In Memory of My Wu-Wu

Our beloved basset hound Lucy had a stroke on Wednesday, June 1.  After spending a few days at the vet, she returned home to live her last week inside, which I'm sure might have been close to her version of heaven as she started her life with us inside.  Though she showed signs of improvement for a few days, she soon slipped farther into sickness and we had to make the tough choice on Friday to have her euthanized.  We miss her dearly :( 

Lucy aka Wu-Wu
Fall 2000 - June 2011

Frienemies

Phillip is evil, and Iris is annoying.

(My apologies for the dark lighting.)

Her Equivalent of Giving the Finger

Priss was ok with Iris visiting every afternoon with Grandmommy. But she draws the line at Miller, who she just met for the first time last week. Their meeting did not go well, though it was all her and no fault of Miller's. Following that encounter, she expressed her dislike via feces on the placemat that my mom keeps on the floor to put the dog bowls on. She repeated her act on my bare floor last night.

Gives a whole new meaning to "WHAT THE POOP?!?"

The Chronicles of Miller

"What I Did While My Dad Was In Japan Getting Engaged"
- An Essay by Miller

Dear Lt. Dad,

I am enjoying my time at Grandmommy and Big John's house like a yuppie grandkid/granddog should. Here is how I spend my days.

I participate in carpool:

(Just in case you couldn't tell, I'm sitting in Elliott's booster seat.)

I hang out with this freak:

And I get tied to a magazine rack all afternoon while Elliott scares me to death pretending he's Percy Jackson. Mim thinks what doesn't kill me from neurotic shock might eventually make me stronger.

Sometimes they make me pose for stupid pictures with the 4-pound-freak:


The best part of my day, though, is when GM & BJ or GM and Mim take me and the freak for a walk. I really forget my neuroses and remember I'm a dog.

Oh yeah, and I think maybe I don't love cats. Priss is mean.

ではまたすぐにね。!

Love,
Miller dog

Meet The Poopers

L to R: Ava, George and Lucy. Oh, and that's Molly in the 2nd row, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

This is the story of the dogs, in birth order.

Lucy: Full-blooded Basset Hound, born in late 2000. The first and last dog we will ever pay for. She was my birthday present the first year we were married (January 2001), yet Doug chose her from the litter. I tried to tell him she was a whiner. An emotionally smart dog who is otherwise very stupid (read as: patio pooper). Loves the Vet; of course, if you went to the Vet as much as she did early in her life, you would maybe like it too. Loves attention. Failed miserably as a house dog. Currently lives for the attention of the backyard neighbor who sweet talks her...and perhaps feeds her...through the loose board in the privacy fence.

Molly: Black mutt with hound capabilities aka howling. Poor Molly; Molly is my abused child. Showed up at the apartment (fall 2001? early winter 2002?) after some horrible person who knows where they are going to rot mistreated her. Lived her first 2 weeks with us under the couch. Lucy is her savior. I fear life for Molly if Lucy preceeds her in death. Sweetest dog ever. Would make a great house dog if she didn't follow in Lucy's stupidity. Likes me more than Doug. Has trouble trusting men. Hates electric fences. Neurotic.

George: Faux blue tick mutt. Also a howler. Came to us in the summer of 2002 shortly after we moved into our first house. I brought his mother home, a stray, knowing she was pregnant. Doug nearly killed me/divorced me. She had 3 pups: Bob, Little Girl and George. George was born with a face (and body) only a mother could love. He was white with 3 big black spots on his back. I used to show him off as my ugly puppy. We were very shocked when he changed color and became a faux blue tick. Doug gave the mother away. A couple of weeks later, AFTER treating them for mange which was not fun, he then took the puppies to the Co-op and gave them all away. I cried. A week later, George reappered at the Co-op. He got a permanent pass to stay at that point. Hater of cats.

Ava: Another dog whose appearance totally baffled us. As a puppy she looked like an Ewok. Cutest thing ever. She was a Doug weakness brought home from the Co-op. She then turned into a long haired cocker spaniel-ish mutt. Then we had her clipped the first time: faux schnauzer. The Vet has commented that she must have poodle in her due to her bitchy personality (paraphrase). She is full of doggy estrogen. She is engaged in a life-long battle with Lucy for dominance, and hates George.

We have both sworn that when these 4 dearly beloved four-legged fur babies pass, there will be no more. Dog quota filled for eternity. Or nearly.

And the Award for the Smartest Dog Goes to...George?

I know, I'm still stunned that the words "George" and "smartest" could be combined in the same phrase. For those of you who know him, you are still scratching your head because you realize George barely even made the canine designation in the classification system. Sweet as he can be, but not very bright. And whipped, oh how that poor lone male is dominated by 2 of the 3 females who cohabitate with him. So with the very cold night approaching yesterday, I made sure Doug got some wheat straw once and for all. At the old house we let them in the shed and put down either wheat straw or cedar shavings. At the new house there is an old greenhouse lean to on the shop that has been designated for them. Except they didn't get that memo. And they are not utilizing the 2 dog houses. What a bunch of weirdos. So Doug goes out there and spreads it out in their shelter and then calls them in. Lucy burrows through like a mole, then LEAVES. He picked Ava up and put her in there, and her uber bitchy self growled at him and ran out. Molly, naturally, watched all this from the safety of 5 feet away. But good ole George got in there and did the turnaround before bedding down in the warm wheat straw for the night. Alone. I think I heard him sigh and whisper "heaven."