A gratuituous dog post because I just finished the kitchen equipment final and haven't the strength to write about it. Not that it was exciting or anything...how hard is it to tell a saute pan from sautoire and a sauteuse? Snerk.
The dogs are running hellbent for leather through the house. The Rickety Fat Dog is chasing the New Hotness with the Goldfish running along beside barking his fool head right the hell off. I swear, the Goldfish is just like Cindy Brady. You can hear it in his yapping. "I'm gonna tell! I'm gonna tell!! You better stop--Mom said not to run in the house!! Yap! Yap! Yap!" I love this dog dearly, but I can totally understand why someone might want to snap his little neck. He really is a true middle child, and would like nothing more in this world to be an only poodle....The Only Poodle. Trust me, buddy, I feel your pain. He's been mad at us every since we brought the New Hotness home last June.
I'm always afraid that the Rickety Fat Dog is going to have a heart attack during the great poodle stampede, but he's managed to survive so far. Or, I'm afraid that The New Hotness is going to cripple him for life, because he doesn't realize that the Rickety Fat Dog is, in fact, rickety.
Poodle Relationship Dynamics are kind of odd at best, because poodles are so damn smart. Ours are no exception for the most part...they've got us doing the high step and fetch it quite nicely. However, I think we are bad poodle parents, because ours are a wild and unruly bunch...well, at least a noisy bunch, because sometimes they are too lazy to be unruly. They'd rather lie on the couch and bark or howl and can't be bothered to get up and see if there really is anything going on to actually yap about. It's a toss up between the Goldfish and the Rickety Fat Dog as to who can be the loudest and most annoying. The New Hotness is much quieter and only speaks when he really has something to say. Ah, if only more of us followed that rule.
We're fairly sure that Rickety Fat Dog is either part Dingo or maybe Basenji because of the way he yodels. I've never heard the sounds he makes come from a member of the domestic canine species before, which just goes to further justify that poodles aren't dogs...they're something totally different. What exactly poodles are, I don't know, but I do know they're different. (How's that for some sentence construction?!)
And RFD snores! Loudly and with much more gusto than I do (which I'm not sure if I should be happy or upset about), and has driven The Man out of the bedroom and into a guest room to get peace and quiet more than once. I don't hear this, because it usually happens on one of the nights I have to get up at 5 freakin' a.m. for school and I've put myself into a drug-induced coma so I can get some sleep. (The makers of Sominex should be knighted or something!) And, what's even better is the one-two punch of snoring and driving his little clawed feet into The Man's back in the battle to ursurp him from the bed. Sometimes, it works, so he keeps trying. Lest ye think I am immune to the nighttime carryingons, he will sometimes climb up on my pillow and plop his fat ass down on my head. On. My. Head. And, then he snores. The Man says I must have a very comfortable head, because RFD is all about the comfort.
Also, RFD is such a creature of habit and rigid social structure. He won't eat until all 3 food bowls are filled, and you have to invite him to come to bed. (I know, I know, they're all neurotic as hell!) He'll sit on the couch, in the dark, waiting, until you realize that there's something not quite right with the sleeping arrangments, namely something fat and furry is not on your head. Then, you call him and he comes pitter pattering down the hall and flings himself at the bed until you help him up...because he's too fat and too rickety to jump up on his own. You bought him steps, like a good doggy mommy, and he's used them, but it's much easier for YOU to pick him up and put him on the bed, because you live to serve, don't you?
Time to feed my furry overlords...
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