How To Kill A Mocking Squirrel (A Mocumentary)

Cheeky bastard.


The stealthy hunter regards his prey with detached skepticism, but don't be fooled. He is a cunning and sly beast.


Yes, indeed, he wants that tasty morsel.


But how? How can he coax his dinner down from its natural habitat (the Gazebo framework of a West End Penthouse)?

First, he will try something unique to the Woo species; he will attempt to startle the squirrel into falling from its perch by "barkscreaming" (tm) at it ... frightening it, the camerawoman and many neighbors for blocks in every direction.

When this fails to to the trick, he then resorts to physical activity - a very rare capture in this species, ladies and gentlemen - and will leap vertically into the air repeatedly. In some species, this is known as "boinging."


Alas, this too has failed to dislodge the cheeky bastard from its perch. The threat of more scary barkscreaming (tm) and angry neigbors to come ...


... prompts this mocumentarist to take the bold move of interfering with nature and providing The Wootie with
A CHAIR


Success at last.


And this the kill sequence begins.


First, he must grab the squirrel and shake it "all about"

Sometimes, something intimate and primal, known as "Secksy Time," is incorporated into the ritual.


Once successfully shaken (never stirred) the squirrel's head or face is then blissfully chewed into fabric bits. This is known as "going to his happy place" and is only seen when new squirrels have been freshly purchased from Target (alas, it does not seem that we will be making any trips to Target in the near future!). And it must take place in a deck chair.

The Wootie is a prideful animal - one might, without seeming ridiculous, go so far as to call him "boastful." This can lead to unfortunate interpack rivalries, where The Wootie's insolence can turn to loss at any moment. For while The Woo is showing off his prize, he is not being mindful of the envy he is instilling in Piper.

Piper has been waiting for this moment.

The squirrel will be hers.

and then The Food Lady takes away the squirrel, because it's our last one and we don't want them ripping it in half!

Tonight Mr. Sport ate about a cup of kibble off the floor, provided I did not look at him. I had to stand with my back to him and look at the ceiling and pretend I did not see him eating. Another quirk in the Sporty Arsenal of Old Dog Quirks!

America, America ...

Thank doG for your strict border crossing policies! Why if it wasn't for them, the worst kind of people could sneak into your country. People like ... oh, say, Canadian k9 photographers.

Whew. Good work, America!!

Yes, this morning I had the lovely experience of being denied entry into our neighbour's country to the South. And you want to know why?

Because I am stealing American jobs.

That's right, ladies and gentlemen ... by making a day trip to Seattle to photograph a rescue mastiff and an elderly border collie at the behest of one of its citizens, I am putting your entire economy at risk. I am a thief, a roustabout, a no-good dirty low down Canadian criminal undermining the success and vitality of the US staffed workforce.

(SRSLY!!)

"That," I told the woman at Customs, "is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my entire life."

This seemed to offend the gratuitously puffed up borderwoman, under her mop of bleach blond hair and 'my life is hollow and I'm dead inside' pallor. And she actually responded with: "Is not."

For real? I didn't realize Border Crossing was staffed by child labour. ("Is too. Neener neener.")

I reiterated that it was extremely idiotic, and she replied that me going to the US to take photographs for money was "like us Americans coming to Canada to mop your floors."

At this point, Food Lady was quite cranky. Sport had woken her up at both 3 AND 4AM to request some 'outside' time, and she got up for real at 5AM to leave for the border by 6AM, only to be delayed at Customs for an hour by a trio of idiots - the bald one, the extra dumb one and of course, the bleachie blonde with the stick up her ample bottom. Food Lady's patience, dear audience, had worn quite thin, and so her reply to this woman's rude comparison of her photographic arts to an exercise in janitorialism was very short and sweet.

"Why don't you," suggested Food Lady, "get bent."

At this point, Food Lady was fingerprinted, photographed and sent back home to Canada.

Before I left, I told Big Bum Blondie that I thought her country was staffed by idiots, and it was no wonder one of its citizens had to go outside the country and hire a Canadian. By now, my lack of deference to the Scary Border People was starting to really cheeze her off because she said to me, by way of parting:

"You're the one who wanted to come to America!" and "We have our own photographers!" I think only a massive quantity of self restraint prevented her from yelling "So there!" as the closer.

Having done my civic duty of making sure that the war of Canadian Condescension Vs American Arrogance continues as it should, let me say that if you are looking for a talented K9 Photographer in the Seattle area please consider hiring Erin Vey who is crazy talented, and not trying to steal anything from anyone.

Not like me. Damn insidious job stealing Canadians.

Waterwall

"Mighty windy out here today."

It does crazy things to The Flamboyance (tm). It's like the gossamer tendrils of young love.


So high winds mean high waves. For the first time in a long time, we had

WATERWALL

There's a dog in that there waterwall, btw. It sounds like this: "AAAGGGHHH!!!!"

Poor Piper. The waves just chewed her up and spit her out.

*Glub*glub*glub*

At least she went in! Tweed is just a garden variety chickenshit. He refuses to go in the big waves since the big Waterwall Washout of '07.

He pretends like he's thinking about braving the surf ...

And then he puts on a little dance of bravado for the crowds ...

But ultimately, he just runs like stink in the other direction, and waits for his ball to wash up on the sand.

I didn't even take The Wootie Toy out of the plastic bag. I know he won't jump in those waves, another casualty of the '07 Waterwall Washout. Instead, he found a playmate.


A very cute playmate. I believe it was another borderjack, like Tempus. Unlike Tempus however, this one didn't make me break out into a cold sweat.

She's pretty cute, no?



Every day, pretty much, we go to the beach or the park. And while we are there, Sport does this:

And sometimes he does this:

At 16 years old, he is not exactly a high maintenance dog. Except when it comes to eating. Sport says that pretty well all food sucks. Sometimes he will deign to ingest some raw food, or some cleverly marketed kibbles, so that I stop nagging at him, but for the most part he has to be force fed. Which, btw, he isn't all that happy about, but like everything else, he tolerates without complaint.

Even without complaint, he is good at making his feelings obvious:

Before I put the kibbles there, he looked like this:

When I told Tweed he could not have any of the kibbles, he looked like this:

When I told Noodles he couldn't have any kibbles, he ignored me, and helped himself anyway. At least he had the decency to be quasi-sneaky about it.

Sport is a great old dog. Unless you are another dog, he is very good natured. He likes all people and the cat may as well not exist. He tries really hard to please. I wish he would eat though. I understand that sometimes old dogs just lose their appetites, kind of like people. And then again, it could be something more sinister as well. But either way, I'll keep trying to get food into him and maybe he will put on a little weight. It's hard to tell from the photos, but he really is disgustingly thin. And I'm not letting him go down without a fight!

What a difference a day makes!

ETA: This entry is short because I'm packing up my shit to move to insanedogowner's house!

Also, never fear blog readers - there have been NO shortage of takers for this fella, should it be time for him to move on. He's got multiple homes waiting to take him in ;-)

Hello again, old Sport!

After 24 hours in the 3WaaW household, we have learned to do the following:

• Make Food Lady lift you into the scary elevator
• NOT pee in the apartment building hallway (exiting Food Lady's shoebox-cum-apartment is not the same as "going outside." Okay, okay, we get that now)
• NOT nap in the building lobby (just because you came through a door after a walk does not mean that's where you or the Food Lady live)
• Find "Lean Cuts" mystery dog meat unpalatable and refuse everything but raw meat and cottage cheese.
• Come when called, because the Food Lady is faster than you, and will grab your tail

Actually, Sport is very obedient and has clearly been trained to listen. I think the momentary lapse of judgment in running (shuffling) away this morning was to test whether I loved him or not. Ever since I ran (walked slightly faster) after him and caught him, he has decided I really love him, and has stuck to me like glue. I can't get rid of him now, which is kind of unfortunate because a) it's hard to take pictures of a dog standing on your feet and b) he smells REALLY bad!

However, we went to the dog beach after work, and Sport showed me that he could jump in and out of the van, could crate himself in the van once he knew which kennel was 'his,' and could go up and down stairs quite easily. He seemed to enjoy his time at the dog beach, and wandered from person to person getting loves, but always coming back to check in on me.


People seeing his photos find it hard to believe he is 16 years old. Really, all they have to do is smell him - he stinks like he is both 16 years old AND died in the Nevada desert at least 8 days before he came to my house. BLECH! I can't wait until his new diet kicks in and the yeast ships out! I admit he always comes out looking younger in the photos than he does in person. (If I could replicate this when taking pictures of people, I would be a kajillionaire by now!)

Anyway, the beach visit exhausted him and he is passed out by the deck door. If you pinch your nose closed when you snuggle him, he is the CUTEST DOG EVER!!!
I am going to try to update you on his progress as often as I can, and I will try to keep the entries short. I will also work on getting him used to the camera so I can get some better shots of him.

But before we go ... Wootie's girlfriend was at the beach today!

She was super excited to see him!


She flirted, while Woo tried to play it cool

But pretty soon, it was - in the charming words of Cookie Uncle - "on like Donkey Kong"


She CLEARLY wanted a piece of ass! I love it when she grabs his tail and pulls!!

She's one hot chickie!

Also ETA: I forgot to tell you that Sport has worms. Eww. So tonight I dewormed him.

If I spill dewormer on my iphone/ipod earphones, does that make me immune to earworms like

PEANUTBUTTERJELLYTIME! PEANUTBUTTERJELLYTIME!

????

hahahahaha. Suckers.

Cheerio Old Sport

Meet Sport.

I'm not kidding about the "old Sport" business. Sport is OLD - Sixteen years old, to be more specific. The story as I heard it was that Sport's owner (no spring chicken himself) died, and the surviving members of his family didn't seem to have it together when it came to Sport, because this old man wandered off and got picked up by the SPCA as a stray. I have no idea how long he was Littlest Hobo-ing it on the road, but by the looks of him, it must have been about 4 days shy of FOREVER.

Sport is completely emaciated. I'm not talking skinny, I'm talking bones-with-fur. The fact that he can walk never fails to amaze me. The fact that he survived his neuter surgery on Friday is nothing short of miraculous.

He is probably 15 lbs or more underweight. He also has the worst case of flea-bite dermatitis I have ever seen, the world's yeastiest ears, and a tumour on his ass (attractive, no?). Sport is not winning any physicality awards in the near future. I would like to believe that his elderly owner let him deteriorate like this because he was infirm himself and that his surviving family were so overwhelmed with grief that they couldn't care for Sport too. Because I would hate to think anyone would willfully neglect a dog like this.

They (the family) did not retrieve him from the shelter. They felt he should "go to God" and be with his owner. The shelter felt he might be better off "going to TDBCR." And I'm a sucker for an old dog, so guess who got Sport? :)

I feel robbed of the precious years I was to spend with Briggs in his old age. He died much too young. Perhaps I can make up for that with Sport.

Sport is a real sweetie. I gather he was not eating at the shelter, or at his temporary residence in the vet clinic, post surgery. Then his interim foster home, who held him overnight for me, bought him 17 different varieties of canned food and Sport settled on something disgusting called "Lean Cuts" as his meal of choice - if offered on a spoon.

Ah, but Sport is no dummy. My first order of business with all dogs, especially those that are ailing, is to switch 'em to raw. I put down a plate of ground chicken mixed with Lean Cuts and Mr. Sporticus promptly ate all the chicken and politely left the Lean Cuts behind. Mr. Woo thinks Sport is a real idiot.

Anyway, there's my secret - we are Three Woofs and a Woo once again. At least temporarily. Because while I would love to offer Sport a retirement home here at Casa de Food Lady, I also realize that my oldest dog is half Sport's age. And Sport might like to have someone who is around in the day to spend time with, something I can't really offer him (until someone starts subsidizing my life, that is). But for the next while, at least, Sport is here to stay and hopefully improve.