Tag Archives: puppy

My Dog is a Genius Mastermind

Matermind

This morning I woke up to a gift, the kind of gift that makes pet owners want to just  hug their pets super tight and not let go until they pass out…I mean, gently fall asleep. No, it was not a poop or a pee.There was pee, but that’s like walking out to find my children playing Wii, no big surprise.

No, this was a doozy and what’s worse, I think he planned the whole thing. I was asleep, as I often am on Saturday mornings, while my daughter was watching Strawberry Shortcake. I woke, only to find dark stains, smudges, and ink blots all over my oh so pretty white coverlet, and white sheets. Sheets that are like a gazillion thread count (or whatever they said to make me buy them). Only me and Paris sleep on sheets of such extraordinary comfort.

The dark blotches looked as if my dog had found an indelible marker, packaged some TNT around it, and then plunged down the detonator. There were spots on the sheets where he bit through with such fervor, and the ink was distributed so evenly, it looked like a professional job.Like any good detective, I screamed at the suspect and let him out in the yard, mainly for his own safety.Then I searched for clues.There was no pen, no evidence.I had a new book on the bed and I was certain the black cover was defective and the ink was smearing off, but I rarely rub books so feverishly over my bedding.My dog would also need opposable thumbs for such a task.

Then I found it. On some of the ink splotches, there was a greasy chunky residue.I picked up a chunk and mushed it between my fingers, like a melted crayon.Wait, there’s a splinter of wood in that chunk on the pillow. This is not a crayon.This was my new retro navy blue metallic eyeliner. There was no evidence because the rest of said pencil was Tanner’s breakfast.

Listen, I’m a pretty realistic person who is rarely paranoid, but I am quite sure this was premeditated. This is how I think it went down: I wore the eyeliner yesterday in an 80’s tribute to the late Michael Jackson, an occurrence I was freaking out over. He was the only suspected child molester that I truly enjoyed and forgave, because of his insanely awesome talent. Talent and wealth make up for a lot of misgivings in America, even sharing your bed with Emmanuel Lewis.

Back on track, my dog is vehemently anti anything retro. I have heard him say on more than one occasion, “I don’t want this crappy rubber burger or fake New York Times newspaper. Go get me some Nylabone made from space-age webbed plastic cells, or some Kong industrial NASA rubber, and a chicken pot pie…bitch!” Of course, when a dog calls you “bitch,” it’s a compliment.

His distaste for celebrating decades of yore, and his taste for greasy pencils made from toxins and whale blubber made this a crime worth committing. He must have grabbed his Nylabone, which he routinely shreds, and brought it onto the bed.This allowed me to sleep longer knowing I could pick up the 1000 pieces later. The chewing coaxed me to sleep like a lullaby.

When he was sure I was out, he whined until my daughter followed him to the kitchen. There she found the new eyeliner and decided to play with it, as Tanner knew she would. When she was finished getting ready for Studio 54, she put it on the dining room table. Then Tanner chased Coco, my cat, over to said table. Coco saw the pencil, and started one of those soccer games cats do, and batted it around till she went for the goal. She eyed Tanner with a smirk and whacked it high into the air. He readied himself, did a twisting jump,and gracefully caught the evidence … brought it back to the bed, and started chewing his Nylabone to make sure I would not wake and Ryan would not look away from the television screen.

Then he went to town, with the two of us none the wiser. I have to give him credit. He pulled off a brilliant plan  and ate the evidence to boot. But no crime is “perfect,” and it was his sloppiness that got him in the end. Oh, he will go behind bars. I guarantee his crate awaits.

Let’s Name Our Dog Butt Munch!

Let's Name Our Dog Butt Munch and Other Bad CallsMy children are in that phase where all words referring to bodily functions and private parts are hilarious. I call it the Beavis and Butthead phase, and I’m eagerly awaiting its passing. However, I’m not holding my breath, as it appears my husband never actually outgrew that phase himself. So, with that in mind, we were trying to think of names for our new puppy. I was throwing out the more traditional names like Max and Charlie when J, my 7yo said, “Let’s name him Gary or Phil.”

Okay, not where I was going, but a name nonetheless.

I replied, “How about Copper or Cinnamon?”

R, my 4yo daughter: “I have a great idea, how about Cinnamon Toast Weiner?”

All: Ha ha ha, lots of laughs.

OK, game on.

J: “How about Tushie-Face?”

R: “Hee hee, good one.”

Minutes went by and R came running across the park screaming for all the other families to hear, “Listen listen, we should name our dog Vagina.”

J: “Yeah, yeah, we’d be like, ‘Come hear Vagina. Sit Vagina.’”

I was making every attempt NOT to give this discussion too much attention, but the attention we were getting from the other families wondering why my boy is practicing calling a vagina was making me moderately uncomfortable.

“Could we keep this conversation down just a little bit?” I said, then went on to suggest more realistic names.

I know I’m a party pooper. (Hee Hee…I wrote pooper.)

I’ll tell you who isn’t a  party pooper,  my husband.

Hubby: “I know – we should name it Penis, and then when people say, ‘Jake what are you doing?’ you could say, ‘Oh, I’m just playing with my Penis.’”

Mind you this is a concept a 7yr old would not come up with on his own volition, but it didn’t take long for him to catch on.

J: “Yeah…Hey hey hey, listen. I could say ‘I just taught my Penis to fetch.’”

All, but me: HEHEHEHE HAW HEW HAW HAHA – and tear filled laughter. (I held mine in as the family nearest to us moved their stuff about 20ft. away.)

R: “That’s not fair, ‘cause I don’t have a penis, I have a hiney.”

Taking R’s penchant for the word vagina into consideration, I decide this was the wrong time for an anatomy lesson.

My husband finally aware of the wrong turn this conversation had taken, reeled it in by suggesting a name we could really use: Butt Munch. (Ah, the ever popular with the pre-teen 1980’s set, Butt Munch.)

This idea sparked tons of laughter and affirmation. First of all, my children had never been exposed to this term, so they found a special joy in both it’s profanity and it’s originality. Yes, they beamed with pride, as if their father, king of the potty mouths, had just coined it. Secondly, they liked the way it just rolled so easily off of their tongues. “Butt Munch. Come here Butt Munch. Sit Butt Munch. Bad Butt Munch.”

R: At the top of her lungs, “J you’re a Butt Munch.”

J: “No R, you’re a Butt Munch.”

Me: “No Daddy’s a Butt Munch.

Thanks Mark!

Mark: “Please, they could be saying much worse.”

Me: “Perhaps you should teach it to them. Jake doesn’t know mother f@cker maybe you could remedy that right here at the park.”

So, for the last two weeks J has told everyone willing to listen that R wanted to name our new dog Vagina, and R now uses Butt Munch as a verb, noun, and adjective, sometimes in the same sentence. My friend Susan asked her if she was ready to go home the other day and she replied, “No way, Butt Munch.”

I’m so proud.

PS We brought our dog home a couple of days ago, and though R is still calling him Butt Munch, we as a family went with the more traditional, Ass Face. I hope she comes around.

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Other stories by Jenny: 40 Things Every Woman Should Have or Should Know By 40