 20:42
Onya Daze...!:ok:

Standard Noise
27th May 2008, 22:20
Idiot on steroids. There's a scary thought.

I can see it in the Speccy now - A man was seen on Groomsport beach earlier this week muttering to himself while a Lurcher ran around manically with what appeared to be a giant nappy flapping around it's rear end.
A local source said that the man is often seen in a state of confusion chasing the dog whilst pulling his hair out.

27th May 2008, 22:46
Probably get some Green peace environmentalist chasing me to make sure Idiot was wearing a Terry and not a Pampers.
'Be my fxxxing guest. You catch it, you can change it.'

27th May 2008, 22:49
Idiot on steroids, frightening, Foss on steroids, don't want to think about it. :O

27th May 2008, 23:07
A local source said that the man is often seen in a state of confusion

sounds about right Standard:ok:

27th May 2008, 23:11
Too close to the truth. :E

28th May 2008, 00:06
did the vet say you should take the second pill, instead?

28th May 2008, 00:44
You speak Idiot well for it not being your native tongue......

Ummm, I meant to say, "Great stories!"

How's the painting?

28th May 2008, 01:47
Thanks Foss. :ok:

Little Lady
28th May 2008, 06:14
Loud laughter gets some really strange looks from a packed airport terminal. :O

Thanks Fos. :ok:

28th May 2008, 06:41
For a moment I was worried that there was something really wrong with her... 'waterworks' too! Good to know it's only the meds. Take care of the girl, Foss, and giver her a biccie from all of us!

28th May 2008, 12:43
How is the old lady to day Foss?

28th May 2008, 12:58
Floating this morning I'm afraid Snaps.

Option one: Drill holes in the bottom of her bed.
Option two: Got to Pet home and buy her a snorkel.

'Fraid the medicine dosage is only the first guess Bombay, have to wait and see.

Someone told me a good phrase, 'a blind man would be glad to see it'.
It's alright. At least it doesn't look like a horse or something.

Everyone seems very keen to see me on steroids. I'll have you know that neither drugs nor strong liquor ever passes my lips.

28th May 2008, 13:40
Don't know if this helps but parent's dog of a certain age had similar problems. The dog is now on the same HRT tablets as my mother!!!! Apparently it is caused by hormone imbalance. They seem to work (on the dog that is , jury is still out on mom!)

I seem to recall that idiot is female?


28th May 2008, 13:42
Indeed Hippo, 11 years old. Would that not be like giving HRT to a 77-year-old?

28th May 2008, 21:38
about the same age as my parent's dog. seems to work. guess its either that or a cork !!

Standard Noise
28th May 2008, 22:06
....nor strong liquor ever passes my lips.

Only cos Uncle Arthur ain't invented an 80 proof version of Nigerian Lager yet.

6th Oct 2008, 19:55
Here's something that Foss might relate to; I certainly found it funny:

From Cyd, of Bedford:

Dog: I am starving.
Me: Actually, no. You aren't starving. You get two very good meals a day. And treats. And OH fed you extra food while I was gone.
Me: I saw you get fed not four hours ago! You are not starving.
Dog: Pity me, a sad and tragic creature, for I can barely walk, I am so starving. WOE.
Me: I am now ignoring you.
Dog: Did you hear me? I am starving.
Dog: Are you seriously ignoring me? Fine.

[There is a pause, during which the dog exits the room in a pointed manner.]

[From the kitchen, there comes a noise like someone is eating a baseball bat.]

Me, yelling: What the hell are you doing?
Me: *makes haste for the kitchen and finds dog there*
Dog: *picks up entire raw sweet potato, which is what was causing the baseball bat noise, and flees for the bedroom*
Me: *chases dog, retrieves most of sweet potato, less the portion which has disappeared into dog's gullet*
Me: ...That can't be good for you. It's a RAW SWEET POTATO.
Dog: I had to do it. I haven't been fed. Ever.
Me: You realize you aren't normal. Normal dogs don't steal raw sweet potatoes.
Dog, sadly: I was badly bought up.
Me: Yes. Yes, you were.
Dog: By people who starved me.
Me: Oh, no. I am not doing this again.
Me: *exits the room, bearing sweet potato*

[There is a pause.]

[There is a noise like someone is trying to eat a baseball bat very very quietly.]

Me: Oh, for the love of GOD.
Me: *heads off to the kitchen*
Dog: I am not eating a raw sweet potato.
Me: You have sweet potato parts all over your snout.
Dog: But you don't actually SEE a raw sweet potato, do you? So maybe that's just - um. A birthmark.
Me: Did you seriously eat a whole sweet potato?
Dog: You don't listen. I told you, I wasn't eating a sweet potato.
Me, searching around fruitlessly: Look. NO MORE SWEET POTATOES.
Me: Oh, what am I saying? This is you we're talking about, here. *goes to hide all the sweet potatoes that are left - which isn't many - in the fridge, because some people cannot be trusted*
Dog: *attempts to look thwarted*
Dog: *does not succeed, because her tail is wagging so hard small cyclones are forming in the kitchen*
Me: *has a very bad feeling about this*

[There is a pause, during which I do not even bother trying to return to what I was doing. I just stand in the computer room, waiting.]

[There is, as I wholly expected, a baseball-bat-eating noise.]

Me, stomping back to the kitchen: OKAY. GIVE ME THE d**nED SWEET POTATO.
Dog, looking up guiltily: What sweet potato?
Dog: Oh, did you want this? I just, um. Found it. Lying here.
Me: *confiscates the sweet potato and deposits it in the locking trashcan*
Me: Let us say no more about this.
Dog: ...Nooooo! They be stealin' my sweet potato!

[I attempt to remember what I was doing before the sweet potato episode.]

[Some ten minutes later, I succeed, and return to it.]

[NOT ONE MINUTE LATER, I hear a noise with which I have become all too familiar.]

Me, bonking head on desk: Arg.
Me, arriving in kitchen: How did you even get another sweet potato?
Dog, smugly: I have my ways.
Me: Are you punishing me for being away for several days? I was at a FUNERAL, you know. It wasn't FUN.
Dog: How would I know? You didn't take me. You left me here with only one human to look after my needs. One human is NOT ENOUGH.
Me: *shuts dog in bedroom, conducts a sweep of the kitchen to track down all remaining sweet potatoes, wipes up random sweet potato particles from floor, eradicates all traces of sweet potato from house*
Me: *lets dog out*
Dog, sulkily: Oh, so you think you've won.

[I watch her go about her business with the same sense of overwhelming doom that heroines of Victorian novels get when they meet Count Sinistrus Grimblack for the first time.]

[Half an hour later, there is a wetter, juicier eating noise, as though someone was eating a very moist baseball bat.]

Me, wearily: What NOW?
Dog, hunched over the remains of a butternut squash: *says something garbled because her mouth is full*
Me: Okay. Fine.
Me: *stomps over, empties entire vegetable bowl into trash*
Dog: I'm not even remotely sorry. I told you I was hungry. And you went to a funeral without me.

[A half-hour later, there is another baseball-bat-eating noise from the kitchen. The dog, who apparently does not know how to win gracefully, has found another sweet potato, or possibly caused one to materialize from the Rift.]

Me, hauling chewed sweet potato parts from the mouth of a dog very reluctant to part with them: Oh my god how is this my life?
Dog: Don't you think it would just be easier to feed me?
Dog: Actually, I feel...um...not so good.
Dog: *throws up* *vomit is very bright orange*

[Unfortunate details ensue.]

Some time later:
Me, attempting to rescue something from the wreckage: So. What have we learned from this?
Dog: Sweet potatoes are yummy!
Other Dog, looking thoughtful: I should pay more attention to crunching noises. Sweet potatoes are probably yummy.
Me: I need a lobotomy.