We 'chons only got once vice. Okay, okay. I steal cheese, have a 137 decibel ear-shattering bark and tease my sister unmercifully. Other than that, I've got just one vice. CRAPSICLES.
You poor humans got no idea how enticing, how mesmerizing, how delicious crap smells after it freezes. The bouquet just blossoms in the cold. And while my stupid sister simply rolls in frozen crap ("Just a little behind the ears!"), I prefer to bring it into the house to fully explore the joys of shitsicles at my leisure.
I dunno why that makes Mommy freak out! I can't tell you how many times she's shrieked, "Drop it, drop it, drop it!"
Then there was the time she didn't notice it in my mouth 'til after I got back in the house. Did I mention Mommy is terribly near-sighted without her glasses? Anyways, when she shrieked "Drop it!", I dutifully dropped that delicious-smelling frozen shitsicle on the carpet. And she picked it up!
You shoulda' been there! It took a second before she realized she was holding frozen shit in her bare hand and let out a blood-curdling scream. I was ROTFL when she flung open front door and threw that yummy-smelling shitsicle as far as she could. It was all I could do to keep a straight face while she scolded me. Wag, wag, wag. I got my clean-freak Momma to pick up shit!!
What bichon doesn't adore cheese? To a bichon, cheese is the nectar and ambrosia of the gods. Bichon heaven is a golden fire hydrant on every corner and a block of colby in every food dish.
On the day of the Great Cheese Caper, I was just a wittle puppy. Mommy was downstairs doing the laundry, but I'd scampered upstairs and was all alone.
And there it was. Golden. Glowing. So yummy. I sniffed it a bit, licked it a bit, looked over my shoulder to check for Mommy. Then sunk my teeth into it.
And it was so delicious. Bite after bite. Gnawing off great hunks, swallowing them as fast as I could. Feeling deliciously naughty.
I'd scarfed 1/4th of the block by the time Mommy came upstairs and grabbed it away...covered with teeth marks...missing big chunks...covered in carpet fuzz. Of course, I got a good scolding although Mommy was laughing way too hard to make me feel too guilty.
To this day, I adore cheese. If I may be allowed to paraphrase Sir Walter Scott:
Breathes there a bichon,
with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath stolen,
A block of colby cheese so golden!
Sometimes, my food isn't exactly...fresh. It's kinda' been chewed and swallowed already. Well, not chewed. Just swallowed.
My sister's a pig. There! I said it. If it's edible, she scarfs it. Her share AND my share. I'm such a gentlebichon, I just sit back and watch her imitate a snake, jerking its food down its throat.
So Mommy and Daddy stand up for me. They holler at CweeCwee. This one time, she'd just inhaled her morsel of bread and my morsel too. When Mommy yelled, "CWEECWEE!" she gave this funny cough and the bread flew out of her mouth, sailed through the air landing about 12" away. I ate it.
Another time, we were eating leftover hamburgers. Of course, Cwee beat me to the punch. She ate so fast...she made herself sick and threw it up my chunk...unchewed. I figured it was mine in the first place, so I ate it!
Um...why is Mommy gagging? Did I say something wrong? Mommy!?
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!
Hi! Delly here! I'm a bichon frise. My mommy says I'm crazy, eccentric and hilarious. These are my doodles. WOOF!