 I always scoot when I talk. Always. I think it really adds something to the conversation.
With a hair-raising chorus of whines, groans and barks, I contribute my two-cents to every conversation...while scooting. Can't talk without scooting. Never scoot unless I'm talking. It's a bichon thing. I dunno why humans don't try it. Conversation looses something if you don't scoot at the same time. Put your bum on the carpet and try it. See!? Now didn't that just add sparkle to your speech?! Some will say I've got wormies, but I don't. Others may say I've got impacted anal glands. To that I say, you get your mind off my anal glands! Had 'em done. They're fine. I'd like to see you have your bum squeezed! And my ass is clean as a whistle. Mommy checked. (How embarrassing!) And that's why people like talking with me. I love to talk and I always scoot. They laugh so much, I may take my act on the road. Hmmmm, what should I call my act? The Scintillating Scooter. I like it. Scoot, scoot, scoot. I like it a lot. WOOF!
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 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. WOOF!  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!  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! WOOF!...WOOF!...WOOF!  "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! WOOF!  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! WOOF!  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! WOOF!  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. WOOF! ("No, Sandy, I didn't tell them you hump me constantly. It's not something to be proud of! Now shut the woof up!")  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?  Tweatsies? CweeCwee's always in line first. I let her go first 'cause she's got one vicious snarl on her! Woof-da! 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. WOOF, y'all! |
Delly
Hi! Delly here! I'm a bichon frise. My mommy says I'm crazy, eccentric and hilarious. These are my doodles. WOOF! Archives
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