I Put The Terror In Terrier

Hi. I'm Oliver. Grrr.


That's me being a real bad-ass in that video. Because I'm a bad-ass dog. I may not be all that big, but I'm a bad-ass. Especially after my mom gives me a bath. I'm pretty good while my mom is suds-ing me up, but once the towel comes out it's all over. I get a serious case of the "zoomies" and terrorize anything that gets in my way. Like the couch I'm terrorizing in that video I posted. Grrr.


I don't really have anything against the couch. It's a nice couch. And a comfy place for me and my doggie pillow to sleep. But for some reason, baths really rev me up. I hate baths. Baths are stupid. They make your hair all wet and show off how skinny you really are. I'm just a shell of my svelte, buff self after a bath, and that's just embarrassing. I also stink after a bath. That girly smelling shampoo my mom uses makes me smell like grass and flowers. Screw that. I want to smell like ass. As in bad-ass, but with a heavy accent on the ass. Dogs like the smell of ass. Ass smells good. Ass, not grass. 


And therein lies the problem. 


Every time I get a bath I have to roll in something that counteracts my flower-smelling fur. It's a battle with no good outcome (like the war in Iraq) since my mom and I completely disagree on acceptable smells. (Okay, not exactly like the war in Iraq, but you get what I'm saying. And I used a metaphor. I'm a dog and I used a metaphor. Yay me!) Back to my story about my mom and I completely disagreeing on smells. I roll in dead carcass, I get a bath. I re-roll in dead carcass, I get a bath. Lucky for me, my mom can't find the dead carcass in the yard. And I'm not telling her where it is. Although she is watching me more when she lets me out so I need to be careful. But I'm not giving up. And considering I just got another scrub-down, neither is she.


Three baths in three days. And the couch is taking the brunt of my frustration. Still, I wouldn't blame me if I was that couch. I'd take it up with the woman in charge and tell her to stop giving me so many baths. I'd also tell her the rotten fishy smell is all relative. And that the only one who opposes that smell is her. Then again, it is just a couch. It doesn't know how to take sides (which is a real drag since I could use a little help making my argument). My mom and I will just have to battle it out.


I suppose I could be a little more patient and know that the clean smell will just get taken over by my natural manly dog smell. I mean, my dog smell, well, it's no pungent ass smell (the perfect cologne for dogs), but it's still a pretty decent smell. 


Hmmm. What do my instincts tell me? 


My instincts tell me roll in the ass-smelling carcass. Of course they do. And there's probably a good reason. I don't know what that reason is, but if I'm inclined to do it, there must be some sort of historical significance--maybe it was my means of survival. If only I could check out some books at the library and do a little research. But they don't let dogs in the library. Unless I got one of those little blue smocks and pretended I was some sort of guide dog for the disabled. Now that would be fun. And if someone asked me to leave because of my smell, well, I'd have all the rational arguments in the world right at my disposal. 


Or I could just do a little research online. 


Yeah. That might be a better idea. Me just doing a google-search on doggie behavior. I mean, who has time to find a disabled person and convince them to pretend I'm their guide dog. That's a lot of time and effort for a little (yet super tough) guy like me. Besides, after all those doggie freak-outs and doggie temper tantrums I need a nap. Dog zoomies can be exhausting. But I am destined to win. I'm a dog. I sleep. I eat. I poo. And that's pretty much it in terms of responsibility. Except for my bad-ass-ness. That's a big responsibility too. Either way, I have all the time in the world to plan my stink roll and be a bad-ass to the couch.


Grrr.


The end.


Ollie

I Feel Kinda Funny

Hi. I'm Oliver. And I'm a little out of it today. I had to go to the vet doctor to get my teeth cleaned and it was a big ordeal. First I had to get up really early so my mom could take me for a walk and let me do my business. Then we had to drive a super long way to get to the vet doctor place on time. To make matters worse I was stuck there all day.

When I got into the car this morning, I thought we were going somewhere fun--like the dog park or my mom's friend Karen's house, or even my grandma's house where I always get lots of cheese on my food. But no, I got duped into getting my teeth cleaned.

When doggies get their teeth cleaned, they have to get put under a general anesthesia so that the vet doctors don't have to worry about getting their fingers bit off. I would never bite a vet doctor's fingers off. (Even though they deserve it with all those shots, probes and stuff. Dicks).

Anyway, I'm still feeling a little funny after all that anesthesia and the big pain medication shot. It's like I'm moving in slow motion and the world is slightly tilted.

Uh oh. What if the world really is tilted now? Whoa. That would be so creepy. But at least it would explain why I tripped up the stairs. Twice.

All I did was trot up the back steps like I normally do and the next thing I know I'm flat on my face, feeling like a total retard (sorry, mentally-challenged noun) and my mom starts fussing over me. Thank god there weren't any hot wheatens or cocker spaniels around to see my mom get all concerned and overreact. I mean, sometimes a dog just needs to prove his manhood by getting hurt and NOT being a big cry baby about it. But my mom just doesn't understand that. She can be so emasculating when you trip over something and stub your toenail or get too close to a bee.

My point is... um... um... I totally forgot my point. Yep. I'm definitely a little loopy and out of it. Oh well. I might as well take advantage of my condition and enjoy that floaty feeling.

Hey, you know what sounds really good right now? Bruce. My fox toy. And Gummy Bears. I'm too tired to chew the crap out of Bruce, but he does make a nice pillow. And the Gummy Bears? I have no idea why I brought up Gummy Bears. Maybe because I feel like a Gummy Bear.

Whee. Feeling like a Gummy Bear. Booo. Stupid day at the vet.

The end.

Ollie

Even Vomiting Has A Positive Side

Hi. I'm Oliver. And a few days ago, I felt like ass. Something was seriously wrong with my tummy and just like the dog in that picture, I hurled and I hurled and I hurled. I didn't use the toilet like the dog in that picture, but I threw up like the dog in that picture.

I don't know what happened, but one minute I was all comfy, chillin' out on the couch and relaxing next to my mom. The next, I was tossing my cookies all over the place. That's right. I barfed big time, and most of it landed on my mom. It all just hit me so fast I didn't even know what happened. I felt a twinge, stood up, and before I could even make those gross puke-warning burp sounds, the barf came flying out and landed on my mom.

She was nice about it, though. She just said, "Ollie!" And then went to clean herself and the rest of the barf that landed on the couch. Little did she know, she would be doing a lot of cleaning in the hours to come.

I threw up two more times. On the couch that is. She had to wash two couch covers and my dog pillow before the living room puking was done. She still didn't get mad, though. I could tell she felt bad for me. She's nice that way. I love how she has such a big heart that she didn't even yell at me for puking on her or the couch. If my mom would've puked on me or Bruce (my fox toy) or Neville (my octopus toy) I would've been pissed. But she didn't--puke or get mad at me. Instead my mom rubbed my tummy, gave me little sips of water and told me that everything would be okay.

I knew it would be. But she didn't. She was really worried. Especially when I followed her into the bathroom and threw up again. I could tell my persistent ralphing was taking it's toll so I tried to make my mom feel better by wagging my tail at her. It was kind of a half-ass wag, though, since I didn't have a lot of energy. But it did make her smile.

After thinking about it, I guess my mom was right about not eating things in the yard. She told me to "Ollie, you put that down. Don't eat that." But I didn't listen. She always over reacts about stuff I put in my mouth. This time, however, I should've dropped whatever it was I had in my mouth (and not hidden in the bushes to finnish it off).

A few more throw-ups on my mom's bed (which she did get a little snippy about because she had to wash all her sheets) and the barfing was done. But it was late, 1:30 am, and we were both exhausted. I did get some dry heaves around 3 am, but at least my mom didn't have to do anymore laundry.

The next morning, my grammy came over to make sure I was okay while my mom went to work. She was really nice and rubbed my belly too. She even gave me some of my favorite treats: dried chicken strip treats. Best of all, she didn't go anywhere or leave the house all day long. I hate it when people leave the house so having my grammy over all day long was really nice.

That night I slept really well, and the next day I felt even better. I was almost back to my old hyper, chase-anything-that-moves self, but my mom still made me go to the vet doctor place for a check-up. I needed to get a booster shot anyway, but I ended up staying there for 5 long, scary hours while they did all kinds of tests. That totally sucked because not only did I have to get a big butt exam, they cut my toenails too. And I hate getting my toenails cut. That's one of the worst things ever.

On the bright side of all this, I did get to postpone my doggie obedience classes. You can't go to doggie obedience classes when you're sick or if you've been sick recently. And since the vet doctor said we should probably wait, my mom decided to push things to August. My mom and the vet doctor can overreact all they want when it comes to postponing my doggie obedience classes until August.

On another bright side, it's nice to know that I can do something really awful, like throw up on my mom, and she still loves me. Not many people still love you when you do something like that. But my mom does. And that's pretty cool. If only I understood why throwing up is okay when chewing on shoes or getting into the garbage isn't. The throwing up stuff is super more disgusting, but my mom has her boundaries. Just like I (and my toenails) have mine.

The end.

Ollie

Man That Was A Stupid Storm

Hi. I'm Oliver. And that storm we had two Fridays ago was a doozy. I would've written about it sooner, but the last time I blogged, my mom made me write sentences as a punishment for eating her shoes. I didn't ruin her shoes, just chewed some of the bamboo stuff off. But she still made me write the sentences.

But now I'm done with the sentences so I can finally write about that big storm.

It was a scary storm. My mom came home from work and right away it started to rain and rain and rain. At first I didn't think too much about it, but then it started raining even harder and thundering really loud. And just as I finished about half my kibble... KABLAMO!

I immediately ran over to my mom to make sure she wasn't scared. I nuzzled my way under her arm to protect her and curled up there until she felt safe. Then there was another big thunder bang and she got up and looked out the window.

I was like, "What are you doing, woman? Do you listen to the news? You're not supposed to go near a window during a storm!" But she did anyway. I was a good boy. I stayed on the couch and away from the windows like Sven Sundgaard told us to. He's on KARE 11 and he knows what's up when it comes to storms. But my mom kept looking out the window. Then, out of know where, she yelled a swear word. She said the swear word at the same time I heard another big KABLAMO!

This time, though, it was more of crack, crunch and then the KABLAMO! I couldn't see what was happening, but I could tell by look on my mom's face that something was wrong. Right away she got on the phone and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I don't pay attention when my mom's on the phone. I'm a dog and phones are boring. Except once I chewed on our phone and that was kind of fun, but other than chewing on phones, phones are boring.

Anyway, as you can see from the picture, a big tree limb fell down, crashed through our fence and into the neighbor lady's house (I know, it's a really, really blue house). And that's why my mom was on the phone. She was on the phone with the insurance people and her mom and the neighbor lady's son since the neighbor lady wasn't home.

My mom was pretty freaked out so she went and got some hot wings from the pizza place next door and opened a bottle of wine. I don't know what was in that bottle of wine, but it definitely calmed her down and made her feel better. (Maybe I should suggest a bottle of wine next time I chew on her shoes.)

The next day the neighbor lady came home and my mom took a bunch of pictures of the damage for her and got the tree removed right away. The neighbor lady was so appreciative of my mom's help that she brought my mom some food. There weren't any dog treats so I didn't care, but my mom was all touched because the neighbor lady gets her food at the food shelf. I suppose that was really sweet, and my mom didn't want to take her food shelf food, but she accepted to be nice.

Then, of course, my mom had to call a bunch of people and tell them about the nice thing the neighbor lady did. Why do moms have to do that? Call and tell everyone about the latest "big thing" that happened. "Oh my god! The neighbor lady shared her food with me!" "Oh my god! There was the cutest little bird in the back yard!" "Oh my god! My raspberry bushes are growing raspberries!" Pretty soon she'll alert the media when I find one of my treats that I hid in the couch. I don't get it, but moms have to go on and on about everything.

Still, my mom's one of the best moms ever. The enthusiasm she has for going on and on about dumb stuff on the phone, well, she has the same enthusiasm for me when I do stuff too. Like when I chase after squirrels, when I jump on and off her bed to get her up in the morning, when she asks me if I want a treat, when we run through the park together and so many other times. She always expresses such happiness and excitement about everything that moves her. Some of those things are dumb. But some are pretty cool. Like the ones that have to do with me.

The end.

Ollie

I Will Not Chew On My Mom's Shoes While She's At Work

Hi. I'm Oliver.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

I will not chew on my mom's shoes while she's at work.

My mom said that's enough sentences for now.

The end.

Ollie

A More Positive Ollie

Hi. I'm Oliver. And recently, I've been doing a lot of complaining in my blogs, which might give some people the impression that I'm one of those negative-nellie dogs. But I'm not. I'm a happy dog. And even though I seem to poo-poo everything, I really have a lot to be thankful for. Including my poo.

I'm a really good pooper. And outside of a few extreme circumstances, I have the whole "pooping outside" thing down. My mom gives me praises when I do my job and sometimes I even get treats. How many of you get praises and treats just for taking a dook? I do and that's just one of the many things I'm thankful for.

I'm also thankful for all my toys. Bruce the fox, Neville the octopus, Bonnie the flea and all my squirrel toys that don't have names because I don't like to give names to squirrels. Squirrels are just squirrels. But I am thankful to have squirrel toys. I can practice on them so one day I can catch a real squirrel. I just don't want to give my squirrel toys names.

Another thing I'm thankful for is the window in my living room. I get to look out of that window all day long so I see all kinds of cool things. I see people and dogs and birds and the mailman and my crazy neighbor lady and, of course, squirrels. That window is like a big TV that's always on. I love that window. That window is one of the best things ever.

There are lots of humans I'm thankful for too. My grammie who always puts cheese on my food, my mom's friend Karen and my mom's friend Nicole. I'm also thankful for the new people that come over. If it's a hot lady human, I get to sniff her butt without getting in trouble. They just say, "Hey, stop that!" and laugh it off because they think that that's what dogs do (even though I know better). If it's a dude trying to put the moves on my mom, I get to bark and growl and jump up and down so the dude totally loses his nerve and goes home.

I'm also thankful for my treats. My favorite treats are dried chicken strips. They're so yummy and I get one every time my mom leaves the house. I don't like it when my mom leaves the house, but a dried chicken treat helps make up for it. I don't like to share my treats, but there are a few dogs I'd share them with. My friend Bubba, my girlfriend Liza and my friend Yoda who didn't like me too much. Yoda had to go to heaven so I don't see Yoda anymore. She was really cute, but my energy drove her nuts. That's okay. Yoda was a good friend even though she didn't like me very much.

Wow. That's a lot of stuff I'm thankful for. And that makes me a positive Ollie. Yay me! Of course, I'm totally thankful for my mom, but that's just a given. She means everything to me and if you're ever mean to her I'll bite you really hard. No one's ever been mean to my mom, but I figure it's a fair warning. Just in case you're considering it.

The last thing I'm thankful for is that, just now, my mom let me outside and I chased a squirrel, took a dook, and my mom gave me a "Good boy, Ollie" and a dried chicken treat. Bruce and looking out the window are next, followed by me snuggling up to my mom and falling asleep happy.

The end.

Ollie

Yay Bubba!

Hi. I'm Oliver. And today I had a really good day. I got to go over to my friend Bubba's house and we played and played and played. That's not Bubba in the picture, but that's what Bubba looks like. Bubba even sits like that dog in the picture. But it's not Bubba. And that dog is not taking a dook, even though it looks like he is.

Bubba even looks like he's gonna take a dook when were playing sometimes. He's not, but he looks like he is. And it kinda freaked me out. No one wants to get dooked on when they're running around and trying to assert their dominance. But I got used to it. And once I realized all was cool, we played and played and played.

Sometimes I wish I could be more like Bubba. He's so funny and cool and carefree. He doesn't care what anyone thinks, he's just happy dog. Me, I don't even want to tell anyone my good friend's name is Bubba because that makes me sound like Forrest Gump.

I wouldn't mind being Lieutenant Dan. But Forrest? I'm a total bad ass. In fact, if you make a "shrimp" comment or mention "peas and carrots, carrots and peas" and I'll chew a hole in your shoes and pee on your sweater. I'm way smarter than Forrest Gump. Forrest Gump never got any 20-second action from a hot wheaten terrier. And I did. Me 1. Forrest Gump 0.

But why do I care? I should just say, "Yeah, I going to run around with Bubba. Bubba, Bubba, Bubba." Instead I tell everyone, "Yo. I'm going over to B's house. We're going to chill, maybe chase some squirrels." The squirrel part is true (yay squirrels) but we never just hang out and chill. I'm a crazy terrier. From the moment I see Bubba I'm bouncing off the walls, trying to mount him like school girl. (It's dominance thing. Don't get all homophobe on me.)

I also cry every time my mom leaves. Even if she's just taking the garbage out I cry. (I'm a dog. I don't know the difference.) But I'd never admit that to anyone. Instead, if my mom were to leave, I'd be like, "Yeah. My mom's out with some dude. She'll be home whenever."

Bubba may look like he's taking a dook when he sits, but he's okay with that. He doesn't make excuses or alter his body positions. He's just Bubba. And I admire that.

The end.

Ollie

Too Cool For School

Hi. I'm Oliver. And this summer my mom's making me go to school. Not a school with kids and recess and special treats on your birthday. Nope. This school is a special school for dogs. And I'm not happy about it. The last time I went to get "tutored" someone took my nuts off and I never got them back.

My mom said I need to go to school so I can take some obedience classes. I don't know what obedience means but I know I don't need any classes about it. I'm super smart and a really good dog. I know how to sit and chase squirrels and bark at strangers. I even know how to chew on my mom's sock monkey slippers so it's fun for me, but she can still wear them. I don't destroy the slippers, they're just missing a few eyes and ear nubs. And that's a win win for both of us. I get to chew my head off and she still has a warm place to put her feet. But my mom still thinks I need obedience training.

To make matters worse, my mom signed me up for the beginner obedience class. I'm no beginner when it comes to dog stuff. That class is for babies. No cool dogs are going to be in the beginner class. It's just going to be me and a bunch remedial retard (I mean mentally challenged) dogs with disciplinary problems. Dogs who probably pee on themselves when they get scared and don't even know how to sit when their mommys say, "Sit, Ollie. Sit."

I want to be in the advanced class. The cool class where they teach you how to roll over and play dead. I could really impress a lot of hot cocker spaniels by showing off my sweet doggie skillz. But no. I have to be in a class filled with dummies.

I also have to go to the doggie vet doctor to make sure I'm all up to date on my shots. Yep. I have to go to the dumb dumb class and the vet. I suppose it's good that the doggie school has their regulations, but it really sucks to be an Oliver right now. Well, not RIGHT now. Right now I'm sitting next to my mom and that's one of the best things ever. But come July, my whole doggie life is going to change.

My mom says it'll be a good change. That doggies like me need structure. Screw that. If I had a driver's license, I'd grab her keys, squeal the tires and take off in her car. But I don't. I can't even use a fork. And that's why she gets the final say about me and my obedience classes.

There are some good things about July though. My mom is taking me up North to her friend's cabin and she said there will be lots of squirrels for me to chase. Squirrrrrels! Now that sounds like fun. Just me, my mom and bunch of squirrels! Okay, there will be a big lake too. And a bunch of nice people. And s'mores. And depending on how the obedience training goes, there might even be an Oliver running off with a big bag of marshmallows.

The end.

Ollie

The Little Wounded Bird

Hi. I'm Oliver. And today there was a little wounded birdie in my yard. It didn't look anything like that Muppet bird, but nothing good comes up when you do an image search for "wounded" or "little" bird. A lot of weird stuff comes up, in fact. Like weird bird drawings and book covers.

But I'm getting off track. Back to the bird.

My mom and I were getting ready to go for a run, and as soon as we stepped outside I saw a little blob of feathers hobbling around in the grass. Just like that, my go-see-what-that-is-and-maybe-eat-it instinct kicked in--as well as some serious-ass bird tweeting (real tweeting, that is, not that twitter crap). It was the mommy bird and daddy bird trying to yell at me to stop me from messing with their little bird baby.

Then my mom started hollering too. "Ollie! You put that down!"

But I still didn't listen. When my instincts kick in there's no stopping me. Except if you offer me a treat. But not just any treat. It has to be a good treat. Like a dried chicken strip treat. But no one offered me a treat so I kept going after that little wounded bird. I nudged it with my nose, I picked it up in my mouth and tossed it, I swatted it across the grass. I was so focused on that wounded little bird that I didn't even flinch at all the mayhem that was going on around me.

My mom even tried to use logic. "Put that down, Ollie. It's not a fair to pick on the weak." If I would've been in my right mind, I would've responded with, "Darwin, woman! Natural selection!" But it didn't even register at the time. All I heard was "Blah, blah, blah, Ollie, blah, blah, blah."

Finally, my mom got a hold of my collar and dragged me out of the back yard. Then she put my harness on, hooked up her iPod and we started our run. It was a good run. And it made me forget all about the little wounded bird until we got back in the yard. But by that time the little wounded bird was gone.

I wonder what happened to it. I wonder if the mommy bird and daddy bird got it back into the nest. I wonder if someday that whole little birdie family will laugh at the day's events. "Remember that time when that dog almost ate you, but you got away? That was funny."

I hope so. I didn't mean to torment that poor little wounded bird. I was just having fun. That little wounded bird looked just like one of my toys except I didn't have to do all the work of pushing it around. It moved all by itself and I can't not chase something that's little and fluffy and moving all around all by itself. Then again, if a giant, mean Sasquatch came into my yard and started tossing me around, I'd be pretty pissed too. I'd totally want my mom to beat his ass and make him go away.

Mom's are pretty good about stuff like that. They'll beat the crap out of anyone or anything that tries to mess with someone they care about. So I hope that the little wounded bird is feeling better. And sleeping soundly next to its mommy, like I will to sleep soundly next to mine.

The end.

Ollie

Today Sucks

Hi. I'm Oliver. And today totally sucks.

It took my mom forever to get home. And when she finally did get home, she yelled at me for chewing a big hole in her sock monkey slipper. I just pretended I didn't know what she was talking about and jumped up and down and up and down and up and down until she rubbed my belly. But she only gave me like two rubs before reexamining her stupid slipper.

My mom's totally overreacting about the slipper.

The slipper still works, there's just a big hole in it. There are a lot worse things than having a big hole in your sock monkey slipper. And according to my mom, one of those things is me letting a little pee out in the basement. So I got yelled at again.

"Oll-llie! What did you do?"

She knew what I did. I peed in the basement. Why was she asking me what I did? It's so dumb when people know what you did, but they still ask you what you did and then yell at you in the form of a question.

In my defense, I did use the basement. I could've let my pee out anywhere, but I let it out in the basement, where it couldn't hurt anything. I don't like it when I can't hold it until my mom comes home, so I made the best out of bad situation.

Two little pees in two little places. And a big hole in my mom's sock monkey slipper. I was never going to get my belly rubs. Or a dried chicken treat. Or a partner to play "Tug-O-Bruce" with me.

Stupid sucky day. And it only got worse.

While my mom was cleaning up my pee, I left Bruce on the steps as a reminder for her to play with Bruce and me. But instead of seeing him, she tripped over him on her way up the stairs. She didn't get hurt, but the pop she was carrying went flying and erupted everywhere.

Errrrtttttt! I was out of there and hiding around the corner before the last drop even landed on the floor. I waited for my mom to yell at me again, but she didn't. She just sat on the floor and looked sad. I knew she'd been having a tough time lately, so I went over to her and tried to make it better.

"Ollie! You're stepping in it!"

Jeeze Louise. I couldn't do anything right. What a stupid, stupid day. But then she just wiped off my feet, shooed me away and cleaned up the mess. She even gave me a belly rub when she was done cleaning. I love belly rubs. And treats. I didn't get a treat, but I did get my regular food. And it was yummy. I ate the whole bowl and everything was good again.

Until my mom noticed I got into the dirty clothes and chewed on her underwear.

The end.

Ollie

Meet The Love Of My Life: Liza

Hi. I'm Oliver. And this foxy little doggie is the doggie of my dreams.

Her name is Liza and she's one of the best things ever. I would spend every minute I could with Liza if Liza and her mom didn't move to Arizona. But since Liza moved to Arizona, we have one of those long distance relationships.

It's not ideal, but it's the best we can do for now. We can still sniff other dogs butts and stuff, but my heart will always be with Liza. (She's ten times as hot as the hot wheaten down the street. And she's not a snooty stuck-up prude. Liza's the bomb, seriously.)

Liza's mom is good friends with my mom. That's how we met. One day my mom's friend came over with Liza and the first thing Liza did was pee on the floor. It took a little while for Liza to warm up to me, but when she did it was one of my best days ever.

We ran and ran and ran around the yard--sniffing and jumping and another word that rhymes with jumping. Then Liza took the biggest dook ever. She was on a special diet of boiled chicken and pinto beans, and that caused her to take huge turds. I was super impressed, but kind of intimidated. I mean, it's a little emasculating when your girlfriend takes bigger dooks than you do. But I could run faster so I didn't feel like too much of a wussy. Still, those were seriously impressive dooks. And those dooks made me love her even more.

The sad part of my story is that Liza and her mom were attacked by another dog last week. Liza's mom is okay, but Liza suffered some pretty bad injuries. That's why she has to wear that stupid blue cone around her neck. I would've kicked that dog's ass myself, but that stupid dog has already been taken away by animal control. i don't know how anyone could hurt a sweet girl like Liza, but just the thought of it makes me want to shit in the shoes of that dog's owner. I'm not saying it's the owner's fault, just that when dogs do stuff like that it's usually because they've been abused or mistreated by their owners.

But I digress. I want this to be about Liza. Not about the stupid dog that hurt Liza. Even though that dog is a stupid dog. But it's not necessarily that dog's fault. Like I said, that dog could've come from an abusive situation. That's what many people don't understand. A dog attacks someone and is then euthanized (cool big word--yay me!), but the owner isn't investigated at all. And that owner can get another dog and be mean to that dog.

Damn it. I digressed again. Back to Liza.

Liza, Liza, Liza. I get a tickle in my tummy just thinking about her. I would do anything for Liza, it's just that she's in Arizona and there's not a lot I can do right now. Man that pisses me off. But sometimes anger is good. It inspires good ideas. Like what if you commented on my blog...wishing Liza and her mom a speedy recovery, or to have a nice day, or something nice like that? Then I'll have my mom forward the link to Liza's mom so Liza's mom can read all the "get well" messages to Liza. And Liza's mom will feel better and Liza will be back to taking super huge dooks in no time.

I don't have a lot of followers so if you want to put two comments so it looks like Liza and her mom have lots of people caring about them, that would be even better. But you put as many comments as you're comfortable with. I don't want to guilt you into too many comments.

Yay me! Yay Liza! And yay for the day I get reunited with the hot pooch of my dreams.

The end.

Ollie

The Only Good Thing About My Haircut

Hi. I'm Oliver. And the only good thing about me getting all my hair cut off is that it makes my wang look bigger.

Normally I have so much hair you can't even see my wang--unless you're really looking for it. But now that all my hair is gone, it totally stands out. But that's the only good part about me getting all my hair cut off.

When I have all my hair, I look thick, bulky and tough. Now I look like a spindly, little weenie dog (with a big wang). Even Bruce looks tougher and hairier than me. And no one's a bigger weenie than Bruce. (Bruce is my fox toy in the background.) My legs are long and skinny. My body is thin and petite. How am I going to impress the hot wheaten down the street when I look like a weenie-ass little runt?

I suppose I could strut down to Eunice's house and see if she still thinks I'm hot. Eunice is the old beagle down the street and my mom thinks I have a crush on Eunice. That's totally stupid. No one has a crush on Eunice. But my mom thinks I do. She even tells Eunice's mom that I have a crush on Eunice. But I don't.

If anything, Eunice has a crush me me.

Anyway, there's nothing like getting a little ego boost before I try and hit on the hot wheaten. It's like hitting on the pizza-faced chick at the bar so you can work on your pick-up lines before going over to the hot chick. Eunice isn't ugly, she's just old. And she always has goobers in her eyes.

I guess it's kind of mean to use Eunice like that, but with my stupid haircut, I need all the confidence I can get. And as long as Eunice lets me sniff her butt and doesn't run away or play hard-to-get, I'll be in pretty good shape.

There is another good thing about my haircut. It keeps me cool in the hot weather. It's hard to run when you're wearing a big hair coat. I get really hot and start panting really fast when I have to run with all that hair on. Now I'm super light and aerodynamic so I can run super super fast. Yay me!

Maybe my super fast running abilities will help me impress the hot wheaten down the street. That would be awesome. I love impressing the hot wheaten. I like impressing all the foxy bitches. Then again, I can't really do a lot of butt sniffing if I'm running all over the place.

Hmmm.

I think I'll beat up Bruce for a while and then take a nap and figure out my game plan. Stupid haircut. It's so stupid. Except for the big wang part. Not many dogs are known for having big wangs.

The end.

Ollie

Squirrels Make Me Not Listen To My Mom

Hi. I'm Oliver. This morning I went on a nice run with my mom. First we ran down our street. Then another street. Then along a path. And then into a park. I like the park. No one's usually in the park at 6 in the morning. So my mom takes off my leash and lets me run all by myself. I mean, I stay close to my mom. But if I want to veer off the path and sniff some stuff, I can. And then I just run my head off and catch up with her.

We run through the park a lot. Running through the park with my mom is one of the best things ever. Especially when I see squirrels in the park. When I see a squirrel in the park I chase the crap out of that squirrel. Sometimes I get confused and chase birds instead of squirrels, but as soon as I see they're birds, I stop chasing them.

Today there were a lot of squirrels in the park. I ran from tree to tree chasing squirrels. I was so tired and out of breath, but I still kept chasing the squirrels. Even when my mom told me to "Come here!" I kept chasing the squirrels. We were at that place in the park where she puts my leash back on and we head home. But I didn't want to go home. So I kept chasing the squirrels and pretended that I didn't hear her when she yelled, "Ollie! Come here!" even though I did.

I know I was being a "Bad Ollie," but I don't think my mom understands what happens when I see a fox or a squirrel. Years and years of evolution have trained me to wig out at foxes (and squirrels because they look like little foxes). I can't just stop what I'm doing when I'm in the middle of chasing a squirrel--or after I get done chasing a squirrel and my instincts are still flowing. That time is "Ollie Time" and I blame evolution and the squirrels for whatever happens during "Ollie Time."

Then again, I probably should've gone back to my mom when the squirrels disappeared into the trees instead of just sitting around sniffing stuff. But I didn't. Instead I acted like the stuff I was sniffing was super important so I could buy more time until another squirrel came along and I could chase it.

"Ollie! Here! Now!"

Those words snapped me out of it. You've probably never heard my mom when she means business, but when she gets to that point...all you want to do is make things better. She doesn't fly off the handle or turn into a wingnut, it's like she's had enough and is disappointed in me. And I hate it when she's disappointed in me. So I trotted back trying to look cute so she couldn't stay mad at me for too long.

I'm lucky I'm so cute. I get away with all kinds of stuff because I'm so cute. Including what happened this morning. I had to work at it, though. Once we got home I followed my mom everywhere. I even stayed in the bathroom while she cleaned herself in the shower. I usually look at squirrels when she's cleaning herself in the shower, but I had some wrongs to make right. So I stayed with my mom until she left. Then I just took my treat and didn't bark at the door like I usually do. I was a really good boy. I usually am. Unless there are squirrels involved.

Squirrels turn "Good Ollie" into "Bad Ollie."

The end.

Ollie