Rusty and Sasha, my two rescue dogs, enjoy marking their territory as many times as possible when they go out to potty. Rusty, lifts his leg countless times during the evening walk, and pretends to wet light poles and trees even if not a drop comes out.
Although Sasha is female, she also squats like she has incontinence, and leaves her scent every where. I never noticed this trait of her personality until recently, but I assumed that maybe it was part of her aging process. Heck, I go to the bathroom at least 30 times a day! Continue reading “Sasha Raptor”
Every Summer, just when the temperature begins to rise, I take Rusty–my Shiba Inu/Terrier mix–to get shaved at Petco, and he always comes back home with an attitude. Not until last Wednesday did I understand why.
My son had Taekwondo class at 4:15 p.m. at the Titus Institute, and my husband was able to take him. I left my boys at the class and ran to the Great Clips next door for a quick trim. Even though this franchise has a reputation of “assembly line” hair cuts, I trusted this place for almost a year without complaint. Unfortunately, that day, a comet was crossing the Earth’s orbit because a rain of meteors crashed on my head. Continue reading “Bad Haircut”
Last week my eight year old dog Sasha, a rescued Beagle/Labrador mix, had a UTI (Urinary Tract Infection). Yes, turns out female dogs get UTIs as much as human females do. The difference is that when our symptoms appear we can almost diagnose our condition and take medication over the counter to relieve some of the pain. Dogs in the contrary, have to rely on their masters and hope for the best that they can interpret their signs and take them to the vet for proper treatment. Continue reading ““This bitch…!””
Yesterday, while I was rushing out the door for a doctor’s appointment, my Shiba Inu/Terrier mix named Rusty, decided to battle my command, “Go in the crate“. Instead of going in peacefully as he usually does–I’m lying, he always fights me!–he decided to give me crap and ran around the dinning room table.
In a split second, I lost my cool and ran to the garage to get the broom. I chased his little a-hole for two or three minutes around the table until I stopped and flipped him off. He stared at me like saying, “You are lucky I don’t have hands, woman!“