My home is a zoo. Not just because of how disorganized I am, but because of all the furry friends that share it with me. The cats, Hazel, Auggie, and Figgy are not much of an issue at this time. Although, Hazel who is the eldest, at 15 years old, has been known in recent years to poop in our laundry and pee on our new Ikea couch. Auggie, 14, has the breath of a rotting corpse and sleeps with me on my pillow every night. We have our little routine, him and I, and I miss him when I'm away. Figgy, 3, is the comedian and loves to snuggle. He is a very sweet and loving cat.
This leads me to Oscar. The dog. The jerk. The sweet-faced jerk. Oscar Meyer Weiner is a long haired mini doxie. Now I know what all the rumors say! Small dogs are infamous for being stubborn and hard to train. But my darling husband grew up in a house where there was always a wiener dog, so I new that was my only choice of breed for our little family. Turns outs, the dog and Chris share the same birthday, so it really was meant to be. That being said, we've had him almost a year, and he is still not potty trained! Where did I go wrong?? We signed him up for a six week training class at Petsmart where he successfully learned sit, stay, leave it, drop it, and take it. This smart little dog can learn all those things, yet still shit on my floor? Unbelievable! So 5am rolls around and the yappin and yippin and bell ringin begins. I drag my lifeless, groggy, body up out of bed, whilst grumbling like Fred Flinstone under my breath, and make my way down the steps and through the dark living room. I get to the kitchen only to find Oscar sitting there, proud and excited, and behind him a puddle and poo! It's like he's saying "look ma, I did it, I did it"! This is ass backwards. You ring the bell BEFORE you go, you big jerk!! And to top it all off, he works that bell like a prostitute working Hollywood blvd! Except the prostitute is a sure thing. He rings, I let him out, and he mocks me by playing instead of pooing.
So I think I need a new training plan. Plus, he's costing me a fortune in damages for things he has chewed. Doesn't he realize he cutting into my new bra fund? Despite all of that, I love him so much it's ridiculous. And he fits in perfectly with all of our disfunction.
The crab is cute. I like his big blue claw. The End
Three cats, one dog and a crab sounds like role call at a weird petting zoo, or something on a Chinese menu. I am still a little upset that the crab still has no name. Surprising since you named your car, your coat and your toaster. Being the grandmother of all these little love bugs, I am a little biased when I say they are beautiful, fun, funny, and wonderful. About little Oscar and his errant toileting, you need to seek the advice of a professional. And in the meantime, don't let him eat Quint. There, now the crab has a name.
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