Vizsladogs, Ltd.

The Doghouse Diaries

Feb 21:

The truck is gone and most of the items from the old cave have been
moved to the new one. Bill keeps fussing over me. He
seems to think I will have trouble adapting to a cave with a yard,
trees, grass and our very own squirrels. AS IF. This morning,
on the deck, he kept saying,
over and over again: "We live HERE, now. Do you understand? We used to
live THERE. But now we live HERE. This is our
HOME, now. HERE." Yeah, yeah. HERE. I get it, already.

Feb 22:

After opening another can of goo for me, Bill made himself a thick,
juicy rib steak. We've been together since October, and
he's still treating me like a dog. He did, however, offer the bone to me
when he was finished. I chewed it for a while and then
buried it in the dirt by the shed. Bill stood up, with this rather
incredulous look on his face, and it suddenly occurred to me that
he'd never seen me bury anything before. He asked if I learned how to
do this from watching cartoons. I think he was serious.

Feb 23:

I have to say that I really LOVE this yard. The only drawback is that
there are fences on all four sides. But, as that cute
Chihuahua in East Rutherford used to say, "No problema." I've begun
preliminary excavation work at four different locations.
Bill has noticed three of them, but
the fourth one is hidden behind a poster of Rita Hayworth. I may not
have learned much from watching cartoons, but "The
Shawshank Redemption" was a revelation.

Feb 24:

Every time I bark in the yard, Bill has a fit, and makes me come back
into the cave. What is his problem? Today he actually
said, "If you want to bark all day, get a job, and buy your OWN house."
Well, excuuuse me. I guess no one's told him that
barking IS my job. God knows I never hear HIM bark. People walk by all
day and night and he never makes a sound. He just
paints, empties boxes, and rearranges rugs, knickknacks, and furniture
I've never seen before. Sometimes I don't know what to
pee on first. As for the barking, maybe I'll just stop altogether. In
fact, if someone breaks in, maybe I'll jump on his lap, lick his
face, and help him dismantle the stereo.

Feb 25:

After napping on the couch for three hours, Bill got up at 1 a.m. and
started painting the hallway. I HATE that smell. As soon
as I saw him spreading newspapers on the floor, I went up to bed. I came
back downstairs to check things out an hour or so
later, and he was still painting away like a lunatic. When he saw me, he
said, "Hi, Jasp," like it was the middle of the afternoon. I
walked across the newspaper, into the living room, and onto the couch.
Then I heard this blood-curdling scream. Apparently, I
tracked paint all over his stupid Pakistani rug. "Do you know how much
I paid for this rug?" he screamed, spritzing club soda
all over the place. Well, at least I got him to bark. Incidentally, if
you've never had club soda on
your paws, it's the wildest sensation. I can't wait until he paints the

Feb 26:

We were out on the deck again, and this big fat bug waddled by, so I ate
it. Bill ran over and pried my
mouth open. Too late! But he was really freaking out. He even ran inside
and called the vet. (Ha! He should only KNOW what
I've eaten since we moved here.) He came back out a few minutes later
and started waving his
finger at me. "Don't you ever do that again," he said. "Eating bugs is a
sign of mental illness." I didn't know what to say, so I
nodded, and played with my squeak toy.

Feb 27:

Gary came over and we all sat on the deck. Bill went inside to answer
the phone, and as soon as he did, Gary took four bugs
out of his pocket, and we each ate two. Gary is so cool. He said,
"Whatever you do, don't tell Billy." My lips are sealed.

Feb 28:

Bill was fine all day, but he really came down on me after dinner about
my toys. Ever since the move he's turning into like this
TOTAL rule freak. Outdoor toys stay outside. Inside toys stay inside. No
squeak toys after 9 p.m. Yada, yada, yada. Then he
went on this total RAMPAGE, picking all my toys up off the floor,
tossing them back into the box, and saying, "Can't you put
these things away when you're done with them?" I don't mind sitting,
rolling over, and shaking hands, but I draw the line at
putting away toys. If he wanted a monkey, why the
heck didn't he buy one?

Feb 29:

I finally figured out that I can get into the yard by myself. And it's
so easy! All you have to do is push the screen door open with
your nose. A puppy could do it. Anyway, when Bill saw me outside he
said, "I thought I brought you in," and then let me back
into the kitchen. Naturally, I pushed to door open again with my nose
and returned to the yard, just to show him how clever I
am. Well, this is never a good idea, especially when you're living with
control freak of the century. Within 15 minutes he screwed a hook onto
the screen, and gave me this whole lecture about who's
in charge around here. I can't even imagine what he's going to do when
he finds out that
I can use the microwave.

March 1:

Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later. I saw a squirrel on the
fence. And, when he ran into the next yard, I made a
beeline for my secret escape route. I wound up in the next yard
somewhere, and then I couldn't find my way back, so I went
through some hedges, and wound up on the sidewalk. It was totally
disorienting. I finally found my way back to the house, but I
couldn't get back into the yard because of the fence. How's that for
ironic? So, I climbed the front steps and waited by the
door. About 10 minutes later, Bill came out to get the mail, saw me, and
He then took me back into the yard, and started blocking up all of the
openings in the fence -- even the ones I CAN'T fit
through-- with rocks, lumber, whatever he could find. Is this fair? "I'm
doing this because I love you," he said, "and I don't want
anything to happen to you. Do you understand?" I didn't, at first, but
then, the more I thought about it, the more I figured he
meant it. And I was kind of
touched by the whole thing, to tell you the truth. So, when we went
back inside I licked his forehead
and made him some popcorn in the microwave. "WHAT IS THIS?" he yelled.

There is just no pleasing the man.

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5-21-95 © 1995 - 2006
Last updated 02