Tag Archives: dogs

When You Lie Down With Dogs…

When I fantasize about taking a nap, I like to picture my favorite furry friend, or three, with me. They are cozy and cuddly with a touch of lazy, so they would seem to be perfect partners in sleep.

But, I’ve found that when trying to snuggle up with my pups, naps are anything but relaxing.

I love sleep. I always have. My mom said I used to put myself down for a nap until I was five. Now that I have two very active children, naps are pretty much nonexistent.

When You Lie Down With Dogs | Ponies and Martinis

Tiny. Doesn’t she look like a great sleep partner? It’s all lies!

But, every once in a great while, at the time of a great solstice, when the planets are in harmony, and I perform an intricate dance ritual, I get to take a nap.

Oh, it’s glorious.

I approach my bed reverently, and slipping in between the sheets, I rest my head upon a soft cottony cloud, releasing a sigh of pure happiness.

Then, I hear it. A persistent scratch at the bedroom door. It swings open and seconds later I feel the weight of three small dogs as they leap on my bed.

You’d think they’d settle down and enjoy a little cuddle, because my dogs are magnetically attracted to anyone in repose. You would be wrong.

First, Tiny rucks up the covers, making a little bed for herself. Drawing them toward her chest, kicking them back, she twirls around and flops into a tight ball.

Closing my eyes… I drift off… and…. *slurp* *slurp* *slurp.* Twilight, my filth-hating canine, cannot stand the stench emanating from Sparkles’ ears and commences a thorough scrub of her floppy sound receptacles. While I appreciate her dedication to cleanliness, I really just want to take a nap.

Tiny doesn’t want to miss any of the licking action, so she sneaks her way up to my arm and licks my armpit. Shoving her away, I roll over and cover myself with the blankets. Nudging at the covers, the little ninja slips in and starts to lick my face. To thwart her, I throw a pillow over my head. I can’t breathe, but I am going to nap anyway, dammit.

Slowly suffocating, but still napping, I feel something slamming against my thighs and I hear the soft warbles of play growling. Seriously? Chewbacca, aka Sparkles, wants to fight. I am about to throw down if I can’t have a nap, but I don’t think that is what Sparkles had in mind.

I growl back at Sparkles and she settles down. The nap has to happen now, right? No.

Something has drawn their attention, and the wee devils for whom I have boundless love begin to bark. Is it a leaf? Perhaps a squirrel has trespassed in our backyard. Or, maybe a mouse living in my wall farted, disturbing them. Who knows. I really don’t care. I am losing precious seconds of somnolence.

Giving them my best Mom glare, they FINALLY settle down and fall asleep. I join them, slipping languidly into the most spectacular sleep. Gliding through my dreams, I find myself on a desert island, feeling the hot sun on my face. I wake in a sweat and wonder what happened.

The source of the inferno is obvious. I am covered by a blanket made out of dogs, warming my entire body more effectively than any electric blanket ever could. While I appreciate the love, I am not a fan of boob sweat, and these dogs are making me sweat from my boobs, armpits and ladyland unmentionables.

Shucking off my canine companions, I stretch and bask in the afterglow. Licks, barks, sweat and all, I HAD A NAP. Awww yeah.

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My Dog Ate My Daughter’s Poop

My Dog Ate My Daughter's Poop | Ponies and Martinis

The Offending Canine

Weekends. They are a time to live the good life by enjoying exploits at the Home Depot and making tough decisions like what toppings to get on the pizza.

They are not a time for fecal follies.

Once my kids left the explosive diarrhea and sodden diaper phase of their life, I thought I had most toilet traumas behind me. While it’s true that I cannot go a day without flushing the evacuations of my daughter’s bladder, my days are otherwise free of bodily fluids.

I was getting too soft with this cozy situation and my daughter could sense my weakness, sniffing it out with the precision of a lioness hunting a gazelle.

She went in for the kill this weekend.

I was heading into the living room when I saw the entryway was blocked off by two boxes, with my daughter on one side and the dogs on the other.

Me: So… what’s with the boxes?

The Girl (pointing to the couch): My poop fell out and Sparkles ate it.

Me: Wait. You pooped on the couch? And Sparkles are your poop?

The Girl (laughing hysterically): No! I didn’t poop on the couch!

Me: Sparkles pooped on the couch? And ate it?

Girl: No! Poop fell out of my butt, I stepped on it, and when I wiped it off, Sparkles ate it.

Me: On the couch?

Girl: Mooooom! You’re not listening.

Right. Because it’s so very clear what has happened.

Girl: I was pooping, IN THE BATHROOM…

She throws an exaggerated eye roll in my direction, and continues.

Girl: … and I didn’t want anyone to see me. So, I waddled over to shut the door and my poop fell out.

Me: You were walking around with your pants down? And poop in your butt? Why?

Girl: I didn’t want anyone to see me!

Of course. Makes sense.

Girl: The poop fell out, and I stepped in it.

I realize as she’s talking, that her feet are resting on the coffee table. The same feet that have stepped in her own waste. I am willing to bet her tootsies were not washed after she pranced in the poop. Therefore, my coffee table is now enveloped by fecal matter.

Girl: I wiped the poop off my foot…

Wiped? Did she wash her hands afterward? Probably not. Ugh. What has she touched?

Girl: … and then Sparkles ran in…. AND ATE IT! IT’S SO GROSS! UGH! She can’t be here if she’s eating poop!

I tuned out her continuing narrative, and began a mental triage of the situation.

I need to clean her feet, the coffee table, the path from the bathroom to the table, every surface everywhere. Oh, hell. I’m going to burn the house down and start over. I’ll never be rid of the poop.

Half a tub of clorox wipes later, I was no longer crawling out of my skin, trying to escape an all-encompassing feculence.  I also gave Sparkles more than a few snacks to clean the crap out of her teeth. I really couldn’t even look at her until I had. It was too disgusting.

Moral of the story my friends: Never poop without shutting the door first, and if you have to get up, make sure there is no poop in your butt or a dog will swoop in and eat it.

Good talk.

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Dreaming of Becoming a Dog

I have been sitting on a couch, staring at this blank screen, trying to come up with something to write. My ever faithful companions, Tiny, Twilight, and Sparkles are right by my side supporting me, but not doing a very good job of suggesting writing topics.

Or, maybe they are a font of information and I am just too ignorant to understand them.

As Twilight drapes herself on my shoulders, Tiny nibbles on a bone by my knees, and Sparkles cleans the ears of her sisters, I start to feel a little jealous. Seriously, how great would it be to live like a dog?

The three amigos

The three amigos

When you’re a dog, you sleep as much as you want. Tired? Take a nap. Bored? Take a nap. It’s Tuesday at 2 PM? Take a nap. I LOVE naps. Even when I was little, and most kids were giving up the afternoon siesta, I held on to mine with a death grip. I have no idea why my kids give up theirs so quickly. You’d think if they had even an ounce of my great respect for slumber, they would still be napping and sleeping in later than 7 AM.

People cuddle you and rub your belly. The little dog, Tiny, will stop what she’s doing, flop on her back, and roll around like a worm on concrete until you scratch her tummy. When you do, her eyes close and that tiny pink tongue of hers slowly works its way in and out of her mouth. That is pure joy. Now, I don’t know if I want people rubbing my belly, but I love a good back rub. When someone works out the knots in my shoulders, I am riding a cloud of bliss straight to Happy Town. I don’t stick my tongue out… well, maybe I do. I really don’t know.

No matter what you do, people will forgive you. My pups have demolished shoes, ingested at least a 64-pack of crayons, released all manner of stinky things from both ends of their body in my home and still I love them. The most I say to them is, “Puppies! Bad dogs!” Imagine if you could run through someone’s house, break whatever you wanted and pee on their living room floor, and all they would say to you is, “No, thank you.” You would be able to work through all manner of things. Your boss makes you mad? Poop on his desk. What can he do? Swat your nose with a newspaper? Yeah, it’s good to be a dog.

You can poop and someone else cleans it up. My dogs poop all over the yard, be it rainbows, rope, or just straight up feces, and I clean it up without fail. Every week, I fill up a plastic bag full of doggie droppings. As a side note, were you aware that if you leave poop outside, it gets moldy? Yup. Moldy poop. And I pick it up. I also scrub toilets, spritz Lysol on all the pee my son deposits outside of the toilet, flushes everything my daughter leaves behind and never complain. Okay, there’s a little complaining. But wouldn’t it be awesome if I pooped and someone else cleaned it up? Someone else had to scoop, spray, and flush? I’d be living the dream if that happened.

So, you see, the dog life is pretty sweet. One day, I’d like to live like a dog. Maybe not the pooping outside part. I mean, I can poop in the toilet and still have someone else clean it up, right? Is that acceptable in faux dog land? Well, even if it isn’t, I think I could be convinced to do otherwise if I get time for napping and back rubs.

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You Want My Kids to Play With What?

I always keep my eyes open for new games or toys for the kids, and I have noticed a disturbing trend in what’s out there. Apparently, toy and game makers want my kids to play with poop.

Yes, poop. That disgusting, foul, corn-laden beast that haunts parents everywhere.

Here’s a sample of what I found:

1. Have Barbie pick up her dog’s poop. You feed the dog biscuits and it poops out brown tic tacs. I can barely get the kids to feed the dogs let alone clean up after them. With my luck it wouldn’t make my kids scoop poop, it would lead them to believe poop is like a tic tac and they’d eat it.

Barbie and Taffy

Barbie, Taffy, and her turds. The dog’s. Not Barbie’s.

2. Laughing Japanese Poop. It’s poop that laughs and dances. Since when does poop have a face? And when does that appear? Is there a giant piece of poo smiling away in my body right now? It’s just creepy.

3. Doggie Doo. The point of the game is to feed the dog, listen to it fart and then after it poops, you clean it up. And apparently, what comes out is runny, stinky, putty. Yes! Let’s all play with poop. And then we can rub it all over the walls and revel in the poopiness of it all.

See the yellow poop? Not only is the dog pooping, but it's also diseased.

See the yellow poop? Not only is the dog pooping, but it’s also diseased.

4. Dogs and cats can get in on this too, because who says humans should have all the fun? For our furry little friends there are toys for them shaped like poop. My dogs already eat an obscene amount of poop; theirs, the cat’s, random poo outside. Do I really want to train them to think of poop as a toy? They’ll start chewing it on the couch and asking me to throw it for them. No thank you.

Poop toys. For dogs. Ugh.

Poop toys. For dogs. Ugh.

5. Poopsy pets, the one toy in the mix that purports to be an educational one. It comes with a girl and her pet unicorn. You shove poop into the unicorn’s gullet and then sparkly, twinkly turds pop out the back. Does the education come from teaching kids that unicorns are real, or that poop comes out as a rainbow? Because, I don’t find either to be particularly true. Unless it’s the dogs’ poop after they eat a box of crayons. That stuff is rainbow-riffic.

The small balls are sparkly, unicorn poop. Fun!

The small balls are sparkly, unicorn poop. Fun!

6. A squishy poop toy. Having a bad day? Angry at your boss? Squeeze the shit out of your stress, literally. Yes, nothing relaxes me more than having a giant turd in my hand. It’s why I love changing diapers and wiping my kids’ butts. Oh, wait. Poop makes me gag. I have no urge to squeeze it. Does anyone?

Relieve your stress with this playful poop.

Relieve your stress with this playful poop.

7. Plushy poop and toilet paper. Yes, let’s give our poop a hug. It’s so naturally cuddly. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Poop as plush. It just makes sense.

So sweet! Just like poop was meant to be!

So sweet! Just like poop was meant to be!

Sadly, I found other varieties of poop. Honestly, what does it say about our society that people buy these things? Are we getting dumber every day? Or, am I giving too much of a shit about shit? It’s a question for the ages, really.

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Why My Dog Is Wearing a Dress

My dog is the most stylish in all of Ohio, and it’s the only reason she’s alive today.

This weekend, my daughter was supposed to be cleaning her room. I let the smallest canine in our home, Tiny, help her clean. That means, I used the dog as a carrot so she would actually clean her room as long as Tiny was there.

Tiny, model dog

Tiny, in her rockstar dress

She emerged with a short time later with a very full backpack, and straining under the weight, she started to make her way downstairs. Realizing Tiny was not with her, I started toward her room to release the pup from her dungeon. She has a tendency to lock Tiny in whatever room she plans on returning to so she always has Tiny with her. It’s sweet, really. Well, mostly.

I have found Tiny placed high upon a shelf, with pillow and blanket. There was no way for her to jump down unless she wanted to break her leg. My daughter honestly thought Tiny would enjoy this bed she made with her, and she did actually seem content. She snuggled up on her pillow and fell asleep.

Another time, she was in the closet, locked in before my daughter headed off to school. I could only imagine what would happen if Tiny were locked in the closet all day. Ariel shoes would be chewed, pullups would be soiled, and dresses would be used for blankets. It would have caused tears and chaos for everyone involved.

Sometimes, I do wonder about the size of this pup’s brain. She puts up with so much. When I adopted Tiny, I was told that she was “the runt of the litter.” I didn’t think that meant anything more than she was a little smaller than her siblings. I also adopted Tiny’s sister, now named Twilight. In the year since I adopted the girls, they have grown and flourished. Twilight has also grown to be two times the size of Tiny.

Runt is not an exaggeration. Tiny is roughly the size of a chihuahua and Twilight is more like a rat terrier or small Labrador. When I look at Tiny’s skull, it doesn’t look like it could hold more than a walnut. But she also has the biggest heart. She is a sucker for belly rubs and snuggles. A pure soul if there ever was one.

Now, back to the past weekend. My daughter very eagerly stopped me before I could get to her room. Given the history with my daughter and putting Tiny in compromising positions, I immediately asked, “What is in the backpack?” I took it from her, and felt its great weight. Unzipping it,  Tiny’s head popped out, probably grateful for the fresh air. She was wearing a dress, one of my daughter’s Cinderella dresses.

This is another thing about my daughter. She LOVES dress up. She loves to dress herself, me, and anyone else who comes across her path. Obviously, it would include Tiny. While Tiny does make a smashing Cinderella, she does not fit well into one of my daughter’s dresses.

My daughter explained that she stuffed Tiny into her backpack so she couldn’t escape and shake off the dress. In order to protect my sweet little dog from being stuffed into another backpack, or any other bag, I very impulsively promised my daughter that we could buy Tiny a dress that was just her size.

That afternoon we headed off to PetSmart and found the perfect dress for her; a grey tulle number designed by Bret Michaels. Yes, that Bret Michaels. I don’t know how it happened either, but whatever. Tiny looks good. She rocks that dress all over the place. She’s probably just happy to be alive.

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Brilliance, Interrupted

I sat down to write a fresh blog today. I imagined writing something that would be amusing, touching and entertaining. Something that would delight the masses. Or at least the three people who read my blog (Hi, friends!). That did not happen.

Every time my butt hit the seat, something else demanded my attention. First, a dog wanted to sit in my lap. Since she is the size of a chinchilla and has the saddest, most soulful eyes, I can’t say no. So, I pause and get her settled. Then the other dog wants me to throw her ball for her. And you can’t ignore her either, because she drops the ball on your lap, staring at you intently. If you ignore her, she will bore into your skull with her eye lasers. Not wanting to ruin any part of my pretty little puss, I oblige. Then, when I throw said ball, it causes the little one to shift, and then she looks up at me with hurtful eyes because, in her mind, we were having a nice, quiet, snuggly moment and I RUINED it by throwing the ball. How could I be so cruel, her chocolatey eyes say. How could I?

I get the little one settled, and then I completely lose my train of thought. I do not have one funny, insightful topic in my head. I rack my brain for something I can write about. I start to reach for a thought when… my husband needs something. Holy hell. Why can’t this man find anything? It’s not like I put things in odd places so he can’t find them. Keys? Hanging up where they usually are. Gloves? In the basket with all of the other gloves, scarves and random ass crap that I happen to toss in there.

Then, I spot a weird dinosaur squirt gun. Seriously, why is that thing in there? It’s creepy. You have to wrap your hands around his nether-regions to squirt the water. I don’t get it. Maybe I’ll take five minutes and clean out the basket. Of course, I find too small gloves, summer hats and dog hair.

I find dog hair everywhere! I swear I clean my house, but gnomes come in the middle of the night, rip fur off my dogs and sprinkle it all over the bloody house. The probably also bring dog poop inside and deposit on my carpets. I’m always finding a dried up turd wherever I go. Or, if it isn’t gnomes, it’s probably my kids pooping in a corner and laughing their heads off when I have to clean it up.

OK. Dogs happy, husband gone, dog hair vacuumed, poop picked up… and I’m ready to be brilliant. Here comes something interesting…

And my husband calls while running errands. Can I…..? And would I also…? Sweet baby Jesus. He better come home with wine and a funny story for me to blog about. If not, I’ll be forced to write about sorting gloves or I’ll start taking pictures of dog hair tumbleweeds. No one wants it to come to that.

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