Throwback Thursday

 Ah, so many years ago, when I was a wee lad, mama bundled me up and took me to Petco to have my photo taken with Santa. This was my first year of life, I was only a few months old, and yet the promise of treats was too great a temptation to resist. And so we arrived at Petco with several other doggies and their owners, waiting for the grand arrival of Petco Santa. Would he arrive in a sleigh with eight mighty reindeer? This was LA, he could have arrived in a stretch limo with an entourage. We all waited, and waited, and waited. No Santa (there was a rumor that he was drunk - at 10AM on Sunday when he was supposed to be Santa-ing). The poor employees watched us waiting, many dogs in their Xmas finery, for our chance to tell Santa what we wanted for Xmas while simultaneously trying not to puke in his lap or scratch his eyes out. I'd like to think that they took pity on us, but the truth was probably more like their manager picking on the employee with the least seniority (otherwise known as "the new guy"), handing him a full Santa outfit-in-a-bag, and anointing him Santa. Out he strode, from the employee-only back room, the cheap polyester chafing his crotch and scratching his face (I know this because he kept saying it over and over). There would be only one shot, one chance to catch the gravity of the moment, and all the finery of the holiday season.

And BAM.  Nailed it.  SUPERMODEL.

Love,

Bogart

Baking for Bogie (Woo-Hoo, RECIPES!)

Sometimes mama gets it SO DAMN RIGHT.

Normally I wouldn't let her anywhere near the stove, she's just not terribly domestically-inclined, and has a bad habit of setting off smoke alarms with her, ahem, "cooking".  Apparently, she bought "ingredients" to make some cookies for me awhile ago, and they have been taunting her ever since.  Now "ingredients" to her are usually a mishmash of things that make no sense together, don't taste good together, and get thrown away in disgust after sitting for an inordinate amount of time in the refrigerator taking up valuable real estate that could be filled with normal, good-tasting food that someone else made.  BUT TODAY WAS DIFFERENT, today she decided that SHE HAD HAD ENOUGH.

And so 'a baking she went.  Brought out all of her "ingredients" and hoped for the best.  Today's cookies brought to you mostly by the fine ingredients courtesy of Trader Joe's, with a quick run to the ShopRite as well.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it (and make these delicious cookies) is:  Bob's Red Mill Oat Flour (approx 1 cup), TJ's quick-cook oatmeal (approx. .5 cup), TJ's flaxseed with blueberry (approx. 1 heaping tablespoon), 1 jar of Gerber Chicken baby food, and enough rice milk to make a thick dough.  Don't sweat the exact ratios, if mama can do it, ANYONE CAN.  Roll it out thinly (it should be tough but sticky), cut into amusing shapes.  Heat the oven to 325, cook 'em for about 10-15 minutes, then let 'em sit in the oven as it cools down.  Then you should put on any and all protective gear that you own, especially for your hands and arms, because this is what you will see coming at you:

Yes, mama made one Airedale-shaped one for me.  She just happens to have an Airedale-shaped cookie cutter (she just happens to have Airedale-shaped everything, oh and cat-shaped everything too).  Don't judge us.

Once the initial excitement is over (and you have counted all of your fingers to be sure that you still have 10 - or however many you had when this all started), then the little hearts can come out.

I watched mama the entire time - these were EASY to make.  Yes, she did set off the smoke alarm twice (but that's normal around here whenever she is near the stove so I wouldn't hold it against her).  But they are DELICIOUS and have no crap in them.  It wasn't easy for either of us to stop feeding them to me.  I am a picky gourmand, and usually would sniff at a new treat before showing it the tail.  BUT NOT THESE.  Did I get a few too many?  Yup.  Did mama cry a little knowing that she had actually made my cookies and that I loved 'em?  Sure.  Did we remember to put them into a glass container with a top so that they will stay fresh until I get a chance to eat them all?  You betcha.

Love,

Bogart

I'm a Maniac

THIS is what happens when you take one mama with some knitting skills and too much time on her hands, and one Airedale with shaved legs from the vet.

Yep, I know that I look a little "Flashdance". What can I say. At least she didn't knit me a headband to match.

Love,
Bogart

Poodle Legs

Having to go to the hospital stinks. Especially when something out of the ordinary happens.

Tuesday night, mama came home to see me unable to walk.  I tried to run to see her at the door, but couldn't really stand.  It was really scary for both of us!!!  So immediately we went off to see the fine folks at Penn Veterinary Hospital's emergency clinic to see what was up.

Right now they think I may have had a seizure or a vascular event.  We're waiting to find out more, but luckily since then I haven't had any issues.

Except for one.  I DIDN'T SIGN ON FOR THIS NEW HAIRE-DO.

Now, no disrespect to poodles everywhere, but damn I'm an Airedale Terrier and a proud one at that.  We're just not supposed to have breaks in the manly fuzz like this.

It's OK.  You don't have to pretend.  I know it looks silly.

I mean, you don't have to spare my feelings or anything, give it to me straight.

Yep.  It just ain't right.  Now mama has been thinking of ways to do a little creative cover-up until I have some time to grow some of it back.

So far she's thought about cutting up some old socks...

And someone else suggested those stretchy, 70s-era wrist sweatbands (of course I would need a matching headband).

I'm not really a fan of any of these, but then again, I don't want to freeze my tootsies off either, especially during those chilly morning walkies.  We shall see.

OK, all of you back there in the peanut gallery, let he who has never had a bad haircut or funky perm throw the first stone...

Oh, I'm so not a fan.

 

Love,

Bogart

Every Little Things... Gonna Be Alright

A great way to start off a brisk Sunday is to head to the park, find some sticks, then watch as some treats magically fall from mama's bag.

I'm sorry that I haven't written regularly in awhile, a lot has been going on. Without opposable thumbs, there isn't much I can do other than chastise mama for her laziness. But not too much, I don't want to stop that treat train.

Love,
Bogart

Gonna Party Like it's My Birthday

BECAUSE IT IS

It's been a crazy year for me, especially with my crappy spleen issues, but happy to say that today I am 9!

Love,

Bogart

Grab the World by the Stick

You spin me right round, baby right round... 

In your quest to make me move along during the morning walkie, you have foolishly fallen into my trap of CUTENESS.

Nice try mama, but you are out of your league here.

I will turn up my charm to 11 if necessary.

Are you sure that your heart can take all of this?

Yeah, I know.  It's not fair.  But I won't hurt ya mama.  Just turn it up enough to get my way.

Mission Accomplished.

Love,

Bogart

Heartbroken

Today I found out that my girlfriend, Miss Sunshade, has passed away.  I am heartbroken.

Her mama posted this video today, which tells her story better than I ever could.  Yes, you should get your tissues ready.

Give your dogs (and cats) a big hug.

We will always love you Sunshade,

Lulu & Bogart

Starting Off a Saturday...

No better way to start the day than a full roll in the wet grass, a fine pine cone, and a belly scratch.

Roll, roll, roll, roll...

Roll on your back, roll on your belly, roll over your pine cone...

Am I right?

Love,
Bogart

Stay Stick-y, My Friends

Sticks are life. And life is all about sticks.

I'm busy livin', which is why I haven't been doing much updatin'. That's going to change. Gonna get mama to do more regular posting for my friends all over the world. But in the meantime...

There are sticks. Lots of 'em. With our current weather here in Philadelphia (stormy and windy) I am here to take full advantage of the stick-storm. I like to find 'em, grab 'em, carry 'em, and yes, sometimes eat 'em.

The beauty of this advanced stickwork (don't try this at home, puppies, this is a DOG'S work) is how BADASS you look walking down the street. 3 sticks in your mouth, carried at a jaunty angle, almost like a cats whiskers. It says, Look out world, HERE I AM.

It also says, HERE I COME - which implies GET OUT OF MY WAY.

Not in a bad way, you understand, just letting folks know that a VIP is coming down the street and they need to make way. Most people are smart and quick enough to understand. Sometimes I have to bust out the cute expressions.

I know that the human heart isn't really prepared to handle the levels of cuteness that I can bring with just a look and a stick. I do have compassion for you. I will just lay here and give you a moment to calm down. You know, for your health and safety.

Oh and don't get me started on if I'm wearing a sweater and carrying sticks. HEARTS EXPLODE

Love,
Bogart

I Feel Good... YEAH

ATTENTION RITTENHOUSE SQUARE PARK VISITORS (and everyone else within a 2-block radius): I'm feeling GOOD!

Not letting a little thing like major surgery get me down, I'm having more "up" days than "down" ones, and damnit, a boy needs his walkies. Hey, Rittenhouse, HAVE YA MISSED ME?

(I missed you)

Love,
Bogart

NO CANCER!

Shout it from the rooftops, yodel from the mountains, BOGART DOES NOT HAVE CANCER!!!

Love,

Bogart

Gotta Go, Gotta Go, Gotta Go Right N

Cats pee indoors.  Dogs do their business outside.  Mama was being nice and thought that she would get some peepee pads for me so that I didn't have to go down the stairs and outside to pee.  To which I say, AW HELL NO

A gentleman always pees outside.  Like a racehorse when necessary (like today - I am a badass but I'm not stupid).  End of story.

Love,

Bogart

Surgery, Damnit

 On Thursday, something felt wrong.  Very, very wrong.  I had gone for my first "senior visit" at my local vet last Saturday where they found a large mass in my abdomen.  That wasn't fun, but we had scheduled an ultrasound and biopsy thinking that surgery was a very real possibility.

Well yes, yes it was.

Just a lot sooner than expected when my belly decided early on Thursday morning to start trouble.  So mama packed me off to Penn Veterinary Hospital's emergency clinic.  I've been here before when I had that super-hard poop, and they were nice to me then (except for those fingers up my butt, I won't ever forgive you guys for that) so I kissed mama and went off to get my treatment.

Surgery is always scary.  Emergency surgery requires that you are in the most skilled hands, and we have the utmost confidence in the doctors and nurses at Penn.  Mama spent the day crying and worrying about me, I spent the day looped out of my mind on painkillers and anaesthesia.  At the end of the day I had a tremendous tumor removed along with my spleen and I was ready to sleep.

When I woke up the next day, I wanted out.  Not that I wasn't appreciative, but I wanted to be home.  The fine folks at Penn had made only one mistake - trying to feed me something called "dog food".  If it comes out of a can, it doesn't go into this man, cause I only eat mama's home cooking.  So the doctor called mama and told them about my plight and she rushed over with some chicken soup and treats.  I was just so glad to see her I didn't eat much, but licked a little broth to let her know that I meant business about getting the hell outa Dodge.

It worked.  On Saturday she came with my pal Astro's mama, Deb to spring me from the joint.  Oh how happy I was to see her, even happier once I realized that we were heading home!!  There is nothing in the world like your own bed, nothing.  Even with my skimpy new hairdo I managed to move the pillows around to my liking and head off to dreamland.

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Love,

Bogart

Man of Adventure

Nothing can stop me when there are pine cones around. NOTHING.

THROW ME A CONE!

Um, thanks.

CONE CONE CONE CONE CONE CONE CONE CONE

Look.  I let you clean my toes.  I wore the potentially-humiliating Flashdance-style sweatshirt.  I'm wearing the damn booties.  GIVE ME MY CONE

I do love this snow.  Even though there has been way too much of it this year.  Yes, it's cold.  Yes, it's inconvenient.  Yes, it means I have to wear the dreaded booties.  But it's quite lovely, especially early in the morning once the sun has come up but most of Philadelphia is still asleep.  Oh, and thanks for the cone!

Love,

Bogart