3 posts tagged “dogs”

It's been awhile since I posted on VOX, but in all honesty who gives a baboon's bollocks about that? Why in the name of pitiful ego do I even mention it as nobody is waiting with any overt expectation for me to write some new drivel, especially since I have a marked tendency to just whack on about my various brain farts, and of course, the love life, (such as it is), of one of my dogs.
 
Speaking of canines, my other little dog Bean had a knee surgery two weeks ago to correct a abnormality and now he's so ripped on Valium, spoiled from being hand fed, and continuously catered to that he's decided that rolling onto his back and peeing into air is the stylish new way to urinate...but apparently its only really fashionable for little Fountain Boy if he's lying on the carpet!

Also taking a poop is apparently tres' passe'. Bean hasn't found it suave to crap in over five days! Improbably he's been chowing down food like a starved Akita. Boy, the future sure looks bright for good old Mr. Cleanup!

The doctor also had to shave half his rump for the surgery and since then Bean has amused himself by chewing his pink butt raw, thus the doses of Valium and gobs of antibiotic ointment I have to slather on his dog ass to try and heal up the teeth marks. I've tried putting him in one of those cone shaped collars to stem the butt munching but that only redirected his attention to his stitches which he promptly consumed.

I've also tried to use some evil potion called Yuck which when applied is supposed to keep him from licking himself. What useless bullshit! He blithely wolfs the stuff down like its ambrosia! Besides, how much worse can that Yuck stuff taste than his smelly dog butt anyway?

 

Besides being a nursemaid to a hound, I've been busy building websites as well.  One of which is mine and shows off my art work. It can be found here if anyone is interested:Mr. Knuckles' Painting Site

Later...

A French designer named, Clement Eloy has come up with a new "toy" for male doggies so that “man’s best friend” doesn’t have to worry about where he’s going to bury his bone!

Rover’s new pal is called "Hotdoll", a dog shaped sex toy that male Fidos can bonk to theirs heart’s content! These new dog “toys” not only provide boy canines with an accessible bang buddy but they also spare dog owners from the embarrassment of having somebody's leg getting humped at some unexpected moment, like the mother-in-law when she over for dinner, or some poor Jehovah’s Witness who has suddenly appeared at the door!

http://gizmodo.com/gadgets/gadgets/hotdoll-the-sex-doll-for-dogs-253334.php

Thrifty dog owners might be able to save some cash, as a firm and big enough stuffed toy might actually serve the purpose for your smallish guy dogs… and unlike Monsieur Eloy’s  “Hotdoll”, you won’t have to deal with the nasty occasional chore of having to wash out the pink, (yes pink) receptacle area that is provided on a Hotdoll… Aw Cripes! Leave it to the French!

While we're on this unnecessary and arcane subject … let me tell you a little story!

Once upon a time there was a nice and friendly stuffed animal by the name of Tigee that was brought home to be a play pal for a cute little Silky Terrier / Papillion mix puppy named Gus.

Now little Gus just loved to have his owner throw Tigee around for him and little Gussy would bound around the house and fetch Tigee back to his owner over and over again, sometimes for hours on end until his weary owner started wishing he’d be killed by a meteor or something!

Then as Gus grew older he began to not only want to play fetch with Tigee, he would on occasion try and hump his best friend too. Though this seemed mildly funny and almost cute at first, Gus naturally continued to grow up and he soon began to get very serious about humping old Tigee, in fact, he rapidly took to screwing the shit out of his stuffed pal nearly every damn night!

Soon Gus was not only expecting his owner to play fetch with him for hours on end but to also hold good ol' stuffed Tigee still for him until Gus had finished giving him a vigorous stuffing of his own!

Unwittingly and to his deep chagrin, Gus’ owner realized one day that his dog Gus was not only getting laid more often than he was, but that the dog had managed to slowly but surely transform him into being a pimp for a stuffed toy!

Feeling disgusted with this situation and hoping that he might correct it, the unhappy owner took Gus to be neutered, but after Gus healed up and to the owner's great horror Gussy Boy didn’t miss a beat and went right on playing fetch and sexually assaulting his stuffed buddy just like before!

Eventually after many chewings and the nightly slap and tickles with Gus, Tigee became a crusty, dank, splattered and tattered stain farm of a toy with no ears or whiskers either, and more stitches in his head and face than in Frankenstein’s ass.

Soon on some nights when Gus’ owner was just drifting off to sleep the haunted look on Tigee’s battered face would suddenly crowd into his mind. He began to have bad dreams where Tigee would appear out of nowhere an whisper harshly in his ear, “Help me… help me you bastard! Get me the fuck outta here pleeeeease!” The owner would awake in a cold sweat unable to shake off the shame of becoming no more than a whore master for a pervert dog; a sickened accomplice who had unwittingly doomed Tigee the stuff toy to endless nights of rough sex with a Terrier.

The owner soon took to drinking squeezed  Sterno and eventually to shooting heroin to try and forget what he’d become, until one day he just ended up in a mental asylum, mumbling to himself, giggling at nothing, and writing total crap for his Vox blog site.

To this very day Gus still pounces on Tigee when he wants some sugar. And Tigee? Well, he hopes that one of these days “getting lucky” will mean he'll get thrown out with the trash.

(This idiocy is a rewrite/reprint of something I posted on my old blog by the same name.)
It is sad, but I keep logging in to view my little blog The Gallows Ape hoping for a comment, preferably one that offers a minor ego boost. This is a pathetic pursuit, I know, and it doesn’t work very well in practice. I can’t help noticing the profound silence accompanied by the occasional chirping of crickets. I can sense e-dust accumulating on the damn blog. I clearly have a blog readership on a par with Klu Klux Klan attendance at a Snoop Dog concert. In fact, my blog produces such a yawn inducing lack of interest I figure I can do no real additional harm if I go right ahead and commit one of the greatest sins on the Internet: Writing about my kitty and my doggy!

Its a certainty that nothing can cause an internet seizure quite like some kitsch minded fruit-bake gurgling on about their sodding pets! Be that as it may, if anyone actually happens to have stumbled in here by accident, please read on a bit further. I vow that I won’t go on spouting hearts and flowers about how fluffy, adorable, and smart my house animals are. I absolutely refused to do P.R. for four legged beings that piss the rugs and bring decaying lizards and dead snails into the house so that they can be rolled on in air conditioned comfort.

First off, our cat Monkey, though quite lovable, isn’t everybody’s idea of cute. From over indulgent feeding she’s now does a fair impression of the Graff Zeppelin. My wife, bless her, is in deep, deep denial about the cat’s weight problem. She insists that the cat’s skin is just loose on its body when in fact our feline is a fur bound slab of suet. Her stomach actually skims the ground for pity sake.

Despite her leviathan size the cat loves to lie on the tile floor and have me spin her around in dizzying circles, pausing now and again so she can playfully claw and chew the living shit out of my hands. This playtime activity seems to have a particularly jolly effect for the cat after she has spent several hours infusing herself with a special brand of catnip my wife has bought her. Having seen the glazed and screwed up look in kitty’s eye I’m convinced the catnip's intensity is equaled only by crushed Maui-Wowie buds.

To complicate the pet landscape a bit more, my wife and I recently went utterly brain dead and bought a puppy. We quickly named the little bastard Panty Shield. Actually not... The dog’s real name is Gus which is short for gusset, a British term which refers not only to the liners of panties but also by inference to a woman’s privates. Now my wife gets some desperate giggles by telling our English relatives, “My husband walked my Gusset around the neighborhood on a leash today” or, “We went to the beach and now my little Gusset is covered in sand!” This is tragic...

Supposedly our new little pup is half Papillion and half Silky Terrier. I wouldn’t bet the friggin' house on it. Based upon his appearance it’s far more likely that Gus is the offspring of some Ewok who got knocked up by Yoda. He’s small and fuzzy like a dog sure enough, but his main feature is two ridiculous bat wing ears that totally dwarf his golf ball sized cranium.

Like Dobby the house elf in an undersized fur coat our little canine has taken to zooming around the house incessantly. He thinks it a hoot to run slap into our fat cat like a steroid crazed linebacker, usually knocking the old butter tub into a yowling heap. When Gussy grows tired of this activity, a split second of peace ensues before he takes to curdling my brain by sitting at my feet and gnawing squeaky toys for hours on end.

Shredding anything we’ve been dumb enough to leave within three feet of the floor also seems to give Gusset a jolt. Ink pens, phones, cactus's, check books, toothpaste tubes, stray underwear; these and many other items are quickly ground into spit coated shrapnel or just simply vanish. Each day I get to spend much of my spare time hunting down these missing belongings. Yesterday on one such safari I discovered that our little Gus has begun a delightful new practice; burying his rawhide chews in the cat’s litter box. Later he unearths theses olfactory wonders so they can be shared with the family. Later I discovered the damp and tattered remains of a twenty dollar bill!

Awhile ago now, when I wasn’t paying ample attention, my wife steered me into being a semi-unwilling vegetarian. Well, never mind that I don’t get to experience the joy of eating meat anymore! The money that formerly procured me the occasional steak is now spent on fresh chicken, for guess who? Now every day I get to witness the carnivorous contentment of the friggin’ dog and cat. To compound this financial and culinary insult I'm the dunce who has been drafted into washing, cutting up, and then freezing the poultry in bulk for those spoiled little carpet defilers.

Hey! Maybe that’s why I come to visit my own blog... It’s my avenue of escape from the dang pets!