Tag Archives: furbabies

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Every once in a while, I just get too tired to write, but I know that I have people here who follow my blog and y’all expect me to post on my blog, so I’m faced with the dilemma of writing something. So, do I post about being too tired to write and (to paraphrase Shakespeare) how can I be too tired to write if I’m writing about being too tired to write?

So I obviously have *some* energy, dear reader, but not a lot. Yesterday, I cleaned out the spare bedroom — the one we call the “cat’s room” because it is where the cat has his litter box and where we feed him. It was a right mess to tell y’all the truth, and it took me about an hour to clean it out. But I did it, and after I did it, I was wiped out for quite a while afterwards. Today, the nice lady who walks the dogs and trims their nails came over and trimmed the dogs’ nails. I don’t know if any of y’all have dogs and/or trim their nails, but for me, it’s quite the adventure. My cat? He’s the easy one. Five seconds and he’s done. My dogs are trained enough that they come to me so we don’t have to chase them down, but they do not like getting their nails trimmed. Not at all. So we do have to hold them down. Well, I have to hold them down while she trims their nails. And Poptart is a biter, so we have to put a muzzle on him and wrap him in a blanket. He’s getting a lot better than he was when we first got him. But he still doesn’t like getting his nails trimmed. At least they enjoy the walk afterwards. Right? ^_^

Chillin’ like a villian

Still, holding down three dogs (and kind of holding down the cat — though not really) in a row is quite exhausting. Even though they’re not big dogs — Brandy is the biggest a 40 pounds — and they don’t really struggle. Okay, sometimes they do, because they honestly don’t want to have their nails clipped, and they occasionally just say: “Nope, don’t want to be here.” and try to get up and walk away, which is why I have to hold them down. But they’re trained enough to lie still for the most part. So it’s still an effort. It got me to thinking… I often wonder — because they’re all rescue dogs — what actually happened to them in their previous lives, before they came to live with us? Of course unless I get a time machine, I’ll never know. I can only surmise judging by their action and reactions. And when I watch how they act and react to everyday occurrences, I sometimes wish I could go back to their previous owners and say, “What the hell did you do to this dog?” The only one that seems even remotely normal is Cocoa… though even he has some strange quirks. For example, if my phone, or anything else mechanical, dings, rings, or buzzes, he will suddenly look troubled — even sad — and go hide in his box. We have a big, cardboard box that he likes to spend a lot of time in. He’s a cave dweller, what can I say? Most of the time he’ll be happily chilling out here in the living room and then something will “Ding!” and he slinks away into his box. It’s so weird. He does the same if anyone raises their voice around him too, but I guess that’s understandable. He just might not like loud voices.

Calm picture of Poptart not being angry.

I think I mentioned that Poptart was a hot mess when we first got him. He was a snappy, snarly bundle of fury, and he’s calmed down a lot in the three years we’ve had him. But his one thing (other than not liking his nails clipped) is that he absolutely cannot stand anything near him if he’s under something like a blanket — which gets to be hysterical sometimes because he and Cocoa often share the same space and Cocoa will just be chilling out then Poptart will go under the blanket next to Cocoa and immediately start growling at Cocoa for invading his space. Though lately Cocoa has started growling at Poptart whenever Poptart starts to go under the blanket so I guess he’s getting tired of those shenanigans. But I have to wonder what made Poptart so sensitive in that way. I mean, I get the feeling that he was at the very least put under a blanket and teased incessantly and possibly worse until he got to the point where he is now — not trusting anything outside of the blanket, but unable to overcome his instinct to nest under the blanket. You know? It makes me so angry. I mean, Poptart weighs all of eight pounds and he’s bordering on overweight. How can anyone mistreat something so small? It’s inconceivable to me. He’s stopped biting people indiscriminately though. So there’s that. 🙂

Old Pic of Brandy

I was looking through old pictures the other day (which is kind of what started this train of thought) and I found pictures of Brandy when we first got her. Dear reader, she always looked so sad and afraid. Every picture I have of her back then she looks… unsure and just… sad I guess. Maybe I’m anthropomorphizing feelings onto her, but she was also a hot mess when we first adopted her. I honestly want to smack someone. I don’t think that the people who had her before abused her outright. I think they neglected her. Put her in the back yard and left her there. I remember when we first got her she didn’t know how to walk on a leash (neither did Poptart btw) or how to sit or anything. She’s a smart dog though, she’s learned a lot. My only regret with Brandy is that the Humane Society we got her from flat out lied on her adoption papers. They said, “She wants nothing more than to sit at your feet and be loved.” Because we were looking for a dog that didn’t need a lot of exercise. Well guess what? She’s a cattle dog mix and guess what she needs? A lot of exercise. That’s why I have a nice lady to come and walk her once a week. And that’s why we have a big yard. It’s the best we can do for her.

all three dogs

But the past is the past, and I love my furbabies… all four of them. They may have been a hot mess when we first got them (except for Cocoa, who’s been okay for the most part), but they’re doing okay now. It’s one of the reasons why I usually get rescue animals. Because everyone needs a second (or third or even fourth) chance. I mean the only thing we know about Poptart is that he came here from California, and he came to California from Hawaii. We live in Washington, dear reader. That’s a long way for such a small dog. The only thing we know about Cocoa is that he was a stray, which is not surprising since he does have a tendency to want to wander. He’s wandered out of our yard at least half a dozen times and he is headstrong in wanting to go that –> way. He might have had a good family who missed him but he wandered too far and they just simply never found him. Well, we’ve had him for six years and we’ve done our damnedest to never let him out of our sight, but he had tried to see what’s over the horizon, the little stinker. ^_^ I don’t dwell too much on my pets’ past, because I have them now, but sometimes… sometimes dear reader, I do wonder, and sometimes I just get a little angry that there are people out there in the world who neglect and mistreat animals to the point that they mistrust others. Then I get over it, because now I have my little family, and we’re doing okay.

I guess I had some energy to write after all. ^_^

Just don’t expect me to proofread, okay? 😛