There's a little trait in my small family unit all share except for me because I'm too lazy...obsessive compulsiveness. John's an obsessive cleaner/task doer. My dog is an obsessive squirrel hunter. This is a new thing for Frankie, she never seemed too concerned about other animals and I'm not necessarily sure that she's trying to hunt them, I think she wants them to be her friends. She sits for hours under the tree where the squirrels chitter angrily at her but she just whines and paws at the air hoping they'll come down. There's nothing secretive about her behavior, she barks, she attempts to climb the tree and she "talks" (weird growly whine she does) when they freak out on her. This is what I see while I sunbathe.

Here's the little prince (my brother in law's dog) snoozing away on the futon because Frankie wants nothing to do with him.









She prefers the couch and is sleeping one eye open, watching him...


Poor little guy, he tries to get closer and closer to her but this is all she will allow.

Well, vacation is winding quickly to a close. I don't have much to show for it except I probably gained ten pounds--I guess it was fun putting them on, but I'm sure it won't be fun taking them off. Where my break has been pretty quiet and mostly lazy (getting to read books, watch tons of movies and mindless TV) today has been nothing short of insanity and I've only been awake for a half hour.

You see, John and I are watching his brother's dog while he's celebrating NYE in North Carolina with some of his friends. My brother in law should've named this dog Naughty. He's adorable and tiny (and sounds like a little pig when he snorts and walks) but he is 100% bad! Already today he chased my poor dog around with a pillow which he was trying to smother her with. Seriously, I wouldn't believe it myself unless I had seen it. He woke me up by standing on my head and sniffing my ear. Then he puked on me. That typically gets a person out of bed. I have to hand it to him, it's an effective method for getting people to do what you want.

Now Sir Naughty is only 1/2 of the equation. Frankie doesn't like to share. She runs around and gathers up all her toys (my socks) holding about 12 in her mouth so that Naughty can't take them. She also feels the need to protect my lap from being laid in by the other dog. Frankie isn't a lap dog, Naughty is. So instead of a 15 lb dog nestled in my lap, I have a 55 lb dog snoring on me as we speak. Because they (Naughty stealing stuff and Frankie trying to take it all back from him) run around here at a breakneck speed carrying around CDs, empty cigaratte boxes, lighters, candles and/or anything else they can fit within their drooping jowls every fifteen minutes or so my lap turns into napzone and they squirm and struggle to see who's going to get the spot! I have to say that John would fight for my lap too, it's a nice place to be. And just as quickly chaos ensued, I have two dogs spooning on my lap snoring loudly. And you know what they say about sleeping dogs...
...you let them lie.
Because in a few short minutes we're going to be doing this whole routine all over again.

*edit*
Oh dear lord, I want these dogs to sleep for as long as humanly/caninely possible but Naughty needs some kind of Beano and I need some form of gas mask. This is cruel and unusual punishment.

Four years ago we didn't even know each other on your birthday and then on Christmas Eve I was doing my final gift run and I passed the pet store in the mall. I heard my mother, my friends and even my mailman's voice saying to me, "You can't get a puppy from a pet store!" and I wasn't even planning on it. But then I saw you. A tiny little ball of pure chocolate velvet. I ran into the store and asked if I could see you. The large man grunted and said, "That one? That one hardly moves...". and then he handed you to me. You looked at me with impossibly beautiful jade green eyes and you cautiously sniffed my hair as I held you close to my face. I set you down on the ground and crouched to see you wobble on tiny little legs. You peed on my sneaker. The man who obviously hated dogs and more particularly you said to me, "Sorry lady, want me to take the runt from you?"

He reached to grab you and I instictively grabbed you off the ground and held you tightly against my chest. "I'll take her. Here's my card. Francesca and I are going to need a collar and a leash so that we can get out of the mall."
"Who the hell is Francesca?" the man inquired.
"This beautiful little girl" I replied nuzzling you with my eyes closed and probably looking like the biggest loser in the world.
"Hmmpf", was his reply and I think I heard him mutter about how I named you within minutes of knowing you. We left the store quickly. I held you tight against me as we weaved in and out of holiday shoppers, stopping only to allow small children to coo over you (it was the holiday season after all). We made it to Nordstrom and you were grunting like a little pig and so I let you waddle next to me as we closed in on the door that would provide us freedom from retail hell, when I noticed that you decided you needed to poo...and that you were already pooping on the floor! Leave it to you to wait until we're in the snobbiest store in the mall! But the women were gracious and they cleaned it up and played with you, even though I insisted on doing it. I scooped you up one more time and got us to the car. Your tiny snores made me giggle the whole way home.

The next day our lives were turned upside down. I came home from work and you were listing in your crate. I pulled you out of it and mucus was streaming out of every orrifice (not a very good look for you baby) and you were breathing so weakly. I called the vet in a panic. She told me that it was just "new puppy jitters" and that perhaps you just had a cold. I tried to explain. Then I just got pissed. I told the vet she could explain it to me when I got there. I tucked you into my coat and pressed you against my favorite sweater...your snot stained it somehow, it doesn't matter now and it didn't matter then. Racing to the office, they took one look at you and said gravely, "Take her to the emergency room, your puppy is on death's door!" Not exactly the words I wanted to hear, but as tears poured down my face I vowed to make you better.

Long story short, you nearly died of pneumonia that night. You see, you weren't a runt, you weren't lazy either...the fucking pet store hadn't taken care of you my sweet. Nineteen days in the animal emergency medical center later (several of those days you were in a oxygen tent...I had a Bubble Puppy!) I picked you up healthy as can be. Sure I had a brand new credit card that strictly held only your medical bills but I had you back, safe and sound.

They told me, "I'm sorry we had to give your Lab these medications that might possibly stunt her growth, so she's most likely not going to be very big..." and then they trailed off. I smiled and looked at your tiny little mug, so precious, so absolutely loving and said, "It's ok. Francesca...hmm, that's a big girl's name huh? Ummmm...." looking at you and trying to figure out if I should rename you, "Frankie...Frankie! and I are going to be just fine."

And we have been. Thank you for singing "Blue Christmas" whenever Elvis does, thank you for alerting me whenever the fire sirens go off, even at 4am. It's always better safe than sorry. Thank you for whining/crying at the door when I come home and showing me that you love me so much. Thank you for wearing the skull and crossbone shirt with the rhinestones that I know that you're not quite a fan of. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for being my Cranky Frankie.

Love you baby! Happy fourth birthday my beautiful little dog. You make our lives a little nicer just having you around.

Love,
Mom and Dad

I went to the vet today to take Frankie (my Lab to your left there) to get her booster shots (oh happy day for her!). Everything goes as expected, they try to give her shots and she does alligator rolls on the table. For some reason they kept asking me to tell her not to do that...like that will help. Sorry folks, if she doesn't want a shot, I doubt me calling her Schnukums is going to help. I joke, I did try to calm her down but she just kept doing her barrel rolls and licking my hands...but eventually, they got it all done. Other than that, it was an uneventful visit until we went to pay our bill.

Frankie and I stood at the counter patiently counting the seconds until the two of us could get the hell out of the veterinarian office...we can only take so much pep and baby talk so early in the morning. Seriously, Frankie hates baby talk. She rolls her eyes at people who talk down to her. She did a lot of eye rolling this morning. Well, we must've looked like a pair of irresistible brunettes that needed to be talked to, because some guy with a monster dog decided to take this opportunity to attempt to make small talk. Let's set the scene; my dog is desperately clawing at my arm begging to get the hell out of Dodge and his dog is about to eat her. What was his owner doing? Oh yeah, hitting on me. As Frankie recoils from the demon dog, the douche bag who was previously asking me if I lived in the area and other stupid questions (one in which involved my lunch plans) says to me, "You should probably keep your dog away from my dog, he hates other dogs!" and he says this very sternly as if Frankie was wagging her little tail and trying to play with his dog. Frankie was cowering between my legs and whining softly. I backed up a little more, glanced at the woman who was supposed to be "quickly" preparing my bill...it appeared that she was still preparing. In fact, it looked as though she was still prepping to prepare.

Douchebag's dog lunges at us again, and I back up a little more. He says again, this time even more firmly, "My dog doesn't like dogs, you should really keep your dog away from mine!" This man is crazy! Frankie is tucked between my legs, she hasn't moved at all--in fact, she looks like she's as stiff as a board with fear and I have now backed away from his dog three times and I'm only two steps from the door. So I gave him my patented "What the fuck did you just say to me?" look, took a deep breath and slowly uttered, "I was at this counter first waiting for my bill, you just came out and started hitting on me. I'm married and I don't want to have lunch with you if you noticed when I lacked enthusiasm in talking with you. If your dog has a problem with other dogs why don't you do us all a favor and get your dog the fuck away from mine?" I signed my bill with a flourish and gripped Frankie's leash tightly to leave, feeling like I probably overreacted and then the most unexpected thing happened...

a lady clapped...

and then supplied me with some interesting information. Apparently Douchebag's dog had bitten two other dogs in the waiting room...THAT DAY. After hearing that, I didn't feel like I was a bitch, I just felt like a good mom taking care of her dogbaby.

My niece is fucking beautiful...isn't she?? And she does really cool tricks like sticking her tongue out--all the time. Actually, I think that's her only trick.

Well, at least she's cute, because Frankie (my dog) can out-trick baby G still, at this stage.

1. I came home the other day to find that ER's puppy (John's brother), had found my family size bottle of Elmer's White Glue...now why they make a family sized version and why I have it? It's all a mystery to me too! What happened though, was no mystery. Norman (the puppy who looks similar to this but much cuter) decided to chew open the glue and spread it all over himself and my poor tortured dog Frankie. Frankie looked at me as if to say, "Why did you do this to me? Why are you forsaking me?" And then she looked at me with menace and I swore if she could talk she would've said, "Get out of my sight before I have to cut a bitch!"

2. John and I wanted a little alone time together since John's brother is living with us for the rest of the month until his apartment is ready for him. The only place where you can be alone in our small house without looking anti-social is the bathroom...so we took a shower together. It's something that we used to all the time, but you see our bathtub is absolutely tiny...like almost as small as this. So, whenever we switch places to get closer to actual water there is brief moment when I feel like I'm playing the world's most deadly game of Twister...particularly when John drops the soap (insert prison joke here) and makes the bottom of the tub that much slicker. Seriously, if he didn't love me and if I wasn't worth like .35 cents dead, I'd almost think that he was trying to kill me.

3. My friend who is getting married this summer wrote me an email about how much she detests bra shopping but that she should probably purchase a " few new bras as she's going into this marriage." For some reason that just really tickled me. I'm wondering what state her brassieres are in right now...

4. I was talking with my friends over lunch and my one friend told me that her husband doesn't like the DIY version of This Old House because it's too commercialized and "sexy"...he misses the old PBS versions. He also likes The Deadliest Catch too, which I think is hilarious because if you've seen one episode, you've seen them all. Here let me catch you up. "Oh geez, it's really, really cold out here!" "Oh my gosh! We might get swept overboard!" "Holy crap! There aren't any crabs in the trap! We MUST STOP OVER FISHING...well, except for this time!" And that's my interpretation of the Deadliest Catch.

One thing that doesn't make me laugh hard? John took off for the rest of the week so that means that he's off today through Monday...it makes me want to stab him in the eye with a spoon as I get ready for work. However, since I'm a benevolent soul, I guess he can take off since he has to watch me lounge around work-free/carefree ALL summer!!!

I'm sure there are other things...but I'll be damned if I can remember!

Hi everybody! I'm the dogbaby around here. I'm tired of being ignored so I decided that it was time for me to write a post. First of all, check out that first picture. I can't believe that my mom (Melina) crammed me into this pirate dog tee that is meant for a 30 lb dog! I mean sure she stretched it and she only made me wear for five minutes to take the picture but, whatevs. I'm 57 lbs (of pure lean muscle), I'm giving her the "Kill me now" face. She never gets it. What's her deal with pirate stuff anyways??? It's always skull this, eye patch that...she needs to get a new "thing". I secretly hear her cry about losing (throwing out the window when drunk) her neighborhoodies "I love Pirate "beach bag. She's a loser, I've come to accept it, you should too.I am very cranky in the morning, which is why Mom and Dad call me Cranky Frankie. They think it's cute, I think one day I might bite one of their faces off.



Sometimes I humor them by rolling on my belly so that they can pet me. It's a privillege and an honor. I hope they understand that.



But seriously folks, the best part of my day? When those two get out of my bed so that I can just relax and contemplate the meaning of life. I'm not sure why Melina and John call me Leisure Dog...must be some inside joke that I'm just not privy to.






Now if you'll excuse me...I think it's naptime.