Pensive Lucy

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Somedays a bulldog just wants to look out the window, watch the world go by.


It's good if it's raining then.



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I am trying out a new fitness plan. Twenty hours of sleeping and one hour of enforced activity with the other dogs.



It was not my idea, I can tell you.


*

Now, if you'll forgive me, my mom is making elevensies. Which means there will be fried egg whites waiting for me.


So later for you. I got something to attend to.



***

Who, me?

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The indignities never end.

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Okay, one thing is, they keep giving me baths. Which is humiliating enough. Except for the drying off part, which I have to admit is the goddamn cat's pajamas. But then they've been putting some nasty-ass flea medicine on me, which smells like the worst thing in the world times about a brazilian. And worse yet, this freaking neem oil shit that just smells like ass.

And not in a good way.

*

Right now I'm in trouble because of another smell. Which is what. I don't know. It smells like a hundred thousand dead cows and there is some dead chicken in there, and also dead moles and some fish, smelt maybe, and I think a couple of old dead people, too. Plus some whale bones and elephant carcasses.

Bone meal. Blood meal. 

They put it all over the goddamn garden!

It smells like a freakin' slaughterhouse!

*

In a good way.

*

So, I got in there a little bit. Put my face in there. Right in there. Shit, I wanted to climb in and roll around, get it rubbed in to every square inch of me.

But a lady has to maintain a certain level of respectability.

So I just rooted around like a little piggie with my snout.

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MMMMM!

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Now I ain't allowed out no more.

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I ask you, where's the justice?

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And, yes. It's time for another bath.

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Bath. Blech.

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And another thing. What's with this bath bullshit? 

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I mean, a girl finally gets herself smellin' good and they gotta come around and ruin it. 

Not to mention the indignity of it all.

Really.

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But there is a good part: getting dried off! 

Now you're talking!

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Mother,

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Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

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You are the best one.

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Let me tell you about my Mom. She always knows exactly what I'm thinking- what I need in the way of fresh water, more food, walkies, bathroom...you name it, she knows even before I do that I want that thing.

We have ESPN or something. She can read my tiny mind.

*

I like to sit on her when she knits. 

Maybe rest a paw on her thigh.

Sigh.

*

Thanks for being my Mom.

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Lying Liars and the Lies They Tell

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Okay, lookit. If I tell you I haven't been fed, 

then I haven't been fed, goddamnit.

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Those other dogs? Laying about, acting like their bellies are full? Napping in the sunshine on the back deck?

Fucking liars.

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I ain't been fed yet.

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It's a good thing for me I speak a little Puerto Rican. THE WOMAN always listens when I throw down a little bit of "Aye, Senora, tengo muy hambre."

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"Ese hombre no me dio ningun cualquier cosa comer."

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No estoy mentiendo.

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Pet The Ass

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Look, it's pretty simple. I don't know why I have to spell it out for you every time I see you, but you can be a little dense at times, so here it is again:


"Pet The Ass Part"


You want to squeeze my face? Kiss me? Grab my jowls and shake my head back and forth? Fine. No problemo.

Just do me a solid, man. Pet the ass.

*

You see me out there on the porch, rubbin' my butt on the bricks, on the sidewalk, on the welcome mat, on the chaise lounge and under the chairs, you gotta know I need that butt part rubbed.


It's not optional.

*


I'm just sayin, is all.



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Lookit Me

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THE MAN did this picture of me.

I think it makes me look fat.

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And in need of botox.

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Dumb Ass

***

That's Dumb Ass. 

AKA Cash. Cassius Clay. Retard. Nervous little poodle. 

The list goes on.

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If there is anything at all going on, Dumb Ass is the last to know about it. Feeding time, walkies, nappies, whatever. 

Day late and a dollar short.

He's a good kid, though. 

He does like to play. 

*

He usually hurts himself and breaks something. Then limps around howling and barking and half wagging his little stumpy tail and trying to grin, like "Oh, it's nothing. I'm okay. Did you see that big old table right there? Man, I had no idea it was that hard. Am I bleeding?"

What do you do with a dog like that?

*

Half the time he barks, he got no idea. 

Just likes the sound of it, I guess.

*

He's just the thing, though, when you need somebody to go to the beach with, or run in the mud with, or someone to bite. I can latch onto those jowls and he'll drag me around the backyard for hours.

I like him alright. 

Not his fault he's dumb as a box of hammers.

*

So, that's the crew. Me and Raj and Cash. The three amigos. 

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Rajah

This is Raj.

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Don't let her fool you. 

She is a wild animal.

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Man, all you gotta do is try to get just a little bite of food from her bowl, and she goes apeshit.

She'll bite you. 

Hard.

*

It's good to have her around though, because she fulfills a lot of the real dog duties that come up. Late night barking, chasing deer, raccoons, opossum, the neighbors, man, she digs that shit. Which is cool, cause that means I can keep chillin' on the sofa and I don't have to worry some nutjob is gonna come up in the house and rob it.

Not with that bitch outside they won't.

*

Every few days, man, she takes off. Gone all night. No idea where she goes. 

But she always comes back with the goods.

Chicken leg. T-bone. Bag of dead fish. Every bowl of catfood left out in a two mile radius.

She the bomb.

*

Don't fuck with her, though.

I'm serious man. 

You'll draw back a stump.

*

Going Outside

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One of the good things is this whole going outside endeavor. There are many, many ways of going outside, some of which are better than others. There is short walkies, which is just down to the post office and back. Sometimes, this is plenty. Especially if it is hot or sunny outside. You can boss around some old people on the sidewalks, or threaten a golden retriever stuck in a parked car, and you can go into Bob & Jans and get a little doggie treat, and still get home in time for All My Children or Anthony Bordain and not be too damn tired. 

But sometimes a bulldog just needs to cut loose, and this is what Lone Palm or Secret Beach are good for. You have to take the boxer or it gets kind of boring, but with him it is just lots of fun. There is chasing, and biting, and threatening, and bullying, and running after, and cutting off from the path, and chasing into the surf, and not letting out of the surf....there is just a hell of a lot of fun stuff to do.

There are elephant seals. There are egrets. There are cormorants. There are squirrels. There is seaweed. There is sand. There are flies. There are big waves and small waves. Tidepools. Sticks. Ticks! 

The fun never ends.

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The main thing is you have to have a lot of water in the truck for after. I mean, a lot.

*

Then when you get home it is bath time. And then nap time. 

Like, for, eighteen hours.

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Ah, me. Life is good when you are a bulldog.

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Places to Sleep

When you sleep eighteen to twenty hours a day, it's pretty important to have your bedding choices nailed down. I happen to know a couple of dogs that live in the back yard, and they lie around in the dirt, or on cold, hard bricks, or damp and smelly nasty old dog beds, and that just isn't going to cut the mustard for this little bulldog.

No siree.


What I have managed to throw together is

1. My own leather arm chair.

2. My own sweet and freshly laundered dog bed, next to item #1 above.

3. My own large and deeply cushioned espresso-colored leather sofa. (This, I admit, I have to share with THE WOMAN and THE MAN and sometimes with THE GIRL. But late at night this baby is all mine.)

4. A recent addition, THE GIRL'S bed.


5. The bed THE MAN and THE WOMAN sleep in is off-limits. This is a bone of contention. Not between them, but between me and them.



Item #1, the leather chair, is mostly for serious do-not-fuck-with-me sleep. Esp. if I have my back to the room or my face tucked between my paws and scrunched into the seat cushion. I prefer to wake up in the morning in this chair as it affords the best view into the kitchen and lets me know immediately what's going on in there. The chair is also very low-slung, which is perfect for me when I'm really sleepy and don't have the energy to engage in a serious climb.

The only real draw-back to the chair is that THE GIRL will kick me out of it if THE MAN and THE WOMAN are on the sofa. THE GIRL is merciless and cruel in this regard and will brook no opposition. I then must either try to finagle a spot on the sofa between THE MAN and THE WOMAN, or I have to opt for my own bed. Which I settle into with a grumpy demeanor.

And then quickly fall asleep.


Item the second, my own bed, is mostly for lying in while I chew things. My chew toy sometimes, but my own self mostly. The bed is small and snug and not at all slippery, so I can really root around and snuffle and lick and rub and chew and lick and chew and chew and chew and chew.

And then nap.

Also it is good as a rest spot if I am tired from hard-core sleeping on the leather chair. I can hop down from there, settle into the bed, and take a little light nap to take the edge off.

Oh, and in the afternoon a little patch of sunlight falls on it and this is good for afternoon nappies.


Item #3, the sofa, is mostly for getting pet, esp. in the evening when THE MAN comes home from work and watches television. THE WOMAN sits and watches television, too, but she prefers to knit, which reduces her usefulness to me as her hands are occupied. Luckily, THE MAN doesn't have any hobbies that interfere with petting.

But occasionally the sofa is really, really good for late night deep sleep that involves hiding. I am mostly the same color as the sofa, and if I get in between the cushions I can settle down and be damn near invisible. It looks like somebody left a white sock on the sofa is all.

From time to time I'll also sleep on the ottoman. This is the "Hot-dog" or "Sausage" Nap. Front and rear legs tucked under, head down and straight forward. This kind of napping requires a certain Zen state of mind and is not intended for the novice sleeper as any movement at all will disrupt the nap and result in severe grumpiness.

As far as the fourth option, THE GIRL'S bed, I'm not going to say.


Some things are privrate.


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Fin.

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Getting Pet

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Getting pet is, in the long run, what it is all about. Many, many dogs go about it in a typical, doglike fashion- begging, jumping, whining, spastic and pathetic pleas for some attention from THE MAN or THE WOMAN. 

Let me tell you, they've got it all wrong.

Getting petted is an art. You must make THE MAN and THE WOMAN want to pet you, to make them think it is their idea. One must never, never make an overt ploy for attention, for love, for the rubbing and scratching of the butt part. 

No, one must let the desire develop in the mind and soul of THE MAN and THE WOMAN.

Here is how it is done:

1. While they are watching television, pick a particularly tender moment, then put all of your attention on the tiny screen. Pretend to watch with rapt attention. 

Trust me, this drives them wild.

2. While they are oohing and ah-ing, toss them a sweet over-the-shoulder gaze. This will send them over the edge.

3. When they start patting their laps and banging on the sofa for you to come over and sit with them, look back at the television. 

4. Sigh.

5. Slowly, regretfully, make your way over to the sofa.

6. Wait patiently at the foot of the sofa until they pick you up.

7. Under no circumstances are you to leap onto the sofa yourself. This will ruin everything.

8. Once ensconced between THE MAN and THE WOMAN, play them off of each other until they are both petting you.

9. With both hands.

10. And kissing you.

11. This is getting pet.

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Walkies

One of the important things is walkies. There are a lot of things to do when its time for walkies, so it is not to be entered into lightly. If they are both home that means it is a weekend and that means the East/West ranch but first things first.

If I decide that it is a good day for it, I will send out my thought waves to them. They are sweet people, but not very bright, so sometimes it takes them a while to realize what they are supposed to do. Eventually THE MAN will pick up the leash. He'll act all surprised that I'm ready to go, like going walkies was his idea, then he'll try to put the leash on me. 

There are certain rules:

1. The chain must not touch any part of my face. This is important.

2. That's pretty much the only rule about that.

Now my work really starts. I have to go out the back door and get Cash ready to go. Usually I do this by letting him know that I am going walkies now and that if he knows what's good for him he'll get ready to go too. 

Which sends him into a fit, the poor animal. Leaping, drooling, barking.

Like some kind of a dog. 

Which, I suppose, he is. So I can cut him a little slack there.

Next I have to MAKE SURE HE GOES IN THE BACK and NOT INSIDE THE CAB. Once this has been settled, I can sit in the back seat and THE MAN and THE WOMAN can drive me to the ranch. 

This part is pretty exciting, I have to admit. That boxer hangs out over the side and drools and his big jowls flap about in the wind, but I am more restrained about things. Sometimes a little noise might escape from me, but for the most part I am quite grown up about the car ride.

Once we're at the ranch, I have to be very quick. As soon as THE MAN opens his door, I must leap out of the back seat and fling myself through the doorway before he can even get out. If this works, I immediately head to the back of the pickup and MAKE SURE THE BOXER IS RESTRAINED. 

When the man takes the boxer out of the truck, I CHARGE HIM AND BITE HIS JOWLS! This is important to do, because the boxer needs to be brought down a peg or two, and this is the only thing he understands, the poor dear.

Now THE WOMAN ruins everything and runs the lead under my belly and between my legs so I CAN'T PROPERLY RUN. I tolerate this humiliation until we get off the road and onto the path that leads out to the broad plain that overlooks the ocean far below. I demand to be let off my lead, and then it's OFF TO THE RACES! 

PEE!

POOP!

BITE THE BOXER'S JOWLS!

GET IN HIS WAY!

KNOCK HIM DOWN!

PEE!

BITE HIM AGAIN!

RUN BACK TO THE WOMAN!

this basically continues until I lose consciousness and they have to carry me back home.

*

Then I'm all puckered out.

**

This is walkies.

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Sundays

First, get up and go outside. Sniff Rajah's bowl and sniff Cash's bowl and then sniff their butts and sit in the sun and rub my butt on the doormat. 

Think about things for a minute.

Look at a bird.

Think about going potty.

Turn my face to the sun and rest.

When the time is right, go to the backyard and make poop and pee.

Then come back and scratch my ass some more.

Sit and think about things.

Go to the back door and wait.

Think about things and wait.

When they finally let me in, get in my bed in a patch of sunshine and take a nap.

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this is the morning.

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Welcome to Bulldog Wisdom

This is my blog. Here you will find out all about me. The most interesting bulldog in the world. 

No, really. 

I am.