Tag Archives: dog

I’m No Michael Vick, But Still….

17 May

I ran over a dog once.  It was a traumatic experience for a couple of reasons.

I was driving my old piece of shit Ford Bronco. (It should be noted that I hated this car so much that if it were a person I would have challenged it to an MMA fight wherein I would have mercilessly wrassled it to the ground, punched it in the kidneys, head butted it, gauged its eyes out, and then stomped on its nuts.  But, I digress.)   

Our neighborhood is full of kids who like to dart out into the road at any given moment which is why I was white knuckling the steering wheel and going about 2 miles an hour.

Sure enough, I saw an empty skateboard fly out from a driveway, and quickly slammed on my breaks while I waited for Joey Deathwish to run out and grab it.  It was then that I felt a very subtle “bump”.  My heart quickly fell to my stomach.  I knew I hadn’t run over a child (thank God), but I definitely hit something.  

I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a black lump sitting in the middle of the road.  I pulled over, tried to get my shakes under control, and walked over to what I thought was a cat.  It wasn’t.  It was a little black dog, and it was definitely dead. 

I immediately broke down.  I searched for the family. I fought the urge to vomit as I realized I was going to have to introduce myself to these people as  the evil bitch who  just killed their dog. 

I found the family outside the apartment building down the block, and through tears and snot told the first person I saw that I had just hit a dog.  Just then I heard a woman scream “NOOOOOO!” as she frantically looked around for her dog.

I was a mess.  I apologized and tried to explain what happened.  Just then the woman’s husband came marching over to me and chewed me a new a-hole.  I would have been scared if I wasn’t such a basket case.  I was a dog murderer. I deserved it. 

A neighbor who had witnessed the whole thing came to my rescue.  She explained that it was an accident, that I had immediately pulled over, that I found them, and that I was done talking.  She walked me back home where I relived the entire nightmare a second time for Hubby.

After a few days the nightmares started to fade, and I tried put the whole thing behind me.  Then, one night, on the 10:00 local news, I saw what looked like “the” apartment building down road.

I watched through tunnel vision as the heavily made-up news anchor pointed to “the” apartment building down the road while saying words like “dog” and “abuse” and “beaten to death” .  My heart was beating a mile a minute as I waited for the police to kick in my front door.  Could this be happening?! 

As it turns out, the grief-stricken family decided to dispose of the poor dog’s body in the apartment building dumpster instead of bury it.  The body was found by a tenant who thought the dog had been beaten to death.  She called the police.  Apparently, people don’t like the thought of a dog being beaten to death.  Who knew?

I ultimately relived the nightmare a third time when I called the police station to explain what had really happened. 

Readers, this is an example of how things in my life have a tendency to snowball.  It’s why I write this blog.


Boys are Made of Frogs and Snails and Puppy-Dog Tails

19 Apr

It is with great joy that I introduce you to the newest member of the DMTF household, Duke Kemba Red De Los Santos de Sevilla (Kemba for short):

King of Cute

I was going to wait on the birth announcement until he grew less mole-looking and more Cockapoo-looking, but the excitement was too much for me handle. 

Here he is again:

Shhh. Can you hear my ovaries bursting?

Kemba needs to stay with his birth mother for a few more weeks, but believe me when I tell you that my uterus aches with the need to caress this creature.  I yearn to lay his warm fuzzy puppy body against my chest and breathe in his puppy breath.  I want to hold him up to my face and gaze into his puppy eyes as I envision a future full of puppy cuteness, flower costumes, and dog booties.  I want to swaddle him in the softest of baby blankets, warm him a bottle, powder and diaper his fuzzy little puppy butt, and carry him around in a car seat.  I can’t wait to get him home.   

You may think my love for Kemba is a little over the top.  I totally agree.  My undying love is not the biggest problem, however.  You see, I wanted a girl dog.  I already have a boy dog.   This time, I wanted a small, pink ribbons in her hair, doggy nails polished, pink tutu wearing, girly girl of a dog.  Alas, it was not meant to be.  All the females in Kemba’s litter were spoken for, and there was no way my womb would withstand the wait until late October for the new litter.  So, I settled for the runt. 

Luckily, I’ve come up with a solution.  I’ve decided to raise Kemba as a girl dog.  Hubby and Son have made it clear that any attempt I make to present Kemba as a girl will be met with fierce opposition.  They have threatened to turn him against me by rough housing with him, and teaching him to fetch.  Son said he would make it his personal mission to discourage Kemba from sitting on my lap.  Do you see what I’m dealing with? 

My intention was to conduct a poll and let you guys decide whether or not I’m completely nuts (he-he).  Instead, I’ve made an executive decision.  

Kemba and I will have a secret.  When no one is looking I will whisper into his ear that she’s such a pretty girl.  I will remind her how much Mama loves her little girl.  When no one is home I will dress her up in puppy evening gowns and doggy heels.   I will also teach Takeo how to clap for his sister as she promenades around the living room in her puppy bikini. 

It should be noted that I just took a break to look at the Kemba pictures, again, and I’m pretty sure I just felt the milk come in.  My boobs are rock hard.

What? Wednesday- Nothing To See Here

13 Apr

These two are adorable! Do you think they’re twins?

You know what, puppy?  You can keep the pillow.  I insist.

Keeping It Classy.

25 Feb

Obviously, I value the integrity and professionalism of this blog, as seen here, here, and here.   Basically, I like to keep it classy.


Here’s a little something to get you through the weekend, with class:

Click here to check it out.  I’ll wait.

I especially like the exclamation point at the end.

Be-otch Better Have My Pancake.

21 Feb

Things have a tendency to snowball out of control at my house.  For example:

Hubby:   Takeo is trying really hard to not get busted watching you eat that pancake. 

Me:   I know.  I can feel him watching me and every time I look at him he turns his head up to the ceiling and starts whistling.

Hubby:  TAKEO!  Quit being such a food whore!  Go lay down!

Pissed Off and Pouty

Me:   Haha.  Food whore.  I like that.  He’s such a food ho. 

Hubby:  I know.  He’d probably eat that chewed up pancake right out of your mouth if you let him.

   **blink, blink.**

Moments later I have a big chuck of syrup smothered semi-chewed pancake in my mouth.  Takeo has eaten various foods from our mouths before (cheese, potato chips, orange slices) but they’ve always been sticking out of our mouths anchored by our teeth making it more of a food grab

This time was different because the pancake would be sitting in my mouth, and on my tounge requiring Takeo to essentially french kiss me in order to get his pancake.

I got into position at the end of the couch, and opened my mouth letting him smell the maple syrup goodness.  This was the most difficult part of the experiement because I was trying not to laugh or choke on the pancake.  Meanwhile, Hubby coaxed Takeo with gentle coos

“Go on, Tiki.  Get the pancake.  You can have it.  Go ahead.”

I can see the confusion in Takeo’s eyes as they quickly move from the ball-o-pancake in my mouth to my eyes and back again.  He couldn’t believe this was really happening.  He could literally smell just how close he was to the syrup drenched mother f-in pancake.

“Go ahead, Tik.  You can have the pancake”, Hubby sang.

Takeo slowly inched closer to my open mouth, extending his nose to the tips of my lips.  At this point, I have tears running down my cheeks from the pain and joy of laughing without being able to close my mouth. 

Just when I think I’m about  to lose it, Takeo leans in, and for a split second he looks me dead in the eyes as if saying, “I’m doing this.  I’m a food ho.  There is no rock bottom for me  What’s your excuse?”.  Then, he makes his move: 

Gross?   A little bit.  Deliciously hilarious?  Definitely.