I've been busy. As my popularity has (understandably) grown, I keep getting more and more texts, tweets and Facebook messages from fellow pups asking for advice. Being the good Samaritan that I am, I will share my advice with the world. You're welcome.
Welcome to another installment of free advice from Yours Truly.
Dear Flash,
My mom cut all my hair yesterday… ALL… except you know where. But, I look like a teen now and don’t feel the respect from the other dogs I meet in the street … I feel naked and it stresses me… what can I do ??
Pop
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Dear Pop,
It's best if you can find a dark, quiet room without windows, and stay there until your hair grows back. If you don’t have such a room, then make sure to close all window shades so the other dogs in the neighborhood don’t see you like this.
If it’s impossible for you to stay inside, do not, I repeat, do not walk outside unless you are covered up. If you don’t heed this warning, you will be ridiculed by every dog you know…even the ones you think are your friends.
What your mother did to you is heinous but nobody ever said life is fair. Just make sure to keep your internet connection up and let me know how it’s going. Needless to say, turn the web-cam off for now.
Good luck,
Flash
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Dear Flash,
Is the moon really made out of cheese?
Mickey
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Dear Mickey,
Although I suspect you may not be a canine, I will respond nonetheless.
For centuries it was believed the moon was made out of cheese, green cheese to be exact. Of course people, who weren’t very bright, believed this. Dogs knew it was really made out of something not food related.
Let’s face it; if it were made of cheese, every dog on the planet would have been jumping towards the moon every night to get a taste of the stuff.
Anyway, it was a disappointed Neil Armstrong, landing on the moon with his cheese fondue set, that confirmed the moon is really made of rock.
Sorry to disappoint.
-Flash
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Dear Flash,
If a woodchuck could chuck wood, how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Chuck
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Dear Chuck,
I don’t deal in hypotheticals. Woodchucks can’t chuck wood. Therefore the real answer is no wood would be chucked.
-Flash
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Okay bassets, listen up!
Dear Flash & Lulu,
Listen up. I like my sleep. Particularly when I have back-to-back days of getting up at 4:45 am and getting home at 8 pm. The barking, running around and scratching at my door starting after midnight and carrying on into the wee hours of the morning is not acceptable. Perhaps you got into the Old Man's whiskey and were flying high, or perhaps the corn dog I brought you home after my ride last night was laced with heroin, but whatever the case it needs to stop before I turn into super-bitch and send you packing back to Helping Hands Basset Rescue, or better yet, to Aunt Becky's.
Also, just so you are aware, when I got up at 4:45 AM (again) this morning, I did not want the first thing I saw to be this:
If you insist on continuing to gut the green couch, the least you can do is clean up your mess.
Hugs and kisses,
Your Mom
************************************************************************************
Dear Mom,
If I've told you once, I've told you twice. That couch is the devil. We will not stop until we've taken it down.
Slobber and beautiful poop sculptures,
FLASH
Listen up. I like my sleep. Particularly when I have back-to-back days of getting up at 4:45 am and getting home at 8 pm. The barking, running around and scratching at my door starting after midnight and carrying on into the wee hours of the morning is not acceptable. Perhaps you got into the Old Man's whiskey and were flying high, or perhaps the corn dog I brought you home after my ride last night was laced with heroin, but whatever the case it needs to stop before I turn into super-bitch and send you packing back to Helping Hands Basset Rescue, or better yet, to Aunt Becky's.
Also, just so you are aware, when I got up at 4:45 AM (again) this morning, I did not want the first thing I saw to be this:
If you insist on continuing to gut the green couch, the least you can do is clean up your mess.Hugs and kisses,
Your Mom
************************************************************************************
Dear Mom,
If I've told you once, I've told you twice. That couch is the devil. We will not stop until we've taken it down.
Slobber and beautiful poop sculptures,
FLASH
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Wordless Wednesday: Basset Hounds Take on the Playground
We have a playground in our neighborhood. I've been begging Mom and the Old Man to take us there, and they kept saying "No, Flash, the playground is for children!" I tried to tell them that I am a child, even if I am like 14 in dog years. Finally, though, they acquiesced. Here are some pictures from our adventure.
Mom is a horrible photographer, but here I am going down the slide.
I tried to go back up the slide, but unfortunately the force of gravity would not let me.
Here I am getting ready to go down the slide.
Lulu was too much of a scaredy-dog to go down it.
Lulu was too much of a scaredy-dog to go down it.
Mom is a horrible photographer, but here I am going down the slide.I tried to go back up the slide, but unfortunately the force of gravity would not let me.Tuesday, May 25, 2010
A Gassy Situation
So I had to go the vet the other day for an embarrassing situation. Here’s exactly what happened…
“So what’s the problem, Flash?” the vet asked.
“I’ve been farting a lot. I mean I fart all the time,” I tell him.
He just nods, encouraging me to talk some more.
So I continue, “Luckily, my farts don’t stink and you can’t hear them. It’s just that I can’t stop it. Look, we’ve been talking here for about 10 minutes and I’ve farted five times. You didn’t hear them and you didn’t smell them, did you?”
He just says, “Hmmm,” and then picks up his pad and writes out a prescription.
What a relief, someone that can help me with my problem!
So I say, “Thanks doc. This prescription, it’s going to clear up my farts, right?”
“Well, no,” he said, “the prescription is to clear your sinuses. Next week I want you back here for a hearing test.”
my mom says like father, like son.
“So what’s the problem, Flash?” the vet asked.
“I’ve been farting a lot. I mean I fart all the time,” I tell him.
He just nods, encouraging me to talk some more.
So I continue, “Luckily, my farts don’t stink and you can’t hear them. It’s just that I can’t stop it. Look, we’ve been talking here for about 10 minutes and I’ve farted five times. You didn’t hear them and you didn’t smell them, did you?”
He just says, “Hmmm,” and then picks up his pad and writes out a prescription.
What a relief, someone that can help me with my problem!
So I say, “Thanks doc. This prescription, it’s going to clear up my farts, right?”
“Well, no,” he said, “the prescription is to clear your sinuses. Next week I want you back here for a hearing test.”
my mom says like father, like son.
Monday, May 24, 2010
A Bright Idea
My mother is a candle freak.
No, I mean it. She lights candles in every room of the house, presumably for the smell. She must be heavily invested in Yankee Candle stock.
One thing’s for sure, she doesn’t light them to get my old man in a romantic mood. Heck, to him a night of romance is eating a rack of bbq ribs, watching the Rangers, and farting under the covers.
His repertoire lacks lit candles. You’ll find nothing flickering in the bedroom, or around the bath tub, or in between my bowl of water and kibble. I guess it’s just not in his DNA to create a loving mood.
I’ll tell you this, if my mother ever wants to get me in the right mood, she just has to light a candle like the one in this MyFox Atlanta story.
No, I mean it. She lights candles in every room of the house, presumably for the smell. She must be heavily invested in Yankee Candle stock.
One thing’s for sure, she doesn’t light them to get my old man in a romantic mood. Heck, to him a night of romance is eating a rack of bbq ribs, watching the Rangers, and farting under the covers.
His repertoire lacks lit candles. You’ll find nothing flickering in the bedroom, or around the bath tub, or in between my bowl of water and kibble. I guess it’s just not in his DNA to create a loving mood.
I’ll tell you this, if my mother ever wants to get me in the right mood, she just has to light a candle like the one in this MyFox Atlanta story.
White Castle, which markets itself as America’s first burger chain, sold out of its slider-scented charity candles online just two days after posting them, it emerged Friday.
The cult-favorite fast food joint still had some of its “steam-grilled-on-a-bed-of-onions-scented candles” available in-store, but supplies of the beefy delights are going fast. The candle features the chain’s logo and is designed to resemble the signature cardboard sleeve of White Castle’s burgers.
“It’s the ultimate gift for Castle lovers everywhere,” Jamie Richardson, vice president of corporate relations, said of the $10 candles.
“White Castle fans from around the country have responded so enthusiastically that our online inventory sold out in record time. Best of all, net proceeds from all candle sales will be donated to Autism Speaks.”
White Castle teamed up with the “queen of home fragrances” Laura Slatkin, founder of Nest Fragrances, to develop the candle. Slatkin sits on the board of Autism Speaks.
“When I think of truly superior aromas, I think of the aroma of a freshly-grilled White Castle hamburger — life just doesn’t get better than that,” Slatkin said. “We have captured that exact essence in our White Castle candle.”
Friday, May 21, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Super Powers and Wordless Wednesday
Last night I heard the old man commenting on how he would like to be able to read my mom's mind. It got me thinking.
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have super powers? You know, the ability to do something really special.
A dog’s well documented skill set includes super smelling senses, super gulping power and super poo that heals the young. But what if that’s not enough for us, if we want to be better than that?
I know what I’d want. I would add to my repertoire x-ray vision, if only to see under the flirtatious Shaggy Dog’s coat that prances around my neighborhood. I know that sounds wrong, and it probably is, but I tell it like it is.
What if you want to see what’s happening in the other room but your creaking bones keep you from getting up? Zaaapp…use the x-ray vision.
Want to see what’s in the fridge? Zaaap…use the x-ray vision and see if the date on the bacon is indeed from the last century.
When I hit the black jack tables in Vegas? Zaaap....use the x-ray vision to take a peek at the dealer's cards and win millions.
Ahh, so many practical uses!
Just something to think about today.
Now, onto to Wordless Wednesday.
(In the photo below, I am giving Lulu the look: "Bitch, don't mess with my bone!!!")
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have super powers? You know, the ability to do something really special.
A dog’s well documented skill set includes super smelling senses, super gulping power and super poo that heals the young. But what if that’s not enough for us, if we want to be better than that?
I know what I’d want. I would add to my repertoire x-ray vision, if only to see under the flirtatious Shaggy Dog’s coat that prances around my neighborhood. I know that sounds wrong, and it probably is, but I tell it like it is.
What if you want to see what’s happening in the other room but your creaking bones keep you from getting up? Zaaapp…use the x-ray vision.
Want to see what’s in the fridge? Zaaap…use the x-ray vision and see if the date on the bacon is indeed from the last century.
When I hit the black jack tables in Vegas? Zaaap....use the x-ray vision to take a peek at the dealer's cards and win millions.
Ahh, so many practical uses!
Just something to think about today.
Now, onto to Wordless Wednesday.
(In the photo below, I am giving Lulu the look: "Bitch, don't mess with my bone!!!")
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Dear Becky (why I should be invited to your wedding),
Dear Cousin Becky,
Greetings from your favorite cousin Flash T. Ruyle. I really enjoyed the time we spent together in March when you and your Italian man-friend came down to visit us. I thought we totally bonded over the weekend. So, you can understand my dismay when mom received an invitation to your wedding in August, and my name was not included in the invitation (however, Lulu I can understand).
Instead, you invited this guy (the old man):
Since I’m always well behaved, especially in social situations, I wonder why I was not invited to go to your formal affair?
No, I don’t play golf like the old man. Although the word ‘play’ is being generous to what I witnessed.
No, I don't dance like the old man, but believe me - his dancing is not something you want at your wedding anyway. And, I can make quite the sculpture out of poop. Probably out of wedding cake too. Where is my 15 minutes of fame for that?
No, I don’t have cancer, unless you count the time my mother rushed me to the vet because she thought my nipples were generous lumps of carcinoma. Yes, boy dogs have nipples, although that was news to my mother.
No, I wasn’t dumped through a library drop slot as a child like the Old Man, but I was dumped at a shelter. Who’s life story sounds like it may be more eventful?
LISTEN UP COUSIN BECKY! This is FLASH T. RUYLE, the most handsome basset hound in America. Let’s be honest, not only do I have an angelic disposition, but my long floppy ears are to die for!
And, if I haven't convinced you by now that my name should be on the invitation rather than his, then check out the photo below. It is highly likely that the old man would show up to your wedding wearing something like this:
Typical. There’s always one guest who has to make an ass out of himself.
Greetings from your favorite cousin Flash T. Ruyle. I really enjoyed the time we spent together in March when you and your Italian man-friend came down to visit us. I thought we totally bonded over the weekend. So, you can understand my dismay when mom received an invitation to your wedding in August, and my name was not included in the invitation (however, Lulu I can understand).
Instead, you invited this guy (the old man):
Since I’m always well behaved, especially in social situations, I wonder why I was not invited to go to your formal affair?No, I don’t play golf like the old man. Although the word ‘play’ is being generous to what I witnessed.
No, I don't dance like the old man, but believe me - his dancing is not something you want at your wedding anyway. And, I can make quite the sculpture out of poop. Probably out of wedding cake too. Where is my 15 minutes of fame for that?
No, I don’t have cancer, unless you count the time my mother rushed me to the vet because she thought my nipples were generous lumps of carcinoma. Yes, boy dogs have nipples, although that was news to my mother.
No, I wasn’t dumped through a library drop slot as a child like the Old Man, but I was dumped at a shelter. Who’s life story sounds like it may be more eventful?
LISTEN UP COUSIN BECKY! This is FLASH T. RUYLE, the most handsome basset hound in America. Let’s be honest, not only do I have an angelic disposition, but my long floppy ears are to die for!
And, if I haven't convinced you by now that my name should be on the invitation rather than his, then check out the photo below. It is highly likely that the old man would show up to your wedding wearing something like this:
Typical. There’s always one guest who has to make an ass out of himself. I hope you will consider my plea. I'll be looking for my invitation in the mail. And, I'll take the flank steak for dinner. Thanks.
WOOF,
FLASH
WOOF,
FLASH
Monday, May 17, 2010
Monday Musings
I love it when I step on a recently made mud pie and the chocolate goo oozes through my paws. My mother doesn't enjoy it nearly as much.
That is all.
FLASH
That is all.
FLASH
Friday, May 14, 2010
It's Getting Hot in Here...
Damn it’s hot here in Austin. Upper 90’s, high humidity with a sprinkling of cough inducing smog.
Going outside is really no different than smoking a carton of Marlboro 100’s in a sauna. The end result is the same, a few pounds of water weight off your chassis and a few months off your life expectancy.
Makes you wonder what my parents were thinking when they moved me here.
At least if I’m going to be forced outside you’d think I’d be provided one of those blow up kiddie pools to lay my weary bones down in…and a mask to cover my mouth like Jacko used to wear. But alas, concern for me is secondary.
FLASH
Going outside is really no different than smoking a carton of Marlboro 100’s in a sauna. The end result is the same, a few pounds of water weight off your chassis and a few months off your life expectancy.
Makes you wonder what my parents were thinking when they moved me here.
At least if I’m going to be forced outside you’d think I’d be provided one of those blow up kiddie pools to lay my weary bones down in…and a mask to cover my mouth like Jacko used to wear. But alas, concern for me is secondary.
FLASH
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
(Another) Dear Flash (and Lulu) Letter
Dear Flash and Lulu,
That's right, I'm invading your blog. Get over it. In your previous post you claim how much you love your mom, however, you have an odd way of showing it. Since you seem to have so much trouble processing the English language no matter how loudly it is spoken to you, I thought perhaps I could communicate with you more effectively if I wrote down my thoughts.
First, please allow me to assure you that you are not starving. In fact, if the newspapers bothered to publish a canine version of those irritating "body-mass indices", I'm sure we would discover that you've got far more waddle in your walk than is strictly necessary. The way you visually track every bite of food I take, with a trembling expression of frantic pleading, is most annoying.
When I say to move, it means go someplace else, not switch positions with each other so there are still two of you in the way. When I say "go to bed" when you whine or scratch at the bedroom door at 2:30 am in the morning, I mean it. Actually, I really mean it.
The dishes with the paw prints are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. (Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate & food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food & dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.)
The hallway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the fridge is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king size bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue to sleep on the couch to ensure your comfort. Look at videos of dogs sleeping on YouTube. They can actually curl up in a ball. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. Actually, there is no reason why you both cannot sleep on the couch and leave me to sleep peacefully.
My flip flops are not miniature Frisbees. Also, the following are not digestible: Toads. Pens. Socks. I can show you evidence out in the yard. Stop eating them; they are not food!
For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. (In addition, I have been using the bathroom for years...canine attendance is not mandatory.)
The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dogs or cats' butt. I cannot stress this enough. It would be such a simple change for you.
I do not mind rolling down the window for you when we are in the car. I don't even mind that the air rushing up your nostrils makes you sneeze. What I do mind is that you always pull your head into the car to share your sneeze with the back of my neck. Keep your head in or out, that's all I ask.
The stuff in the trash can is not your food. Oh, and your expression of shocked innocence when we accuse you of dining at the garbage buffet is not nearly as persuasive as the forensic evidence left strewn around the kitchen.
Look, you do make me crazy sometimes. But I suppose I have to admit that even though you're lazy (you probably won't even bother to read this letter!) and don't seem very bright, you do have your positive attributes. I suppose life just wouldn't be the same without you.
Wanna go for a walk?
Hugs and kisses,
Your Mom
That's right, I'm invading your blog. Get over it. In your previous post you claim how much you love your mom, however, you have an odd way of showing it. Since you seem to have so much trouble processing the English language no matter how loudly it is spoken to you, I thought perhaps I could communicate with you more effectively if I wrote down my thoughts.
First, please allow me to assure you that you are not starving. In fact, if the newspapers bothered to publish a canine version of those irritating "body-mass indices", I'm sure we would discover that you've got far more waddle in your walk than is strictly necessary. The way you visually track every bite of food I take, with a trembling expression of frantic pleading, is most annoying.
When I say to move, it means go someplace else, not switch positions with each other so there are still two of you in the way. When I say "go to bed" when you whine or scratch at the bedroom door at 2:30 am in the morning, I mean it. Actually, I really mean it.
The dishes with the paw prints are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. (Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate & food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food & dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.)
The hallway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the fridge is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king size bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue to sleep on the couch to ensure your comfort. Look at videos of dogs sleeping on YouTube. They can actually curl up in a ball. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. Actually, there is no reason why you both cannot sleep on the couch and leave me to sleep peacefully.
My flip flops are not miniature Frisbees. Also, the following are not digestible: Toads. Pens. Socks. I can show you evidence out in the yard. Stop eating them; they are not food!
For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. (In addition, I have been using the bathroom for years...canine attendance is not mandatory.)
The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dogs or cats' butt. I cannot stress this enough. It would be such a simple change for you.
I do not mind rolling down the window for you when we are in the car. I don't even mind that the air rushing up your nostrils makes you sneeze. What I do mind is that you always pull your head into the car to share your sneeze with the back of my neck. Keep your head in or out, that's all I ask.
The stuff in the trash can is not your food. Oh, and your expression of shocked innocence when we accuse you of dining at the garbage buffet is not nearly as persuasive as the forensic evidence left strewn around the kitchen.
Look, you do make me crazy sometimes. But I suppose I have to admit that even though you're lazy (you probably won't even bother to read this letter!) and don't seem very bright, you do have your positive attributes. I suppose life just wouldn't be the same without you.
Wanna go for a walk?
Hugs and kisses,
Your Mom
Monday, May 10, 2010
Top 10 Reasons I Love My Mother
In honor of moms with four-legged ‘kids,’ Happy Mother’s Day! Just because you’re a dog doesn’t mean you don’t want to join in the Mother’s Day celebration. Especially if she’s the one that saved you from a death sentence.
So, all you pups, grab a pen and paper and make out your top 10 list.
Here is my list of the top 10 reasons I love my mother.
1. She feeds me.
2. She saved me from a life in the big house.
3. When I bark at her, she’ll bark back.
4. She falls for my hard of hearing routine.
5. She’s a sucker for the doe eyed look.
6. She feeds me.
7. She lets me sleep on the bed.
8. She lets me sit in the passenger seat.
9. She has the patience of a saint.
10. She feeds me.
So, all you pups, grab a pen and paper and make out your top 10 list.
Here is my list of the top 10 reasons I love my mother.
1. She feeds me.
2. She saved me from a life in the big house.
3. When I bark at her, she’ll bark back.
4. She falls for my hard of hearing routine.
5. She’s a sucker for the doe eyed look.
6. She feeds me.
7. She lets me sleep on the bed.
8. She lets me sit in the passenger seat.
9. She has the patience of a saint.
10. She feeds me.
FLASH
Friday, May 7, 2010
My Adoption: A Heart Warming Story
I usually don't get sentimental in this blog, but I'm feeling warm and fuzzy inside today. And, it's Friday which usually means a weekend at the dog park and corny dogs from Sonic - this puts me in a good mood. As many of you know, I haven't always had the good life I have now. I'm a dog from the streets after all, rising above it to make something of myself. Here's my adoption story.
We met back in August of 2009. I just had a major blowout with my first, somewhat dysfunctional family and decided that it was best for all if I just left. My former dad gave me a ride to nowhere that ended up at a basset rescue in Austin, Texas. The place was great, warm with plenty of company, and their cheesy poof biscuits were to die for. On the downside, it was loud and smelly, not unlike me.
Even a lowly pug could smell her coming from miles away. It was Saturday, as I recall, and the bells on the door jingled to announce her arrival. She was a cute brunette with a quick smile and a big heart. We’d seen this type before; they usually left with one of the pure bred puppies, but something was different about this one. My instincts told me that any canine would be darn lucky to go home with a dame like her, so I made it my top priority to be that hound.
She wandered back to where we lived. Frankly, I was a bit embarrassed about the condition of the place. Some of my cage mates were not very clean and some even took to pooping where they ate. My next cage neighbor’s lack of etiquette was particularly noteworthy as he took to eating kitty snickers (that’s slang for cat poo in the big house) openly. Sure they taste good, but you’re not getting adopted if you’re seen eating one.
As she came closer to my humble accommodations, I tried everything I could to grab her attention. When she finally got to me I made direct eye contact with her, angled my head at a 45 degree tilt and gave her my trademark FlashPaw’ reach. As a bonus, my head as a pup was fully-grown, although my body wasn’t. While it would have been abnormal on any other dog, my oversized cranium actually made me cuter.
With the paw in the air and the bobble head turned just so, I stared into her eyes. I could see instantly she wanted me. Needed me. Had to have me. Hey, who wouldn’t?
With her finely manicured nails, she reached out and petted me. She was clearly enjoying our encounter. How easy these humans are to manipulate, I thought. Her hands were refreshingly cool and her smell put me in a state of delight. I was in love. I could tell she loved me too.
After a few gushing, “He’s so cute!” comments, she took her hand out of my cage, gave me one last look and proceeded to move on to Gussie’s cage.
What?? Move on?! Hey, we just made a connection. You can’t move on. But that’s exactly what she did.
Realizing I was still sitting there with a half-cocked head and a paw in the air, I felt my muzzle glow red hot under my furry face as the other dogs chuckled with delight. After a few minutes I got my bearings back, but by then she had moved through the room, onto the next dog and out of my life.
My hope for a better life was gone as quickly as it had come. A depression enveloped me. The brief glimpse of a superior existence with a loving, caring humanoid was replaced with the stark reality that I may spend the rest of my life at this boarding house. What was once a fun and refreshing place became a dark and daunting cave.
This brush with love, and the subsequent loss of it, had me thinking of ending things in this world. I had heard the stories of the different ways it was accomplished but I knew that if I were going to do it, there was only one way. I knew to whom I could turn.
His given name was Charlemagne Brutus the IV, but he was better known in the house as the Candyman. His studded dog collar betrayed an otherwise noble and tame appearance. C’man slept on the best blankets, drank from the shiniest bowls and rarely took to begging for human food. He was well connected and living life that way.
I approached Candyman. While the other dogs were working on their begging routines, he let on to me that he had a shipment of Hershey’s Dark Chocolate candy bars on the way. For the right price he would let me have them. As the reader clearly knows, as did I, chocolate will kill a canine quicker than a game of “chase the cat” in traffic. Yeah, that quick.
I was desperate, I wanted out of this life and this was the easy path. Death by chocolate, as it is commonly referred to in the restaurant business, was only two Hershey bars away for me. Once ingested, I would soon be patrolling the pearly gates of heaven, looking of course for a place to dig out underneath it. Paradise awaited me.
I knew the price, two greenies and a peanut butter filled kong for each candy bar. The only problem, I had no money and I was unemployed. The price too steep, I resigned myself to the situation at hand. At least death would come seven times faster than it does for others on this lonely, desolate planet. I lay down and quickly dozed off.
<Begin dream sequence, twitching and yelping>“…and if you want any input into what kind of dog we get, I suggest you get your butt over here!” the angry voice yelled. The words came from an angel; the very same angel that had visited me earlier, <End dream sequence, twitching and yelping>
When I awoke, the angel was standing over me. Next to her was a very handsome young man. So handsome you might think he was gay, but let me assure the reader he is not. The sexiest man alive looked at me and said, “He’s cute. Let’s get him.”
“I want you to look at this one over here too,” the angel countered.
What? Another dog? She’s betraying me all over again. Ice must surely flow through this one’s veins.
Fortunately Prince Charming had his wits about him. “No, I like this one, he’s so dopey looking,” clearly referring to me, “We don’t need to look at any of the others. He’s the one.” I didn’t much care for his attitude but his decision-making capability was flawless.
Knowing that once prospective parents take a dog for a ‘test’ walk, they will adopt the pet 98% of the time, the rescue lady Ruth saw her opportunity. “Would you like to take him out for a walk, just to make sure you like him?” she offered. She was eager to get rid of me after my failed attempt at unionizing the locals to get better victuals.
I was put on a leash and escorted out the door. Once outside I made a beeline for my potential owner’s car. It was easy to pick out; my sense of smell is incredible. In a show of respect I immediately peed on it. I then proceeded to ignore them as they fawned all over me. Once you have them this far, you show them you don’t want them and they’ll want you more. It’s a sick world, but you have to play by the rules. Remember, don’t hate the player; hate the game.
The ploy worked, they wanted me. With the decision made I pranced back toward my former home to pack my belongings.
I glanced at my new owners who stared at me with a half smile and a half shocked look that said, “What have we gotten ourselves into?” It’s a look they would share many times in our future together.
Like it or not, the ice princess and her prince were now my parents for life. I couldn’t be happier but I would soon realize the more family members you have the merrier it is.
We met back in August of 2009. I just had a major blowout with my first, somewhat dysfunctional family and decided that it was best for all if I just left. My former dad gave me a ride to nowhere that ended up at a basset rescue in Austin, Texas. The place was great, warm with plenty of company, and their cheesy poof biscuits were to die for. On the downside, it was loud and smelly, not unlike me.
Even a lowly pug could smell her coming from miles away. It was Saturday, as I recall, and the bells on the door jingled to announce her arrival. She was a cute brunette with a quick smile and a big heart. We’d seen this type before; they usually left with one of the pure bred puppies, but something was different about this one. My instincts told me that any canine would be darn lucky to go home with a dame like her, so I made it my top priority to be that hound.
She wandered back to where we lived. Frankly, I was a bit embarrassed about the condition of the place. Some of my cage mates were not very clean and some even took to pooping where they ate. My next cage neighbor’s lack of etiquette was particularly noteworthy as he took to eating kitty snickers (that’s slang for cat poo in the big house) openly. Sure they taste good, but you’re not getting adopted if you’re seen eating one.
As she came closer to my humble accommodations, I tried everything I could to grab her attention. When she finally got to me I made direct eye contact with her, angled my head at a 45 degree tilt and gave her my trademark FlashPaw’ reach. As a bonus, my head as a pup was fully-grown, although my body wasn’t. While it would have been abnormal on any other dog, my oversized cranium actually made me cuter.
With the paw in the air and the bobble head turned just so, I stared into her eyes. I could see instantly she wanted me. Needed me. Had to have me. Hey, who wouldn’t?
With her finely manicured nails, she reached out and petted me. She was clearly enjoying our encounter. How easy these humans are to manipulate, I thought. Her hands were refreshingly cool and her smell put me in a state of delight. I was in love. I could tell she loved me too.
After a few gushing, “He’s so cute!” comments, she took her hand out of my cage, gave me one last look and proceeded to move on to Gussie’s cage.
What?? Move on?! Hey, we just made a connection. You can’t move on. But that’s exactly what she did.
Realizing I was still sitting there with a half-cocked head and a paw in the air, I felt my muzzle glow red hot under my furry face as the other dogs chuckled with delight. After a few minutes I got my bearings back, but by then she had moved through the room, onto the next dog and out of my life.
My hope for a better life was gone as quickly as it had come. A depression enveloped me. The brief glimpse of a superior existence with a loving, caring humanoid was replaced with the stark reality that I may spend the rest of my life at this boarding house. What was once a fun and refreshing place became a dark and daunting cave.
This brush with love, and the subsequent loss of it, had me thinking of ending things in this world. I had heard the stories of the different ways it was accomplished but I knew that if I were going to do it, there was only one way. I knew to whom I could turn.
His given name was Charlemagne Brutus the IV, but he was better known in the house as the Candyman. His studded dog collar betrayed an otherwise noble and tame appearance. C’man slept on the best blankets, drank from the shiniest bowls and rarely took to begging for human food. He was well connected and living life that way.
I approached Candyman. While the other dogs were working on their begging routines, he let on to me that he had a shipment of Hershey’s Dark Chocolate candy bars on the way. For the right price he would let me have them. As the reader clearly knows, as did I, chocolate will kill a canine quicker than a game of “chase the cat” in traffic. Yeah, that quick.
I was desperate, I wanted out of this life and this was the easy path. Death by chocolate, as it is commonly referred to in the restaurant business, was only two Hershey bars away for me. Once ingested, I would soon be patrolling the pearly gates of heaven, looking of course for a place to dig out underneath it. Paradise awaited me.
I knew the price, two greenies and a peanut butter filled kong for each candy bar. The only problem, I had no money and I was unemployed. The price too steep, I resigned myself to the situation at hand. At least death would come seven times faster than it does for others on this lonely, desolate planet. I lay down and quickly dozed off.
<Begin dream sequence, twitching and yelping>“…and if you want any input into what kind of dog we get, I suggest you get your butt over here!” the angry voice yelled. The words came from an angel; the very same angel that had visited me earlier, <End dream sequence, twitching and yelping>
When I awoke, the angel was standing over me. Next to her was a very handsome young man. So handsome you might think he was gay, but let me assure the reader he is not. The sexiest man alive looked at me and said, “He’s cute. Let’s get him.”
“I want you to look at this one over here too,” the angel countered.
What? Another dog? She’s betraying me all over again. Ice must surely flow through this one’s veins.
Fortunately Prince Charming had his wits about him. “No, I like this one, he’s so dopey looking,” clearly referring to me, “We don’t need to look at any of the others. He’s the one.” I didn’t much care for his attitude but his decision-making capability was flawless.
Knowing that once prospective parents take a dog for a ‘test’ walk, they will adopt the pet 98% of the time, the rescue lady Ruth saw her opportunity. “Would you like to take him out for a walk, just to make sure you like him?” she offered. She was eager to get rid of me after my failed attempt at unionizing the locals to get better victuals.
I was put on a leash and escorted out the door. Once outside I made a beeline for my potential owner’s car. It was easy to pick out; my sense of smell is incredible. In a show of respect I immediately peed on it. I then proceeded to ignore them as they fawned all over me. Once you have them this far, you show them you don’t want them and they’ll want you more. It’s a sick world, but you have to play by the rules. Remember, don’t hate the player; hate the game.
The ploy worked, they wanted me. With the decision made I pranced back toward my former home to pack my belongings.
I glanced at my new owners who stared at me with a half smile and a half shocked look that said, “What have we gotten ourselves into?” It’s a look they would share many times in our future together.
Like it or not, the ice princess and her prince were now my parents for life. I couldn’t be happier but I would soon realize the more family members you have the merrier it is.
FLASH
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Warning: Avert Your Eyes
Self respect. If you don’t have it, you don’t have anything.
For instance, some male dogs pee sitting down. I know, it’s shameful.
Then there are those pups out there that let themselves get mounted in the dog park? Yeah, right in front of all those wet noses.
Of course there are canines out there that share their dog food bowl with the household cat. At least it’s done behind closed doors, but the damage to the psyche is done nonetheless.
Where am I going with this? Well, I was doing some Spring cleaning and while I was sorting through some of Mom's photos, I came across this:
For instance, some male dogs pee sitting down. I know, it’s shameful.
Then there are those pups out there that let themselves get mounted in the dog park? Yeah, right in front of all those wet noses.
Of course there are canines out there that share their dog food bowl with the household cat. At least it’s done behind closed doors, but the damage to the psyche is done nonetheless.
Where am I going with this? Well, I was doing some Spring cleaning and while I was sorting through some of Mom's photos, I came across this:
It's the old man shirtless with a pair of really tight, short, shorts on. I don't know of any self respecting man that would prance around in an outfit like this. I'm quite embarrassed for him.
Don't blame me, I warned you to avert your eyes.
FLASH
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
(semi) Wordless Wednesday
Uh oh.
I think my mom is mad at me. With unjust reason, of course. Here's what happened. We have a morning routine. Every morning Mom wakes up at 4:45 am, departs the house at 5:15 am and returns at 7 am. At 7 am, we go for a walk and then promptly eat our kibble at 7:15 am. It is our routine, and I do not like changes in this routine.
This morning started out normally - up at 4:45 am, mom departed for what looked like the pool at 5:15 am. At 6:55 am, Lulu and I make our way to the window to watch for mom, eagerly anticipating our walk. 7 am - no mom. 7:05 - no mom. I am getting hungry, and being hungry makes me very, very grouchy. At 7:10 am, still no mom, and the old man will not respond to our scratches on the bedroom door, so we decide to take matters into our own hands.
To express our anger, we knock over the lamp on the coffee table, and chew off the end of the cord that plugs into the wall so that it will no longer be functional.
It's now 7:15 am. Still no mom. My stomach is growling. Lulu and I are literally famished. Again, we decide to take matters into our our hands. Lulu uses her super dog jumping skills to grab a loaf of bread off the counter.
Mom comes home at 7:20 am, just in time to find us making sandwiches.
Mom muttered something about just buying that loaf of bread Monday, being late for work and how we were not going to get a walk this morning. Apparently, she had a really long swim workout this morning so she was running late. She talks really loudly, I think in hopes of rousing the old man out of bed to clean up the mess.
Then she gave us our bowl of kibble, which is really all we wanted in the first place.
Anyway, happy Cinco de Mayo friends! I'll be spending the afternoon with the old man drinking margaritas and eating burritos in celebration.
Woof!
FLASH
I think my mom is mad at me. With unjust reason, of course. Here's what happened. We have a morning routine. Every morning Mom wakes up at 4:45 am, departs the house at 5:15 am and returns at 7 am. At 7 am, we go for a walk and then promptly eat our kibble at 7:15 am. It is our routine, and I do not like changes in this routine.
This morning started out normally - up at 4:45 am, mom departed for what looked like the pool at 5:15 am. At 6:55 am, Lulu and I make our way to the window to watch for mom, eagerly anticipating our walk. 7 am - no mom. 7:05 - no mom. I am getting hungry, and being hungry makes me very, very grouchy. At 7:10 am, still no mom, and the old man will not respond to our scratches on the bedroom door, so we decide to take matters into our own hands.
To express our anger, we knock over the lamp on the coffee table, and chew off the end of the cord that plugs into the wall so that it will no longer be functional.
It's now 7:15 am. Still no mom. My stomach is growling. Lulu and I are literally famished. Again, we decide to take matters into our our hands. Lulu uses her super dog jumping skills to grab a loaf of bread off the counter.
Mom comes home at 7:20 am, just in time to find us making sandwiches.
Mom muttered something about just buying that loaf of bread Monday, being late for work and how we were not going to get a walk this morning. Apparently, she had a really long swim workout this morning so she was running late. She talks really loudly, I think in hopes of rousing the old man out of bed to clean up the mess.
Then she gave us our bowl of kibble, which is really all we wanted in the first place.
Anyway, happy Cinco de Mayo friends! I'll be spending the afternoon with the old man drinking margaritas and eating burritos in celebration.
Woof!
FLASH
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
More free advice from Flash T. Ruyle
My blackberry has been flooded with texts and emails from dogs all over begging for some more advice from yours truly. I've graciously offered my wisdom at no cost, however there will soon be a price in the form of pork ears to tap my brain for genius advice...below are just a few of the questions I've received...
Dear Flash,
-FLASH
Dear Flash,
My parents think they feed me a lot, but I disagree. For me it is not really the quality of the food, as it is the quantity. I like food and I am not shy about admitting it. I qualify food as anything that can fit into my mouth. I am especially fond of lizards, bugs (of all kinds), sticks, tree bark off the tree, anything shiny, dog food, small objects, flowers, dirt, treats, anything that people eat no matter how old, the occasional frog or toad and I think those squirrels I chase would be really, really good too if I could just catch one.
I am in great shape, and in the prime of my life, and I like food and binge eating. I hear my parents say I have a bottomless pit as a stomach - but I know they eat 3 or 4 times a day - they try to hide it, but I know.
So how come they get to eat so much and I can’t, hypocrites. Also, I am not saying I have a problem with my food choices, but do you think there is a problem with my food choices?
Your friend,
Murphy
--------------
Dear Murphy,
I’m not sure where you live, but if it isn’t in the southwest, you’re missing out. You see, folks around here have the same eating philosophy as you. It’s not quality, but quantity.
But I digress. Let’s tackle your last question first…your food choices, are they poor? Dog to dog, I have to say the answer is no. I base this on my own research that found if it moves, it’s edible; if it doesn’t move, it’s probably edible too.
As you know, your owners think otherwise, but they have to understand that your behavior is normal. That said, I do have to admit that they are better versed in determining what we should be ingesting into our bodies than we do. I know, it’s crazy but that’s the way the big guy in the sky set it up.
So here’s a couple of techniques they may try on you to get you to stop eating stuff you're not supposed to. The first is to keep small and/or potentially edible things out of your reach. This is applied inside the home. You’ll note that if this technique is utilized, the home will appear a lot cleaner than you are used to.
However, once you’re outdoors they lose total control of your eating environment. That’s when the may employ the “Drop It” technique. Every time you pick something up that you think would fit better in your stomach, they will yell “Drop It” and make a loud clapping sound. After a while, this gets so annoying you end up dropping whatever it is in your mouth, be it a stick or heaven forbid, the local tom cat. This technique may then be employed inside the house as well, where it’s doubly annoying.
As for regular food, that’s fair game. If your owners are freely giving you stuff, then take it. As long as you keep your sleek figure, and the ladies still love you, there’s no reason to stop. Word of warning: if anyone ever refers to you as ‘fat ass’ then you will need to rethink your calorie intake strategy.
Hope that helps.
Your friend,
-FLASH
-------------------
Dear Flash,
Why do you think you are qualified to answer questions posed to you by other dogs?
Faithful Follower
-------------------
Dear Faithful Follower,
Where to begin? First off, I’m a basset hound. We are (rightly) known as the most intelligent dogs in America.
Sure it may sound cocky, but if you’re well read, you know it's true.
But I digress. My experiences are varied. I was in and out of youth facilities (aka dog pounds) in my early months, giving me street smarts. I took online classes at Phoenix University, giving me book smarts. But you may be asking, “What about the smarts in between?” Well I got them by experiencing life with my family. From trips to the vet, to great yard escapes, to peeing in the house, I’ve experienced it all.
But I guess the real reason I feel most qualified to answer your questions is that I am the only dog I know that can type 60 words a minute and not have it come out saying, “Woof woof woof, woof.”
So please, ask your foolish questions and I will respectfully respond. Oh, before I forget, my advice is for entertainment purposes only.-FLASH
Monday, May 3, 2010
Finger Lickin' Good!
Ever since I was a pup I’ve enjoyed going on car rides. Any dog that doesn’t like it probably has a little cat in its blood. I knew a dog like this once. Her name was Buttons. Enough said.
Anyway, when we’re out and about town, I sit in the front passengers seat taking it all in. As we pass our local churches, I always point at them hoping for my parents to stop. It isn’t for a spiritual intervention I’m looking for, but rather to partake in the abundance of wine and dry crackers housed inside.
Seeing this, my mother always warns me, “Flash, if you point at a church, your paw will disappear!”
Yeah right. It’s the same type of advice she gives me about the funny faces I make at her when told to come. “Flash, your snout is going to freeze like that if you don’t stop.” Nothing has happened to my money maker yet so I rarely heed that advice.
But, as it turns out, pointing at things doesn't really work, but practicing my language art skills (a.ka. barking) at things DOES indeed work.
Anyway, when we’re out and about town, I sit in the front passengers seat taking it all in. As we pass our local churches, I always point at them hoping for my parents to stop. It isn’t for a spiritual intervention I’m looking for, but rather to partake in the abundance of wine and dry crackers housed inside.
Seeing this, my mother always warns me, “Flash, if you point at a church, your paw will disappear!”
Yeah right. It’s the same type of advice she gives me about the funny faces I make at her when told to come. “Flash, your snout is going to freeze like that if you don’t stop.” Nothing has happened to my money maker yet so I rarely heed that advice.
But, as it turns out, pointing at things doesn't really work, but practicing my language art skills (a.ka. barking) at things DOES indeed work.
Case in point: Sunday afternoon we were driving home from the dog park, and I spot Sonic, home of the best corn dog ever. I bark loudly, and Mom pulls over
and buys me a corn dog.
Then dinner time. The old man is cooking some famous Elgin Hot Sausages on the smoker. Upon bringing them inside, I start spinning in circles and barking loudly. I received two Elgin hot sausages in my food bowl.
Mom and Dad sat down to eat at the table - Dad was having steak, and Mom veggies kabobs. I jump right up in the old man's lap and bark at him. My reward: a few pieces of succulous steak.
Moral of the story: Those who say you can't always get what you want just aren't barking loud enough.
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