This day started badly. And it's all CweeCwee's fault. Maybe she woke up on the wrong side of the crate. I think she has PMS.
For starters, Mommy was valiantly trying to clip the leash to a wiggling Cwee's collar...and Cwee bit Mommy.
Everyone knows we dogs have only one Commandment:
Thou shalt not bite thy Mommy.
So out we go for a walk and a piddle and a poo. And Cwee spots a squirrel, flies into a snarling rage and jumps over me. She got so excited the poo started comin' outta' her, and I'm like, "Girl! You got two inches of poo stickin' outta your butt. Squat already!"
When we came back inside, things got even worse. Cwee spotted a woodpecker through the window, exploded in wrath, ran to the window and gave it what-for. Then she barked about this and she barked about that! So, naturally, I joined in. Mommy couldn't shut us up!
Finally, Mommy got fed up and crated us both. Is that fair!? I merely followed my sister's bad example.
Yeah, my sis has got PMS, I'm crated and this is a low-down, rotten, nasty, no-good-for-nuffin day.
Say the word "Stupid" and my sister comes a-runnin'. Say "Stinky" and she does the doxiepoo dance. Call "CweeCwee" and she'll turn herself inside out with excitement. Gotta' love that girl!
The day I became a big sister was the best day of my life. Mommy adopted CweeCwee from the Animal Humane Society. Of course, she was cautioned to introduce us slowly, cautiously, over a few days. Well, Mommy didn't have time for that. So she put us both on the floor together and said, "Deal with it."
I was over the moon with excitement. Cwee...not so much. She shoved her face in my food bowl, growling at me to stay away. Hmmm, same thing she does today. Nothing's changed.
After stuffing herself to the gills with my "nasty dry crap," she hopped up in the chair and slept for the next three days. But I wanted to play! So I barked and pawed at her every few minutes, waking her up, for three days. I got her so riled she attacked me in the laundry room with a snarl of rage. Mommy broke it up.
When Mommy went to work, she put CweeCwee in the pink crate and put me in my big fenced-in area in the Living Room. She was so scared Cwee'd kill me during the day. Then one day, Cwee ran into my area, sat down and refused to move. That was the wonderful day Mommy knew we'd become sisters.
We've been inseparable ever since. On our double-leash, we look like a fuzzy yoke of oxen, Siamese twins joined on our sides. We sleep together. Play together. Piddle together. Poo together.
Unfortunately, CweeCwee does have a couple, shall we say, idiosyncrasies. Her breath is, how do I say it gracefully, atrocious! An elephant would take one whiff and pass out. Brushing doesn't work. Nothing works. But she's loving. Very generous with kisses. Ugh.
She's also not very bright. Okay, okay. She's downright stupid, hence her nickname. I once watched her lick the wrong side of a cream cheese wrapper, savoring nothing. Oh, but she just kept on a lickin'. But she's loving!
And sometimes she shoves her whole head in my mouth. I'm not exactly sure why, but I guess it's a kiss. Very loving!
Can't imagine life without my stupid, stinky sister!
"Aliens" make crop circles. Bichons make crap circles. Fifty-four is my all-time high total of circles made before I crapped. Yes, I was rather proud of that.
Daddy, however, wasn't amused! He kept muttering things like, "Enough! Go already." "Shit or get off the yard." "I'm freezing my ass off out here, ya darn bichon!" I knew he didn't mean it.
The choice of spot to drop a load is a fine art to a bichon. We aren't about to grace just any ol' spot with our fancy frise fertilizer. No, sirree! It's got to smell just right and look just right.
In Summer, we're particular about the blade of grass we choose to water. There are millions of blades out here, but only a select one is worthy of a frise piddle.
The more time we spend circling, the more time we get outside. And our human learns patience, which as we all know, is a virtue.
Now that's what I call a win-win proposition!
Bichon's don't want it getting blabbed around, but we make great masseuses. I never told. Mommy figured it out by accident.
We were playing "throw" (not fetch) one day, when Mommy had the bright idea of hiding my ball down the back of her blouse. As if that would fool any bichon! I simply climbed on her back and dug like mad!
And that's how I let the cat (nasty catsies, we hates 'em!) out of the bag. Since then, I can't get a moment's rest. All day it's nothing but, "Delly, my shoulder blade itches. To the left, left, left...no, your other left." I've worn my paws to the bone on Mommy's dry, itchy shoulder blades. If she wouldn't be so darn clean, I'd have time to run out and get a manicure or somethin'.
I had to pee. Usually, I'm good all night. But that darn prostate. Oh wait, I don't have a prostate. Anyways, Mommy does NOT need more than five hours of sleep. Especially after kicking me out of her bed for digging up the sheets like a maniac.
Now, bichons, the trick to waking up your exhausted human is the Rhythmic Bark. It's an art, not a science. Don't just woo-woo-woo all over the place. No whining, no growling. Bark. Rhythmically.
WOOF! One one thousand, two one thousand. WOOF! Three one thousand, four one thousand. WOOF!
All together now. And a one, and a two, and a three...hit it!
"Your bichon has very well developed thigh muscles," commented the vet. Mommy just smiled. She wasn't telling my body building secrets.
Pro wrestlers have nicknames. The Undertaker. Nature Boy. And now, introducing Delly "Chicken Thigh" Thompson.
It all started one fine day when Mommy found a Little Tikes Wave Climber playset on a garage sale. Y'know the kind. Multi-colored. Little pink slide. She bought it on the spot.
And then she realized: I've got no way to get it home. No matter how she finagled and figured, it just wasn't gonna fit in her trunk. Luckily, the seller took pity on Mommy and brought it over to her condo. She dragged it up one flight of stairs and set it up...where else...in the dining room!
I was thrilled and decided the only way a self-respecting bichon should get into the playset was by running up the wavey slide. I tried and tried and tried, clawing, panting, sliding backwards time after time.
But bichons don't give up. No sirree! "Sticktoitiveness" is our middle name!
And one day, I finally I got it! I clawed my way all the way up the slide to the platform at the top. Woof!
And that's how a bichon develops her thigh muscles and becomes a celebrity, Delly "Chicken Thigh" Thompson!
I ain't the most graceful bichon on the block. Okay. I said it. It's out in the open. In fact, I'm downright #awkward.
Take the other night, for instance. I raced into the bedroom, took a flying leap in the general direction of Daddy's hospital bed, misjudged my trajectory and bounced off the footboard. #awkward
Then there was the time I tried to jump on Sandy's couch...and missed the whole dang thing. #awkward
The other day, Mom was playing "throw" with me in the house. (Most of you bichons probably call it "fetch." I call it throw because Mommy throws things, but I never fetch them back. Just chase and chew, baby!)
Where was I? Oh yes! Mommy had just mopped the kitchen floor, so it was nice and slippery. I ran in at top speed, but my brakes didn't work. Slid head first into the cabinets...bang! #awkward
Wait? Does this mean I can't grow up to be a ballerina? Dang it!
Blitzing. We bichons are artists at the bichon blitz.
It starts with a kinda' itchy, kinda' crazy, kinda' whacked out feeling! Then keblewey! We suddenly find ourselves running frantically, back and forth, round and round, growling ferociously, making snaps at our toys, bouncing off furniture and people.
Humans, there ain't a dang thing you can do about it. Just flatten yourself against the wall and wait for the insanity to pass.
If we're really lucky, we have a twofer. One blitz winds out, we pant for awhile, then we're off to the races again!
It's a bichon thing. Don't try to understand it. Just enjoy it. We do!
I'm so woofed! I'm the star bichon blogger here. Right!?! But Cousin Sandy comes over and goes viral. Boy, was she viral! She humped me in the kitchen, in the living room, in the bathroom, on the chair and while "we" were watching the nasty squirrel.
She took advantage of the situation. Hacked my Facebook. Posted obscene selfies of her humping me all over social media. And she said she was just looking at the big squirrel. Boy, was that a big squirrel!
And then she wants to cuddle!
Woof, am I miffed! I won't be able to show a whisker on Facebook or my schnoz on Twitter (@dellysdoodles) anymore. Oh the shame of it! I'll never outlive the "Great Squirrel Scandal."
But on the other paw, if it worked for the Kardashians, maybe it'll work for me! Watch out Kimmy! This bichon's gonna' break the internet!
Hollywood, here I come! (Eat your heart out, Lassie!)
Remember my bath last Thursday? Well, I'm not nasty and clean anymore, thanks to my cousin, Sandy. She rubbed all her dirt, grease and horse apples onto me to take away that nasty soapy smell. Now that's a true friend!
What can I tell you about Sandy, the toy pom? She's adorable...and annoying! But she's still a puppy so I humor her. I used to be just like that, pestering the crap outta' my sister. Karma's a bichon, cause Sandy pesters the crap outta' me...literally!
As Sheldon says on #TBBT, "Leonard, I'm gettin' too old for this crud."
It all started one sunny day last Summer. We went over to my Auntie and Uncle's house for dinner as we often do. I waddled in and suddenly BAM! Something's growling at me...barking...biting my ear.
I was like, "What the woof!?!"
So I takes off running. But I can't get any traction on the slippery floor, so basically, I'm running in place with this thing hanging on my ear. I mean, if I wanted earrings I'd go to Claire's! I got so excited, I crapped on the spot.
And that's another of Sandy's charms. She has this amazing laxative effect. If I'm having pooing problems, Sandy clears it right up. Usually, I also throw up out of sheer excitement. That's why I gave my Auntie a roll of paper towel and a note of apology last week. I've been doin' so much pooin' and peein' and barfin' on her nice clean floors, I figured I owed her one!
Now my sister, CweeCwee, does not like little Sandy. She pretends she doesn't exist, won't make eye contact, ignores her completely. I'm like, "Woof, girl! Is that nice?" But she doesn't listen to any woofs I say, so it's up to me to keep the little Pom entertained. I've lost weight, literally shed pounds, playing "tag" with Sandy.
And that's another thing. She cheats! I run the whole circuit around their house like any decent bichon would, puffing for air, panting, wild- eyed, clawing for traction. But that growling little Pom takes shortcuts, nips under furniture, sneaks behind the stove. She's cool as a cucumber while I'm panting and wetting myself. I'm like, "Woof on you, girl," and try to hide.
But, seriously, I can't imagine life without my cousin. We play together, piddle together, wrestle together and snooze together. And the next time I see her, I'm totally gonna' to steal her blue teddy bear and bring it home.
("No, Sandy, I didn't tell them you hump me constantly. It's not something to be proud of! Now shut the woof up!")
Hi! Delly here! I'm a bichon frise. My mommy says I'm crazy, eccentric and hilarious. These are my doodles. WOOF!