Dog: I am a medium!

Cat: A medium what?

Dog: you know… a medium

Cat: no, you are NOT a medium. You’re so not psychic, you sometimes don’t seem to know when you need to pee until it’s an emergency.

Dog: no you don’t understand I got a medium

Me: She’s wearing a medium guide dog puppy vest.

Cat: Sheeeeeeet that thing is only a MEDIUM? How big is she gonna freakin’ get?!

Dog (giant sh*t eating grin): 44 pounds this morning. Medium.

Cat: Holy God.

Dog: doan worry, you will get your growth spurt too. Mommy says I’m in a twelve month growth spurt

Cat, dryly: I’m almost two years old. And eight pounds.

Dog: maybe you a late bloomer. Another dog was a late bloomer. She didn’t get her hots until she was 18 months old

Cat, alarmed, staring at me: Wait, WHAT? Her hots? What are… oh. My. God…. She went into heat? That beast isn’t fixed?!!

Me: Relax. She’s not allowed to play with boys any more.

Cat, getting hysterical: It could replicate?! You take that thing on WALKS! It could… it could…

Me: She’s on a leash, and she’s not in heat. Stop being so dramatic.

Cat: You realize a lab gave birth to 17 puppies?? AT ONCE?? Oh, my God. Oh, my GOD…

Dog: I no understand. I’m a puppy. I have 17 brudders and sisters? They said I was the only girly dog in a littler of six

Cat, less hysterical and more sarcastic: No, ding dong. YOU would have the puppies.

Dog: Where I get seventeen puppies? The guide dog placey-place no let me take puppies home

Cat: Oh, dear god. I’m going back to the shelter.

It barely broke freezing the other morning, and the back patio was a sheet of ice because the lawn was watered. Miss M is trained to go on concrete, and as per usual, she really needed to get busy when she went outside.

Upon galloping onto the impromptu rink, she executed a maneuver of which Baryshnikov would’ve been proud. It was a pirouette, followed by a triple Salchow, ending with a face plant. Sadly, she was penalized a point because she didn’t land the jump.

Feet splayed, she twirled like Bambi on the lake as she spun to the presentation’s final conclusion.

This morning, same thing. Only… she went outside, eyed the concrete with deep, deep suspicion and relieved under the counter (no ice). We did our usual routine – I took her back upstairs, showered and brought her downstairs for breakfast. Then, after feeding the cat, I donned the snacky-bag and headed to the door for her pre-walk widdle.

Staring me dead in the eye and glowering, she crouched on the doormat inside the slider and peed.

Well if that isn’t incentive to change the watering schedule, I don’t know what is. The back yard is a source of constant effort with the dog.

Well, to keep the dog off of the bank out back (and out of the honeysuckle, where she no longer gets stuck but has decided she rather likes digging…) we got a lightweight fence.

Lightweight, as in, gift wrap from the dollar store has greater tensile strength than this pipe-cleaner wanna be. However, we figured it would at least be a psychological barrier. If she wanted to power through the plastic gate we have in the great room, she could take that out with a swift kick.

First day… well, the first day wasn’t the best. Beloved decided to trim back part of the honeysuckle so we could shove the end-y bits in.

Then the hedge trimmer bit her.

So fortunately, it only trimmed the top of her right index finger, which, when bandage-less, looks like a rabid badger took a fancy to it. It looks thoroughly chewed.

“Hedge trimmer” sounds so… so… gentle somehow. (I snip little bits off my hedge to make it trim…. No. This bad boy is 4 feet long with a rotating chain saw that makes what Chucky wielded look like a plastic knife. It will take off your leg if you don’t pay attention.

It will stop itself when it gets too out of control, as we’ve had it slice through its own extension cord on three occasions. This thing is f’in’ scary.)

Anyway, the dog was like… oh, my GOD you smell DELICIOUS! I, however, was like… oh, my GOD is your hand still attached??

Not a big help from either one of us when you’re dripping blood.

So into the crate went Miss M (whad I do? Whad I do?) and off to urgent care went we.

So it took a while to install the “fence”. When we did get it in, the dog respected it… until… she got the zoomies. It must be eh, armpit height including the retaining wall.

The puppy went around the yard three times gaining speed at each pass then sailed over the top of the damn thing, ears flapping like the flying nun. I am SO pissed I didn’t get a photo.

I’m also annoyed at the 45 bucks spent on a useless stack of pseudo-fence.