Thursday, May 19, 2011

Stupid Piece of Ass-phalt

Hi. I'm Oliver. And I got a stupid piece of asphalt stuck in my foot. That's why I spelled "ass-phalt" with an "ass." That little piece of asphalt was a big meanie for getting stuck in my foot. So I called it an "ass." (NOTE: The above photo is a re-enactment of the ass-phalt that was in my foot. My mom left the real ass-fault at the vet doctor's office so I don't have it any more. But it looked a lot like the little dot in that photo.)

It all happened a few weeks ago. I would've written about it sooner, but I needed to let my foot heal before I could type again. There's still a little mark on my pad, but my foot doesn't hurt anymore. And I can jump around and run really fast, just like I used to.

Anyway, I was out running with my mom and I stepped on something sharp. I didn't know what it was so I kept running. By the time we got home, it was hurting more so I started licking my foot and all of a sudden it started bleeding all over the place. All over the floor, all over the couch and all over my mom's new bed spread from Anthropologie.

My mom saw the blood and got really sad. She didn't even yell at me for getting my blood all over her new bed spread. (And I know she really likes that bed spread. It's got pretty flowers on it and everything) Right away she sat me on the couch and looked at my foot. It didn't even look like a cut at the time, but the blood proved that there was a cut there. So my mom washed off my foot and wrapped it up in some gauze and weird purple sport tape. Then she covered up the gauze and purple sport tape with a pink baby sock and more purple sport tape.

Pink and purple bandages? All I can say is I looked like a total weenie even though the bandages made my foot feel better. (See below.)

That pink sock is pretty embarrassing, but all the blood makes me look like a tough guy so I guess it evens out. And just to prove I'm not a weenie, I chewed the heck out of my fox toy, Bruce. You can't see it in the picture, but right after that picture was taken I chewed him, shook him and tore that shit up. That's me. "Mean And Tough" Ollie.

Anyway. Back to my story.

My foot felt better initially, but the next day I could hardly walk on it. My mom kept looking at my foot and couldn't see anything wrong with it. But she knew something was wrong with it by the way I was limping around. Then my mom got really scared. It's super cute when she gets scared about me. Her eyes get super big, she hugs me a lot and I get a lot of treats. She knows that treats won't make my a foot any better, but I like them and she needs to appease her feelings of guilt and helplessness.

I could've been really pathetic-looking and got even more treats, but those treats make me gassy and I didn't want stinky dog farts to keep her from wanting to hug and spoil me. I'm smart. I know how to work the treat system. The hug-giving system too.

After a few days of me limping around without any signs of a real owie, my mom took me to the vet doctor. Even the vet doctor couldn't see anything wrong with my foot except for a tiny, little mark that seemed harmless. Next thing I know I'm off to the x-ray machine and on doggie sedatives. Ahh. Doggie sedatives. I don't like being in the back room at the vet doctor, but it's a lot better with doggie sedatives.

When the vet doctor showed my x-rays, we found the problem. There, in the middle of my foot, was a little piece of something. It turned out to be that ass-phalt, but we didn't know what it was at the time. The vet doctor gave my mom different treatment options and my mom decided the doctor should perform a little doggie operation and remove that thing in my foot. She didn't like that idea, but it seemed like the best way for me to get my foot better. (At the time, I didn't give a crap what my mom decided to do. I was having a blast spacing out on all those doggie sedatives.)

The next morning, I was back at the vet doctor. (And early too. Sheesh.) The vet doctor liked me so much that she prolonged her vacation and came in to do the doggie operation on my foot. (Now that shows dedication. Not many vet doctors have dedication like that. My vet doctor is a really nice lady.) After my operation, I was pretty doped up on doggie sedatives again. I pretty much just chilled out and slept until I was ready to go home. My foot hurt a little, but my vet doctor put a nice bandage on it so it was really soft and easy to walk on. I think I love my vet doctor.

I was pissed at my mom, though. She made me wear a satellite on my head. Then she even posted this picture on her Facebook. How embarrassing.

Today, I'm as good as new. My bandages are off. My energy is up. And I get a piece of cheese with every antibiotic I have to take. Yay me. I love cheese. I get chicken treats too because I have to take my antibiotics with food and sometimes I don't eat the dry stuff.

This whole foot owie thing, I'm totally working it to get all kinds of treats and attention. Don't tell my mom because I don't want her to stop spoiling me. I know this won't last forever–my foot will get better, I won't need any more antibiotics–but I might as well take advantage of this opportunity. To prove my point, I'll wrap things up with a picture. A picture of me in bed, totally happy and spoiled.

The end.


Friday, April 15, 2011

My Mom's Starting To Get Pissed About My Farts

Hi. I'm Oliver. I'm a really good dog, but my mom's not too happy about my farts. I don't know what the big deal is, I like the smell of farts. But I guess that's because I'm a dog. Humans seem to get irritated or embarrassed about farts. Especially when they just torpedo out unexpectedly.

The irony here is that my mom's the reason I get so many farts. Not her specifically, but the dried chicken treats she gives me and my new dog food that's supposed to help with my joints--they both make my back side really windy. 

It's like I'm just sitting there, looking out the window and all of a sudden a fart flies out--completely not on purpose. The next thing I know, my mom's doing that half yelling, half whining thing and her arms are flailing and waving around.

You'd think she was getting attacked by a big-ass swarm of bees. But no. It's just a fart. 

When I was a little guy, I used to turn around and bark at my butt when I farted. (That, of course, made my mom laugh.) But farts don't freak me out any more. In fact, sometimes I think they're kind of fun. Like if my mom's trying to cozy up next her Jim on the couch, I do my best to sneak a one out.

"Wait for it. Wait for it." And then the smell hits them like a dump truck as I chuckle under my dog breath. I suppose that's not very nice of me, but my mom getting mad at my farts when I can't help it (most of the time) isn't very nice either. Maybe she should reconsider what she feeds me. Then again, I'd be pretty bummed if she stopped giving me my dried chicken treats. I love dried chicken treats. 

My mom tried to give me a dried sweet potato version of my dried chicken treats and that was a total mistake. First of all, sweet potatoes do not taste like chicken. Secondly, my mom hated the way they smelled and wouldn't let me near her if I was eating one. I always have to be near my mom when I'm eating. 

Eating and my mom are some of the best things ever. And I have to experience them simultaneously. For instance, I won't eat my food all day so I can eat it with her when she gets home. Not eating a single nugget out of my food bowl? That's a pretty big deal for a dog. 

Anyway, giving me a vegetable substitute did not help matters. The dried sweet potato treats made me toot just as much as the dried chicken treats. And they smelled like stinky fish. I don't know why a sweet potato would smell like a fish, but it does. At least mine do. 

The only other alternative is no chicken treats at all and that would suck. Royally. I would totally give up my joint-health dog food before my chicken strips, but that's probably not an option. I need to eat that joint food so I don't get the arthritis. Getting the arthritis would be as bad as not getting any chicken treats. 

I guess my mom will just have to get used to my farts. And I'll just have to get used the fact that my farts are really annoying and could even put a chasm between me and my dried chicken treats. In the mean time, I'll just rely on my cuteness. My cuteness can totally help make up for my gas. I just look at my mom, tilt my head and she melts. And then she yells at me for farting.

The end.


Friday, February 18, 2011

Some HOT Bitches Were At My House

Hi. I'm Oliver. And a few nights ago, my mom had some HOT women over. I don't have a picture of my reaction, but if there was one, it would look like that picture up there. My eyes were super wide and my tongue was hanging out because those ladies were HOT. 

Those ladies were my mom's work friends and (not to be redundant) they were super HOT. I mean, I've always loved the ladies, but these women were perfect. Perfect belly scratches, perfect head rubs, perfect laps for me to sit in. The whole experience taught me a lot, too.

For instance, now I know why my mom goes into the office sometimes. I'd leave me too if there were a bunch of HOT bitches involved. Nothing is better than a bunch of HOT bitches. (To help clarify, the word "bitch" isn't a bad word for dogs, it just means "female." So don't think I'm being disrespectful by using that word. That word is only bad if you're a human.) 

Anyway, back to my point of understanding why my mom has to go into the office. It's really about the hot bitches. Of course, I don't want to encourage anyone to leave anyone, especially for 8-10 hours--that's a really long time. But at least I understand my mom's motivation for going to the office. I'd go see the HOT bitches too if my mom would let me, but I'm not very good at sitting still and minding my own business when I'm at my mom's work office. 

I get all distracted by all the new stuff and smells and HOT ladies going, "Awwww. Your dog is so cute. Can I pet him?" I have no idea why they ask to pet me because my response is always, "Rub my belly! Rub my belly! Rub my belly! Rub my belly! Rub my belly! Rub my belly! Rub my belly!" I'm up and down and up and down like I'm on a pogo stick. That's how excited I get when HOT ladies ask if they can rub my belly.

Anyway, back to the HOT bitches that were at my house a few days ago. They were really nice. And HOT. And they laughed a lot so they must be pretty funny too. I don't know what was so funny, but they sure did laugh a lot. And I didn't even let it make me feel stupid or self conscious. A lot of dogs would feel self conscious about HOT bitches laughing at stuff. But I'm super confident and don't let little things like that get to me. The only thing that gets to me is when a HOT wheaten acts all aloof and won't let me sniff her butt. Now THAT's humiliating. 

But these ladies were all really nice. And HOT. So I hope they come over again soon. I really want them to come over again. And if they have any nice HOT wheatens to bring over too, well, that would be freakin' awesome. 

The end.


Monday, February 14, 2011

It's Really Slippery Outside

Hi. I'm Oliver. I'm really athletic and agile, but today it's really slippery outside. It's so slippery outside that even if you were a polar bear you'd still wipe out when your mom let you out to go pee and you got sidetracked by a squirrel.

That's why I put that picture of the polar bear up there. You know he felt dumb when he wiped out in front of all his neighbors. It's embarrassing when you wipe out in front of other furry, little creatures. Especially squirrels. They laugh at you even though you could bite them in two. Lucky for them, it's icy outside. And the animals that are higher on the food chain can't run very fast when it's icy outside. Not even polar bears. Not even me.

It's so icy that my mom wiped out this morning too. She went out to get the paper and fell right on her ass. KABLAMO! I felt bad for her though. She was in her bare feet and got a big cut on her big toe. It was bleeding everywhere and swelled up because she jammed her big toe too. I wanted to help her, but I stayed out of the way and didn't try to lick her toe even though I wanted to lick her toe. Licking always makes me feel better--that's why I lick my feet all the time. But my mom doesn't like it when I lick her. I still try to lick her, but this time I didn't. 

After she cleaned herself in the shower, my mom got out a big bandaid and some gauze and some ointment and fixed up her big toe. I think she should have to wear that big lampshade on her head too (like I do when I get hurt), but apparently humans don't have to wear those things. I tried to convince her, but she doesn't understand "dog" so my barking was moot.

Of course, my mom still went to work even though she should've stayed home with me to make sure I wasn't too upset over her trauma. I'm not, but she doesn't know that. For all she knows, I could be crying and crying and crying--wondering if her big toe is okay--but I'm not. Nope. No worrying or carrying on for this guy. I mean, I am concerned, but I've got mailmans and squirrels and bunnies and neighbors and dogs and squirrels to bark at. (I said squirrels twice. They get double the barks.) Besides, if the bitch decided to go to work with an injured big toe, that's her problem.

(By "bitch" I mean "woman" as in a generic female. Bitch isn't a bad word when you're a dog even though it sounds like a bad word. Another word that sounds bad, but isn't is the word "suffrage." It's about the right to vote, but it doesn't sound fun at all. Women really like that word, especially women who were around in 1920.)

Lucky for my mom, no one saw (or laughed at) her when she fell. It looked pretty funny, but her foot was so bloody and bruised that you'd have to be a real A-HOLE to laugh at that. There are a lot of guys who are big A-HOLES, but I'm not one of them. I didn't even try to lick or sniff her foot because I knew that would make her mad. And when your big toe really hurts, you don't need anything else to make mad.

Yep, my mom's lucky. It could've been a lot worse. She could've fallen and broken her ego. A bunch of hot firemen could've been cruising by when it happened. Or squirrels. Squirrels who were finally starting to caution themselves, but then everything changed because of one dog's dorky-ass fall on the icy sidewalk. 

Stupid squirrels all safe in their trees.

But I'm sure my mom's fine. And in 4 hours, 53 minutes and 44, 43, 42 seconds, she'll be home to prove it to me. Oh, and if you're a robber, don't even think about coming over and taking advantage of the empty household. I'm here. And I know how to bite you in the nuts. I had nuts once so I know how much it hurts when someone messes with your nuts. The alarm's here too. And so are the police if anyone breaks in and sets off the motion detectors.

I don't really need an alarm, I'm pretty bad-ass. But just in case I need some backup, I've got the alarm. Yay me! And yay for my mom who didn't even cry when she hurt her foot this morning. She said a few cuss words, but she didn't cry. Maybe some day i'll learn how to work the video camera or just my mom's cell phone video camera and capture her falls on film. (Even a klutzy-ass polar bear on ice skates could operate one of those cell phone video cameras.)

Oh, and happy Valentine's Day too. Valentine's Day is pretty stupid, but sometimes my mom gives me special treats so I'm encouraging the good karma. 

The end. Happy Valentine's Day! The end.


Thursday, February 10, 2011

I'm In A Movie!

Hi. I'm Oliver. If you haven't heard from me in a while, it's not you. It's me. Really. I've been super busy since my last post. I was even in a movie. That picture of me is a screen-grab of me in the movie. I'm being a good boy in the movie. My mom asked me to "sit" so I did. The movie isn't all about me, but I'm in it.

You can't go see my movie in the theater with popcorn and a diet coke. Nope. It's not playing in real movie theaters. Or at any film festivals in Canada. The only way to see my movie is if you go to my mom's work, which is a really boring place for dogs. I went there once after I got my teeth cleaned at the veterinarian place and it was really stupid. My mom's work doesn't have any toys (like Bruce, my fox toy). And all the food is people food. Seriously. Not one dried chicken treat. Grrrr.

Anyway, back to my movie. The movie is all about my mom's work department and the stuff they do at work. That's why they only play it at my mom's work. It'll be on my mom's work web site too, but for now it's only showing at my mom's work. It's my first time in a movie, but I did such a good job in the movie that I hope some big casting agent will see it and ask me to be in more movies. (That can happen when your movie's on the world wide web.)

Or maybe a big film director will see it--you know how they're always checking out indie films to find the next big undiscovered talent. That's why I'm really excited for my movie to be on the world wide web. Anyone can look at it whenever they want. Even in the middle of the night.

It's a really good movie too. Everyone loves the movie. It's over 2 minutes long and I'm up on the big screen for like 10 whole seconds. That's a lot of seconds for a 2 minute movie, especially when they have to show all 25 people in the creative department. Not everyone got as much screen time as me. And no one got as many "he's so cute!"s. There's another doggie in the movie too, but he lives in Costa Rica. And he's union talent. As if he needs to be in an actor's union. What a dick.

Of course, I've been busy doing other things besides my movie. Like barking at squirrels, barking at the shovel, barking at the vacuum cleaner, barking at the broom, barking at the dustbuster, barking at other dogs, barking at the mop and barking at lots of other stuff. The only thing I didn't get to bark at was all the people at my mom's 40th birthday party. That night I had to go to my grammie's house. LAME. 

I'll be writing more soon, though. With spring just around the corner and all sorts of squirrels to chase, I'll have plenty to report. Yay me! And yay you for still reading my blog. If I were reading a blog where the person (or dog) didn't post anything for 5 months, I'd give them the finger. So thanks for sticking with me.

The end.