Doorbell Angst

So let's be clear. Every dog knows that its his or her job to protect the home. Sure, we are man's best friend. But we are also man's guardian. Because of that, it's my job to inspect every visitor to our door. They may be okay and they may come in, but by goodness gumption, not until they've passed my "smell" test.

The problem is the blasted TV. Am I too blame for not knowing the difference between a doorbell on TV and a doorbell in life? Of course not. If daddy would just get a crappier TV, or lobby Congress to ban doorbell sounds on TV, then we wouldn't have an issue.

After all, I can't be expected to take the chance that a doorbell sound isn't real life. I could be out of position and unprepared to repel any intruders and interlopers. THAT IS SIMPLY UNACCEPTABLE.

But Daddy yells and growls. He says he'd be fine if I'd just bark once and let it go. But come on, daddy. The bad guys could ring the doorbell, and then just hang out quietly by the door waiting for us to let our guard down. I'm not sure why, but it could happen. It really could.

SO, I wait and sniff and bark and sniff and bark and do my best to ignore daddy's yelling for me to shut the heckola up. Who is he to tell me how to do my job anyhow?

Daddy, Where Are You????

Daddy left here around noon. It was his day to take care of me. Mommy came home late from work, a whole hour, but I forgave her cause she brought treats. But where is Daddy???? Here I am, laying in his spot on the sofa, staring at the front door and crying. I'm trying to be patient waiting for him, but I'm sooooo sad! And Mommy just said he won't be home until tomorrow evening! That makes me cry even more! Mommy says I'm driving her crazy with all my crying. Maybe I should take a break from it. But I just miss my Daddy so much.

I'm not normally such a "big baby" (That's what Mommy's calling me), but I'm feeling sorry for myself at the moment.

TRAUMA!!!!!!!

Mom & Dad took me for a walk Saturday. Only it was all a trick. They walked me right to the vet's office! The vet tech lady started trimming my nails and when she got to my dew claws, I let her know I wasn't happy about that. And (I can't believe this happened! I feel so betrayed...) Mommy & Daddy let her take me to a different room away from them to muzzle me & finish clipping my nails! They also stuck me with a big needle & put a "microchip" under my skin. That wasn't so bad. But when they trimmed my back claws, they only cut 2 of them because they both started bleeding pretty badly! It really, really hurt. Mom & Dad could hear me all the way down the hall in the exam room. But the good thing about going to the vet is that now I get peanut butter twice a day. Just a little bit, but a little is better than none at all! They are hiding a pill in it, I know, but I don't really care. It's still yummy! The vet told them to give me Benedryl, and I won't eat that pill without peanut butter because it doesn't taste yummy like my thyroid medicine does. But Benedryl makes me so groggy... I'm supposed to have 3 a day, but Mom & Dad decided that seemed like way too much since Mommy can't even stand taking 1 a day herself. So I just get 2. Fine by me!

Walk Across Texas

I am torn.

I LOVE when mommy and daddy take my pretty red leash down and take me for a stroll. The sights, the smells, the motorcycles and school buses I get to lunge at and scare off. Its all good stuff.

But last week the folks joined a program called "Walk Across Texas." The idea is that in 8 weeks they are supposed to Walk Enough Miles to cross the state of Texas. But I don't think they are going to make it. Every night we go for a walk, but we don't get but a mile or so from the house and they friggin' turn around! Now I'll grant you that I'm no cartographer. But I'm pretty sure if you are going to walk across a big ole state like Texas you have to stop turning. Trust me. I may not understand maps, but I SO get physics.

But even at that, I love the walks. Problem is Daddy keeps talking to me about something called "aerobic" and "keeping my heartrate up", whatever that means. Best I can tell it means I only get to stop when I'm actually peeing or pooping. He won't let em linger and smell the writing in the grass.

I mean he's taking half the fun out of walking. Thank goodness I still get to bark at buses and bikes and make fun of all those dogs locked up in their back yards.

My Name is Chi

MY name is Chi. ChiChi Marie. I am a dog. And a darned good one at that.

MY job, to guard and protect the couch. To hold it in place should gravity suddenly fail, and thus ensure that its soft, pillowy goodness awaits my Mommy and Daddy when they return from a hard day's work.

ONCE they've return, I turn to my secondary duties. I first must ensure that no outside forces interrupt their happy evenings together. Cars, talking neighbors, my arch nemesis the Evil Count Squirrel de Fence. I must bark very, very, very loudly to shush these inconsiderate many, so much so that my throat hurts by the end of the night. Still it is worth this sacrifice to ensure the peace and tranquility of Mommy and Daddy.

OF course it is also my duty to control the cleanliness of our carpets. And at this, I have no rival. In my home, NO particle of food my owners so sloppily drop shall remain there for longer than 2.73 seconds. This is my upper limit which I vow to protect.

IN future posts, I will do my best to impart the wisdom and lessons of my storied life and brilliant career. I will teach you the way of my dappled tribe.

MY name is ChiChi Marie.

AND this is the Tao of Chi.