Posts Tagged: dogs

The Sleepover is OVER!

I think Bixby and Rupert have had enough together time for this visit. What do you think?







I think the party’s over. I can’t judge. I’ve seen a few family get togethers end pretty much this way. I guess that makes it official. Bixby is more like real family than foster! Look out Christmas. Here we come!

A Rupert By Any Other Name Would Smell Like Pee

imageI think I’ve said it before, but shaking a fist at the Universe and proclaiming, “I will never…,” is usually the quickest way to get the Universe to sit up and take notice of you. Don’t ever do it. It pisses the Universe off. No matter what the Universe might be working on at that precise moment, it will stop to remind you just who’s in charge. Spoiler alert: IT’S NOT YOU!

Just a week or so ago, when slapped in the face by my rapid decent into crazy pet lady status, I shook my fist and shouted to the heavens, “I will not write about my animals again for a LOONG, LOONG time!”

I am duly chastised, Universe.

A while back a friend of mine asked if it upsets me when dogs we foster, and who we name, are re-named by their new families after being adopted. She suggested the topic would make a great post. I thought it was a great question, but I wasn’t sure there was a post in it. Recently, however, I was inspired while walking Rupert. Dog pee inspired me. Don’t judge. I’ll explain in due course.

The answer to the question, by the way, is no – and yes.

I’m human. I love my fosters. I don’t give them super stupid names that I hate. I give them awesomely amazing names that I can’t imagine anyone wanting to change. On the other hand, when you make the commitment to love, cherish, provide for, protect, honor, and, one day hold a dog in your arms as it breathes its last breath, you earn the right and deserve the honor of naming that animal. It’s pretty simple, really.

How does this apply to Rupert? Well, Ed wanted to call a dog – any dog – Rupert from the day we decided to try fostering. He tried to name or, in Buddy’s case, re-name, every dog that came through our door Rupert. Not particularly fond of the name, I resisted. So, when I plucked a scraggly, ugly little Chihuahua off the street a couple of months ago, I let Ed call him Rupert. The truth is I didn’t want to waste the name Norman, the next name on my list of awesomely cute dog names, on that particular dog. Sad and shallow, but true. It never crossed my mind THAT would be the dog we ended up keeping! [This is an example of Karma and the Universe working together to teach me a lesson. Note to self: The Universe knows when you’re being a sneaky, little bitch. It has Karma’s number on speed dial.]

I don’t want to turn Ed into some kind of saintly figure, mostly because I have to live with him after I post this, but he does have his moments. When we decided Ru was staying, Ed offered to let me change his name. Pretty amazing, huh? Ed FINALLY got to call a dog Rupert, a name he obviously loved, but he was willing let me change it because he knew I didn’t really like the name. Well, I’m shallow and sneaky and bitchy, BUT I play by the rules. When Ed agreed to keep Rupert, he made the commitment that gave him the right to name our dog. Rupert it was and Rupert is stayed.

And how does all this apply to pee? Well, Rupert is all of about 6 inches tall. It’s an unfortunate fact of anatomy that makes it nearly impossible for him to pee without getting it all over himself. He just can’t help it. So, when I was walking Rupert the other night it hit me. It doesn’t really matter what our dog’s name is because [wait for it]…

a Rupert by any other name would smell like pee.



My Cat’s a Stoner and It’s Probably My Fault

If you don’t know us personally; if you just look at the pictures on Facebook and Instagram; if you just read the stories I’ve written on Begin in the Middle; you might think Rupert is our first and only pet. Rupert is, in fact, NUMBER TWO PET in this house, although he will never admit it. As much as I love my stupid Chihuahua, I am, in my heart of hearts, a crazy cat lady – always have been and always will be.

Meet my first love, Little Bit, whose name was not ironic once upon a time. This is the smartest, funniest, most loving cat I’ve ever known. No lie. No exaggeration. Truth.

Exhibit A

Bit and Her Pot of Nip

It occurred to me today that Rupert gets an awful lot of attention in real life and just about everywhere else. He’s cute and his antics are funny and all, but Little Bit deserves the spotlight from time to time, too. Rupert’s shtick is still new to us. It’s easy for Bit to get lost in the commotion. She’s old, tired, and would rather sit in the sun with her face in a pot of catnip than supplying me with fodder for my blog, as Rupert so obligingly does.


Leave Me Alone. I'm 14 yrs old, dammit! I need my catnip!

Leave Me Alone. I’m 14 yrs old, dammit! I need my catnip!

In her prime, Bit was every inch as much a character as Rupert is today. I could have written a hundred stories about her and our now dearly departed cat, Shiner. (Yes. I named a cat after beer – THE BEST BEER EVER!)

Little Bit and Shiner Bock

Little Bit and Shiner Bock

That’s the deal, though, it’s easy to be the center of attention when you’re spunky and cute, when you’re young and peppy. Then crappy old father time marches on and blah, blah, blah…. If there’s a point to this story, other than to let you know I have a stoner kitty I love so much I grow her her own stash…. nah…. I think that’s pretty much the point. I LOVE YOU, BIT!

The Upside of Explosive Diarrhea and a Shout Out to a Place We Like

If you like our Facebook page and see our status updates on your feed or if you follow me on Twitter, you most likely already know that our boy, Rupert, was really sick last night. (If you don’t follow us, you should probably start immediately so you don’t miss important stuff like this. Just sayin’…)

Rupert’s illness was sudden and really scary. In fact, for a while, I thought he was dying and I was, of course, appropriately hysterical, which made the whole situation much more dramatic. Here’s how it all played out.

I’ve been battling a migraine on and off since Saturday. Yesterday was particularly hideous. I ran out of my migraine medicine early in the morning, leaving me with only prescription strength Aleve and a leather strap to bite for pain relief. I left work a little after noon and by 12:45 I was tucked up in bed with Rupert and Little Bit doing their best to nurse me back to health.

Having my sweet babies comfort me and keep me company is always great; however, just like human kiddos, pets require care and attention no matter how rotten you feel. So, every hour or so, I scraped myself out of bed and the three of us made our way outside for a potty break. In mid-afternoon, I noticed Little Bit had killed a salamander and left it by the back door. Yay! Presents! Nothing says, “Get Well Soon!” like a rotting corpse on your doorstep. Dead things are always gross, but when your head is pounding and your brain feels like it’s oozing out your ears, you’ll do just about anything to avoid dealing with it. So, I pretended like I didn’t see it – until Ed got home. Then (feigning surprise) I was like, “Oh, crap! Look! Little Bit killed a lizard thing and ate it’s back legs! I don’t even know what this thing is! It’s right outside the door and there are flies circling it! Holy sh^&! I can’t pick that up, Ed. My head’s killing me. You need to do it.”

Later, when I let the animals outside again, I noticed the dead thing was gone. Naturally, I assumed Ed had picked it up. Well, you know what they say, “When you assume, you make and ass out of you and me. Oh, and your Chihuahua gets explosive diarrhea!” You guessed it. Rupert saved Ed the trouble of picking up the rotting salamander by gobbling it all up! I hope it tasted good going down because that salamander had the last laugh!

I don’t know if salamanders are poisonous, as our neighbor informed me knowingly when we spoke earlier tonight, or if it was because it sat out in the hot sun for hours before Rupert decided he needed a snack, but the consequences of eating it were dire. Ru not only puked like he’d been doing keg stands all night, but, as the title suggests, there was the added bonus of EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA. Imagine, if you will, the horror of watching jet-propelled nuclear waste-infused rocket fuel shoot out of your 4 pound dog’s butt – AT 1 A.M. – when you have a migraine! WORSE THAN ANY HORROR MOVIE EVER! I’m sure it was pretty rough on Rupert, too.

Right about now you may be wondering about the “upside” mentioned in the title. We found a great vet! After Pet WebMDing Rupert’s symptoms at 2 a.m. (Yes, there is such a thing.), it was pretty clear he needed to see a doctor. I ended up taking Ru over to Bingle Veterinary Clinic, conveniently located in our wonderful neighborhood of Spring Branch, bright and early this morning. I cannot recommend Bingle Vet highly enough. The clinic, itself, is brand new and state of the art. Everything is shiny, high-tech, and CLEAN. (I believe I’ve mentioned before how important the clean thing is to me.) More importantly, the staff and the vet, Dr. Tesh, were amazing. You’ve got to love a vet who walks in, says hi, then cuddles your sick dog to his chest saying, “We’re going to be friends, Rupert, because I’m going to take care of you.” Rupert and I both think he’s the best! Even better, 2 shots and some suspension drops later, Rupert is on the mend. In fact, he spent the last 40 minutes rearranging his treasures and humping his stuffed Eeyore. After an eventful 24 hours, things at the Golemon house are getting back to normal.