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.


Ollie

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.


Ollie

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.


Ollie

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.


Ollie

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