Wednesday, February 20, 2013

doggie bloggy part 1

The other day, in the same email exchange where me and Eartha Kitsch discussed obscenely large stuffed valentines, she mentioned that I rarely mention my dogs much in this blog. Although I smatter their images hither and yon, I rarely write dog-centric posts... probably out of  fear of becoming the kind of dogger blogger that blogs from her canine's perspective [Tangent: Yeah. That's a thing. A very popular thing, actually. Just consult the web.]. I probably haven't devoted an entire post to them since this post about Newman entitled Doggie Style. [Tangent: Yes, I called that as a fun play on words...more as an homage to Snoop Dogg (aka Snoop Lion) than a sexual overature, however, after the post got a lot of hits, I took to the googles and found out why. If you search "girl in wheelchair doggie style"- that blog post is #7.  (At one point, I was #5...I guess I'm slipping.) I'm sure the demographic using that search term is highly disappointed to learn that they are reading less a Penthouse forum letter and more just me ranting about my demented chihuahua mix puppy. Now you know my popularity is based solely on unfortunate wordplay. Oh well.] So I guess it's time tell you their adoption stories so I thought I'd give you all a two-parter with loads of cliffhangers [Tangent: But probably just some nostalgia scattered with things that'll make you go "awwww!"].

Easter-time 2007, my brother dropped off a very underweight battered puppy mill dog at our house.  [Tangent: At the time, my bro worked for a generically named volunteer organization that helped mentally challenged adults. The people that found the little misfit pup misunderstood my bro's company mission of service and just dropped the dog with him thinking that they just seemed like do-gooders in general. My brother, ever the bleeding heart took him in and promptly handed the mutt our way.]. Frankly, the dog was gross. Matted, boney and skittish with stitches around his neck.  There was no way of telling what kind of dog he was, but since he was puppy mill, we assumed some type of "designer purse dog." [Tangent: We are thinking a Morkie...but have no idea.]

He basically just stared at us from the couch for 2 days straight while my 14 year old cock-a-poo gave it the stink eye.  He didn't bark or move, just basically sat there looking scared of the world and acting nervous. Lame.

After hanging with him for a day I named him Andre, because he was lanky and effeminate and nervously danced around. The only thing I could liken him to was Andre Gonzalo, my favorite Project Runway contestant of that era. Additionally, saying "Where's Andre?" in my favorite Tim Gunn inflection was a joke that I'm sure never got me at least.

 We already had an elderly dame [Tangent: My girl Jazzi was 15 when she died. RIP.] who was pretty set in her ways and didn't want anything to do with this little homely orphan, so without asking, we told my sister in Chattanooga that she was getting a new dog and would take him home after Easter Break. Happy Easter, Kelly, you get a heap of Vet bills and lost sleep!

My sister took care of Andre till about a year and a half ago when she changed living situations, so Andre (aka Dre aka Dr. Dre aka Dreidel) came to live with that he was all fattened up and sassy...and slightly less scared of his own shadow. At first it was only temporary but he was a good BFF for our new dog, Kelly decided it was a better living situation for him. This way he could have constant attention and a friend to gnaw on his face 24/7.

 He is still a weird skittish mess, and probably more cat than dog. He doesn't do any tricks and we think he is mildy schitzo, but we love him and are so glad we got him out of that terrible puppy mill scenario. So now, for some doggie spam- Dr. Dre edition:

this is my boyfriend wearing a dog vest, and my dog wearing a vest. [He doesn't dress like this every day, promise]


  1. Stop it 'cause he's sooooo cute! I've decided that when I crack and DO adopt a dog, it's going to be one of those fuzzy, mopsy breeds. I just love their feet and their wacky smiles. Your Andre (great name) reminds me so much of our recent charge, Moxie. p.s. I'm pretty sure that you'll never become a crazy dog blogger.

    p.s.s. I recently thought about doing blog posts from the point of views of my cats. I'm sooo glad I didn't now.

    1. Yes. You should. Being a dog owner is the bee's knees. And yes, Andre's feet are ridiculous. When he needs grooming, his feet look like a fraggle.

  2. oh what a sweet post! you know i love to read anything about doggies! andre is so cute. i love a little dog.

    1. He's not really terribly small but he's fairly ridiculous. Like he's clearly the dumb pretty one


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