Couch Potato Pemby

Oh man am I good, or what? Even as my ambidextrous peds are flying over the keyboard, I have to say I'm rather impressed with myself. Since adopting my parents, they have taunted me with calling me up to the sofa with them, knowing full well my short puppy pemby legs were no match for the height.


C'mon, Give me a Boost!

I would hop on my back legs, pulling furiously at the top of the sofa seat with my front paws, trying to maneuver my long puppy frame to where mommy and daddy were. They, of course would help me up, but only after laughing at me first. Oh sure, they would say stuff like, 'Oh, isn't that cute', and 'look how hard he's trying with those short little legs'. Insensitive is what I call it. Definitely NOT funny.

Anyway, the other day, I saw daddy holding another puppy friend, "Frisco". I was cool with it and all until he started really pouring on the affection. Well, that was pushing it. So, I decided to let daddy know that I was now available for his attention and also to inform Frisco that I was the alpha-dog in this house - so he'd better watch himself. So, I just hopped up on the sofa.

Look Mom! No paws!

My goodness! You'd think I just won the olympic gold medal for all dogs! Daddy's been getting me to repeat this feat over and over now, acting all proud and stuff.

Really, dad. Didn't they tell you I was born with super puppy powers?

The Holding Pattern

Have you ever been gnawing contentedly on your favorite bacon nylabone, thoroughly enjoying the moment, savoring the texture and flavor of a finely crafted dog bone, when you suddenly find yourself being airlifted? No warning. No chance to run and hide.

These giant arms materialize and lock under your furbod and you are quickly separated from your bacon bone, the floor, the savoring and gnawing...this is not a pleasant situation. Mom, especially is guilty of this irrational behaviour. For shame.

Next thing I know, I'm sitting on her lap, leaning back and trying my best to give her that annoyed look that I just can't seem to perfect. She oohs and ahhs and wants to cuddle. UGH! I throw my head back and willfully look in the opposite direction. Why does she pick on me?

I've found the only bargaining chip that has any sway with her is to give her kisses on the face. This little appeasement is the surest way to find freedom from her clutches and return to my previous state of enjoyment.

She just loves it. Crazy woman.

My Own FairyDOGmother?

You know how you can be trotting along through life, when all of a sudden it happens. The unthinkable, never in a million dog years could it happen, happens. Well, maybe not a MILLION dog years, but you get the idea. A bounty has been placed on my head, or more specifically, my teeth! Unimaginable, right?

I'm a puppy and I'm losing my teeth. This cannot be good! And now, without warning, Mom has morphed in to this crazed fairydogmother...snatching up any stray tooth that goes flying while I'm thrashing one of my stuffed toys about. She triumphantly pulls out this ziplock bag and proudly drops her prize in with the rest.

Oh, and she's gotten worse! I'll just be minding my own business, blowing a coat here, scarfing up a treat there...and then SHE appears - from nowhere! Hoping to get lucky and snag another puppy tooth. I mean it Mom, STOP!

What will she do when I run out of teeth?

A Gross Misconception

When I was taking mommy for her evening walk tonight, I took advantage of an opportune moment to slurp up some murky gutter water from the last few days of rain. What a find!

Mommy's immediate reaction was something less than thrilled. In fact, she acted like she was disgusted! I know it's hard to believe, but there she was giving my collar a firm pull and saying "ICKY!" (code word for "that may be yummy to you, but you can't have it.") This also seems to apply to bird poop, my poop, worms and bugs (dead or alive), and to any stray item or interesting smelling gooey mass to which I may encounter and want to stake claim.

As we resumed our walk, she continued her maternal opinion of my tastes by saying, "you just can't enjoy a walk unless you try to eat or drink something gross, can you?".

Mom, I am a puppy and a boy. Gross comes with the package.

Sorry Charley

My adopted parents kept talking about Charley and that he was on his way to our place. I wondered who this Charley was...and why they didn't seem too happy about his expected visit.

Then some friends came with a little boy named, Justin and a Beagle puppy named, Frisco. Still no Charley. Well, everybody was watching the TV and being so serious, so Frisco and I wrestled until we dropped! Actually, Frisco is the wimp, here. I was wanting to keep playing, but Frisco had to take a nap. Must be the super-kibble mommy fed me for breakfast.

So after we both re-charged our puppy powerpacks, we went at it again and again. Charley never did show up and everyone seemed very happy.

A note from my adopted parents: We are thankful to say Hurricane Charley missed the Tampa Bay area, however our prayers and support go out to all the families who experienced the ravages of this devastating storm.

Outsmarting Daddy

OK. So I like to play with Frisbee. And I'm trying to get daddy to jump up and taunt me with Frisbee until I bark at him, then he THROWS it and I have to chase madly around to retrieve it for him. First of all, I don't know why he is always throwing the thing because he always seems so happy to get it back. (I suppose mommy had to get his Frisbee for him before me). Secondly, well, there is no second, but it did sound like I was building a case, didn't it? Whatever. So I just humor him and act all excited to run about and bring the thing back to him.

Well, as if my attempts at keeping my adopted daddy amused are not enough, he started to step ON Frisbee when I brought it back to him - just to watch me yank and pull with dramatic effort - even growling in low tones to emphasize my incredible resistance.

After surmising the situation, my puppy brain went in to fast forward and I knew what I had to do to free Frisbee. The next time he stepped on Frisbee, I gave him my little show of protest, then I stopped and decided to lightly bite daddy on his little toe. WOW! He instantly lifted his foot and I quickly grabbed my frisbee and took off for the dining room.

Ah. Never underestimate the resourcefulness of a Corgi-powerpup.

Guinness is in de house!

ARF! I am Guinness, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Three months ago today, I adopted my set of parents who are so thankful I rescued them. I have large, triangular ears, short legs, a nub tail and big brown eyes. If you don't believe me, check me out at: www.guinnessthedog.com and see for yourself.

I was pondering life this morning as I chewed on my bacon bone and had an epiphany (whatever that is). That trip to Dr. Barrie's on Friday morning was not just to see Aunt Marylou...seems to me something's also gone missing. I may only be 5 months old, but I still notice that my bark is a bit higher pitched than before...wait a minute...surely not! No wonder mommy looked so guilty when she dropped me off - Ein warned me about this at puppy playtime a few weeks back.

Well, I still don't know what it all means, but I'm working on the "sad eyes look" as we speak...and there goes mommy to the treat jar...HA! Works every time.