Weekends Are Nice

Weekends don't usually mean very much when you are a dog. Even when you are a "working" dog. They mean especially little when you work for B and J who have jobs that involve work on the weekends, travel, random days off, and frequently working from home. This weekend was different and I must say that I enjoyed the change. Both of the Oppressors had the weekend off and they spent it at home doing home stuff.

The weather was really nice so they worked on preparing the garden area for the spring. This was a lot of work because the creeper ground cover that B tried to kill with an herbicide didn't die and was hard to remove. B and J got it out of there and transplanted it to the bank in the backyard. They took the sod from the garden areas and put it on my favorite dead spot.

I hope the squirrels who bury their nuts and sunflower seeds from the local bird feeders don't let the new grass stop them. There is a really fat one I've been seeing around who will make a nice trophy for me when my leg is better...

B and J also did other stuff around the house and took me for some walks. All in all it has been a good weekend. You may be wondering what I was doing other than going on those walks. You can probably guess, but in case you can't.

My Sweet Spots

In spite of B and J's best efforts I continue to be in good spirits. My spots have returned to my leg and I have returned to my favorite spots like the sofa downstairs. I really want to be snotty and irritated with the Oppressors, but for whatever reason I can't be. It isn't that they have been treating me any differently, just that I am feeling good. My appetite is back in full effect and my leg feels normal. I hope that the X-rays in a few weeks show that my leg is as good as it feels.

B and J went to see Michael Clayton without me and while I should be rather annoyed with them about it I have been dozing on the couch imagining that J's hand petting me is actually Mr Clooney's. All in all it is probably better to daydream about George than to see a stupid movie about stressed out lawyers.

The Chipmunk Movie is Doomed

So, my recovery is going well. The shaved turkey drumstick leg is once again covered in luscious heeler spots, I am once again able to trot a little bit on my daily walks, and I have vowed to savor every last chunk of kibble dusted in this magical ligament repair powder supplement that B and J procured for me. Things are looking up...

However, the thought that the following picture was created by an ostensibly rational human being is just about enough to make me relapse into a shuddering, weak mess who barely has the strength to get up on my favorite couch.

Not only does this mean that there is a totally unnecessary Alvin and the Chipmunks movie coming out, but I haven't been this uncomfortable since I watched the YouTube video featuring Karl Rove rapping at the White House Press Corps Association dinner.

Rocky Mountain Water

Things have been going well lately. I got the staples out of my leg and it is working better and better. B and J are still being nice to me even though they are busy. I'm a little annoyed that J hasn't been taking me to work as much this week, but the weather has been nice and I have been able to enjoy the sun.

I really like the dead patch of grass in my backyard. Due to my injury I have been spending more time back there and have regularly been taking care of my "business" back there. I usually prefer to do this in other people's yards so B or J have to pick it up. Making them pick up my poo and carry it around is sweet revenge for all the things they do that annoy me and it got me thinking about ways I can take revenge on B and J in spite of my injury.

It all came together for me when I heard the phrase "poo rolls down hill." Our new house is on a hill and at the bottom of that hill next to a stream that runs near our house is a factory. The factory makes beer that boasts that it comes from fresh rocky mountain water. B and J enjoy their beer with some regularity. So here I am basking on the dead grass with a view of the factory hoping that my poo rolls down hill far enough...

Queen of Carthage

I have just heard some sad news. A feline companion of mine has passed away. I certainly won't miss her, but it makes me sad nevertheless. Dido was a cat who commanded respect, and while I certainly didn't like her I did respect her (she didn't give me a choice). Her loss will also make my close friend Cathy very sad which in turn makes me sad. Dido was a survivor and despite the best efforts of the cretins who dumped her in a rural field as a kitten and the foxes who lived near that field she lived to be pretty old. She apparently charmed B's family and inserted herself into their lives. She could have hidden and starved, but instead she went out and found herself a home. She was all black and so was named after the Queen of Carthage who battled the Romans and who may or may not have also had black hair.

In other news my leg is doing better. I am allowed to go on 10 minute walks and have been spending a lot of time at J's office which I like a lot. B took me to physical therapy yesterday and learned how to stretch my leg which isn't very much fun at all. I have also been able to resist licking my incisions so I don't have to wear the martini glass cone on my head anymore. Overall my life is pretty good. I get my stitches out next week.