Tag Archives: pet photos

Dear Diary … #dogs who #blog

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Dear Diary,

Hello. It is me, Charlie. Murphy. Charlie. Murphy. It is Murphy. I have some things to get off my beautiful, tufted, flaxen thoroughbred chest.

The rodent “dog” that has come to live with us thinks I am a cow. He is super stupid.

Ha ha. “Super stupid rodent.” I should be that for halloween.

He nips at my heels every moment I stand. Or walk. Or stand. Or breathe. He does not know how to walk. He only hops. That makes him a rabbit. I prefer to say “rodent” though.

here i am trying to get him off my leg on a ledge at the Great Falls park. i should have let him have a great fall. i missed my chance.

here i am trying to get him off my leg on a ledge at the Great Falls park. i should have let him have a great fall. i missed my chance.

I like to stand. Now I must sit all the time he is out of his cage, where he belongs forever, or snap and growl at him which I do not like to do because that is unbecoming for a dog of my lineage.

I am a golden retriever. We do not growl. Except at rodents and people who walk up to my front door and want to sell windowssidingroofdeckstrimguttersordoors to my lady. But rodents? We growl at rodents all the time. Like the one here they call Charlie who has come to not go away again.

If he is not nipping at me, he is trying to eat his own tail. He is so stupid.

The lady has started to snuggle with the rodent. That makes me sad inside. Then she gives me a pat and a long hug and some steak. Then it is not so bad.

The rodent does not get steak.

That makes me happy.

I have to go. The rodent is coming back from his time being outside watering the plants and making dirt. He does not do it outside very well. He thinks the inside is our outside. That is what comes from being born in a hole.

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Rodent, er, Charlie here.

I am now almost four months old. The lady put a box with a long tube on it against her face and pushed a button to get this image of me:

this is not bad hair.  what do YOU know?

this is not bad hair.
what do YOU know?

Do not listen to that big blonde. HE is the stupid one. We took the lady for a walk the other day. We showed her the giant birds that sit on the frozen water. Murphy said they are “stupid, no-good geese.”

they look good to me.

even far away near the top of this picture, they look good to me.

I am sad.

My image of the lady as perfect has been chewed up and left for someone else to pick up.

She told a lie to a strange man on our walk. First, she let him touch me; that was not so bad. Then she told the man that I am a “Cape Breton cheveaux mauvais” for a breed. The man said, “Oh.”

HE BELIEVED HER. SHE IS A SERPENT. HE IS STUPID TOO.

I overheard her talking to the tall boy a couple days ago. HE said that those words mean “bad hair” in French. Look at that picture of me again. Does that look like bad hair?

And what is Cape Breton but a very cold place where ‘bad hair’ is ok because people wear hats all the days??

far away from south carolina, which is where i am from.

far away from south carolina, which is where i am from.

She said her friend from high school (low school if you ask me) came up with “Cape Breton.” It is a place so far away that no one can say it is untrue because nothing lives there. How can it? It is not here.

Humans lie.

is a stuffed kong as good as freedom? i say no.

is a peanut butter -stuffed kong as good as freedom? i say no.

They make “going to the kennel!” sound very fun. They call me and say, “Come here, Charlie! Time to go kennel!” and they have treats and then they close the door and lock it. When I am finished with the treats, they are in bed. Or watching the pictures on the wall.

What happened there? I lost. That is what happened. I am cut off from the paper on the wall near the always cold water bowl in the small room; I am apart from the things with strings the humans wear on their feet. The lady wears the kind that are long and have fur inside them. I miss those the most when I am in my crate.

I am training them still though. When I go by the door they get up. Fast.

Living here is different than living in South Carolina where there were no rules. I have tried to reach out to Murphy. He is stuck up.

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he does not like my blonde jokes.

I love to decorate and arrange furniture. The humans do NOT know how to live.

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everyone should have a stuffed toy tied to a string to keep the doors closed. and a floor rug in a dog bed. this is how the world should live.

Nate Berkus better watch his back.

Nate Berkus better watch his back.

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here i am having a chat with my cat, Gandalf. I am reminding him how close the neighbor’s house is.

I am also an artist: That mark on the wall? It is a Charlie original. I was helping the lady catch the cat when she had a basket of clothes in her arms. She slipped off the bottom step and the collar she wears on one arm made that mark. I helped her do that.

This is me playing the piano. I was playing the same song again and again: “Chopsticks.” I hate that song. I wanted to play “He’s a Tramp.”

they say i am musical.

they say i am musical. here i am singing the blues.

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this is much better than a peanut butter -stuffed kong in a kennel.

I heard the man in the house yell something about snowmen and wanting winter to stop.

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this just about sums up how he felt.

But I like winter. I like to sit on the deck and stalk our cat.

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i am finally bigger than the cat. here i am encouraging him to go live with the neighbors.

If I can’t encourage him, the lady tries:

dancing cat.

Gandalf is our unhappy dancing cat. here is the lady wearing my favorite foot coverings with strings. this was before she told the lies about me being Canadian. Canadian… of all things. Socialists!

When I am not in my kennel, I am doing lots of things, most of them get the lady to sing out loud at me, “Nooooooo! Charrrrlieeeee!”

this is my hole. do you like it?

this is my hole. do you like it? what?

But even when it is quiet, and I am doing nothing wrong, I am afraid I am doing nothing right. Here I am watching TV with one of the humans.

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the small one and i like “30 Rock”; that Kenneth gets me every time.

Murphy told me a joke the other day and I tried to tell him one back. I laughed. He did not.

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high four. no? ok.

Because I run everywhere and slide into things, the lady thinks I am a “spaz.” I do not know what that means. I am just getting used to being Canadian. I am a puppy, and that sliding into things thing is normal for me. She gets it but she does not like it when I do this on our walks:

i do not see the problem. i am trying to tell her to relax, slow down a bit... STOP.

i do not see the problem. i am trying let her take in the moment.

Also, she will not let me have the goose food. Do you see that little piece of goose food on the ground? she keeps on calling it “LEAVE IT!” but we all know it is “EAT IT!”

So to stop me from getting her to rest on our walks and to keep the goose food where it is, for the gooses to eat, she got me a collar that a horse wears. I do not like it.

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Here I am hiding from the camera. I am ashamed. What has happened to me? I am a Canadian Horse. “Neigh… Eh.” I hate this collar. 

 

But the small one does not understand how stupid that collar is; so I have trained him to let me pull him wherever I want. Here in this picture, Murphy, the blonde, is trying to catch me laughing at me.

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the small one is my pet.

But the lady keeps putting that collar on me.

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get me out of this collar.

Bye. For now.

Charlie’s Story — 5: The Finalé “A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words” #photography #humanitarianism #heroes #dogs #rescue

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Here are some pictures from the rescue site, of Mini on her own the day before the reunion and of the reunion and the ride home.

If you’re just catching this post now and you haven’t read any of their story, please start here at “Something About Mini.”

This is Mini on Thursday Morning, January 2, safe and sound in Maryland, but definitely needing some nursing pups.

This is Mini on Thursday Morning, January 2, safe and sound in Maryland, but definitely needing some nursing pups. (I said I wasn’t going to say anything in this post, but I have to say this. Call me a weirdo, but Mini looks distracted here. If you compare her to the later images after her pups’ rescue, she just seems … content later.)

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Ahhh! Charlie and Tip.

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Charlie and Tip preparing for the ride home in a nice warm jacket. They look so tired and dare I anthropomorphize again and suggest: relieved??

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All Dogs In The Caaaaar! Annnnd, they’re out. I think that’s Charlie’s butt on the far right, I can see some of his brown wool.

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Um. Yeah. This is where they were lived and from where they were rescued. Here’s me… I’m thinking while I’m imagining this story, and before seeing these images, “trailer” “ramshackle” “dilapidated” and “fixer-upper.” It never occurred to me that upon the countless properties I’ve driven past in my lifetime which resemble this image, that anything, six anythings in fact, could be living in them. This whole thing brings a new perspective to me.

Roof, anyone?

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Believe it or not, this is a different view. All this cozy homesteading can be yours for the low, low price of … your soul.

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Over here, we have a lovely al fresco dining nook, complete with convenient trash depository area. When I saw these pictures, all I thought was “crack den” and feared “loose needles…”
Amy … Michele … holy canoli. You are heroes!

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Amy captioned this one, “The beginning of the tunnel under the foundation.” I think this is where she started digging. With her bare hands. At night. In 28˚ and falling temps.

this is where they were found. this is the hole Amy dug.

this is where they were found. this is the hole Amy dug.

Amy is a photographer. These next pics are so lovely. This is the ease I was suggesting earlier in Mini’s disposition.

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Amy and Michele — I remain speechless and humbled by your commitment. Thank you Thank you Thank you.

Several readers have asked me if the dogs have all been placed. Yes. All the dogs have been placed. Everyone’s heart just grew that much bigger…

Thank you.

ps — all of these images are copyright of and appear courtesy of Amy Santiago, (c) 2014.

Ode to Kitty – a #poem

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I need a little break from Brené at the moment. That post earlier today kicked my ass.

My cat is a wanderer. Of fifty feet. My neighbors have an unfortunate habit of letting him “sneak in” because he’s just so adorable.

He’s our cat. He was there a week this time. She swears they’re not feeding him and I believe her, but someone is because the feeling I get from the face he gives me when I now >plink! plink! plink!< the kibble into his little metal bowl is:

"no you didn't."  (c) farm4.staticflickr.com

“no you didn’t.” he says when the kibble drops. “o yes i did,” i say as i drop one more.
(c) farm4.staticflickr.com

So he leaves. And goes straight to my neighbor’s front door. They are lovely people. They used to have a cat and dog, so they’re pet friendly. They also swear they’re not feeding him. But a week goes by and he ain’t eatin’ here (see pic above to assure you), and he looks:

like this.

like this.

I’m sorry, that wasn’t any good…

gah.

gah.

Wait, this… 

see?

see?

Gak! no, this…

there. there's the money shot.

yikes. where’s the football? there’s the money shot. just really bad lighting. but imagine it’s good lighting.

I don’t blame him. His sister is mean to him; she growls and hisses at him. He’s very mellow, she’s a bit uptight.

Murphy tries to mount him or put him in his mouth from time to time, “I dunno, Ma, is he a sex toy or a food?” he queries.

The kids are loud here and when he goes over there, it’s like a spa. Candles are glowing, the hum of the fridge is the only sound, maybe a ticking clock in the distant background…

Shit, maybe I should go over there. So instead of going to yoga today, I wrote a poem.

So I present unto you this (and I can’t stop thinking in verse now):

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ode to kitty:

dear prodigal kitty with your eyes green and pretty
you’d been missing a week, it was hard.

upon a neighbor’s couch microfiber
you fancied yourself suburban tiger
while the boy who adores
fear’d you’d gone very far.

it’s not your fault that you wandered
it’s the rules you had squandered
when the call of wet food and low noise cast their allure

your sister did not miss you,
she threw no mauls nor she hiss’d you
but we blame our daft neighbors, we endure

for it was their move to keep you
safe and warm and “not feed” you
which we believed not a beat when t’was uttered

what did you dine on?
while your boys they did pine on
was your kibble so moist and well buttered?

. . .

“i don’t want a new pet; can do without hassle”
she said as Dad swept you away, flying dutch
“then why days if no hassle, yet over here! in your castle?”
he asked with your big bod in his clutch

she urged protestations
continued on manifestations
of neither her blame
her account, nor respons’bil’ity

his response: “ ’tis the rules of the ‘hood
neither bad, neither good
t’which we adhere and that keep civility:

do not take in other’s kitties
not on farms, burgs or cities
when their home is scant paw-steps away”

of it he regaled as he walked in our door,
“t’was nothing real, it all, just a bore
she cried ’twas not my touch! do not blame me for such!’
gah! ears tire for she protested too much.”

stay home here big gray kitty
do not go in that door
which she widely holds open and claims you sneak in
we all know far better,
it’s their food that is wetter
which you eat far too much to be thin.

he loves it when we hold him. see? he just sinks right in.

he loves it when we hold him. see? he just sinks right in.

thank you.