"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!")
It's Chwistmas! And I lost my fuzzy mind.
Forgot Daddy's insomnia. Forgot he'd been up all night. When he finally fell asleep around 8 a.m., I raced in the bedroom, took a tremendous leap onto the bed and jumped up and down on him to wake him.
Ooops.What can I say? I'm just a very small white fuzzy dog. Daddy wasn't pissed. He put me on a pile of pillows and sailed off into the Land of Nod again.
Yesterday, as you know, I had a dreadful bath. But I'm not clean anymore! Nope, got rid of that nasty soap smell by playing with my country cousin, Sandy. She's that Pom I've been telling you about. She transferred all her dirt, grease and horse crap onto me. I smell so much better now! She's a true friend.
Mewwy Chwistmas to all my fellow bichons and their humans. Who needs Chwistmas pwesents when you've got a bichon already!?!
Where did my Daddy come from? I'm not quite sure. Mommy adopted me from a pet store. CweeCwee came from the Animal Humane Society. So I guess we adopted Daddy from the Stray Daddy Humane Society. He was pretty skinny when we adopted him.
It all happened so fast! Mommy was gone all day one Saturday and came home with this funny "glow." The next day, she brushed our teeth, washed our faces and brought us with her to meet Daddy. She said she wanted our opinions.
Apparently, she trusts our instincts. If we bit him, she'd think twice. If we loved him, she'd marry him.
We loved him! She married him...thirteen days later! And that's how we adopted Daddy.
That was almost four years ago. Oh, how I love my Daddy. He "gits" me. I think he's got a lot of bichon in him, which is the highest compliment a bichon can pay a human.
For example, he hasn't got a cranky bone in his body...just like me. And he plays right. Mommy tried and tried, but never quite got the hang of it...which is why I did the head-turn-and-bark thing at her all the time.
And he speaks fluent dog. When I scoot and groan, he groans right back. We have long scoot-and-groan conversations. We understand each other, perfectly.
And when I adopted Daddy, I got a new job too. I'm a CC...a Constant Companion. You see, my daddy's very sick. Mommy says its his bellows or wungs, whatever they're called. He hurts a lot. Often, he can't play with me. Sometimes he can't even lift me or hold me. When he gets that sick, I sit next to him, rest my non-existent chin on the chair arm and STARE at him. That's what being a Constant Companion means. STARE at your human and WOOF if they aren't breathing right.
My job even got me on TV!! Want to see me? CLICK HERE!
And that's how I adopted my wonderful Daddy.
I've always been a nudist. It feels so good, so free, so airy. When I was a baby, I couldn't even stand my nasty pink collar. Mommy said Houdini had nothing on me. I could get out of anything.
Take the nasty collar for instance. The trick is to hook your back toenails under it and push it up towards your chin. Of course, we bichons don't really have chins, so that helps. Tuck your chin in, push the collar over it and yes! You're in the nude again.
Now, if your Mommy is like mine, she decided a harness was the way to go. She'd been told it'd be easier on my throat when I yank, yank, yank on my leash and she figured I couldn't get out of it. Hahaha! Joke's on Mommy! All you have to do is pull backwards against the leash. The leash will flip the harness inside-out, over your head and yes! Sweet nudity again.
But I make an exception for socks. Pink socks...of course!
I love snow but when it gets below zero up here, my footsies get awfully cold. That's when I "prairie dog." That's what Mommy calls it. You know what I mean, bichons...the way we precariously balance on our bums when we're either begging or freezing.
Well eat your heart out, 'chons, cause I got socks now! No more prairie dogging for me...except when roast chicken or Spicy Doritos are around!
Wait...am I still a nudist?
My daddy says the funniest things sometimes. It was early this morning. Much too early to get up. But my dang humans were up and about, and so was I. Daddy says to me, “Go back to sleep, Delly, or you're gonna be tired and cranky later.”
I was like, “What the woof!?!”
Since when was a bichon cranky? We have the most sanguine tempers. Never a cloud in our furry skies.
Now my sister, CweeCwee the Doxiepoo, is another story. I can rely on her to rip the face off all my stuffed toys. Then the best part comes: pulling out the stuffing. Woof, woof, woof... You other bitchin' bichons know what I'm talkin' about. The fun of tugging on that fuzzy white stuff, trying to get it out the tiny hole that used to be your teddy bear's nose. The satisfaction when it goes "pop." The frantic licking when you can't get it off your tongue. The hacking when it tickles your throat. Mommy's fussing when it clogs up her vacuum for the umpteenth time. What an experience!
In five years, I can only remember being cranky once. I mean, it's not Cwee's food bowl. It's our food bowl. Her snarl was totally uncalled for. But I thought it over and decided to take the high road. I sat up very tall, put my mouth in her ear and said, "WOOF" at top of my lungs five times. Problem solved.
Hope you enjoyed my doodle. Writing by "paws and schnoz" is hard work so now, I think I'll take a little nap.
Hi Everybody! I'm Delly.
My mommy has a blog, so I thinks, why can't I!?! When she's in the shower, that's my time to "hunt and peck" on the computer. Of course, it's kinda' hard with paws, so I use my nose too. I call it
"paws and schnoz."
I'm a mostly bichon frise. Or as Daddy says, a bitchin' frise. I think it's a compliment.
There's enough bichon in me to trigger a jolly good blitz everyday. Woo-hoo! They tell me I've got some poodle and shih tzu in me too.
Now my sister, she was supposedly all poodle. But she's not. She's part dachsund...a doxiepoo. More about her later. Her nickname is "Stupid" so y'know she's a riot.
Hi! Delly here! I'm a bichon frise. My mommy says I'm crazy, eccentric and hilarious. These are my doodles. WOOF!