Yo Mama’s So Fat …

Yo Mama’s dog’s so fat he can’t even scratch himself.

ZOMG, what have I done to the WooTWoo?  They are both jiggly tubs of Jello these days.  Yesterday I asked Mr. Woo for a “sit” and he plunked himself down with his back legs sticking straight out in front of him on either side of his forelegs, presumably because he was afraid if he sat the proper way he’d never see his back feet again!

He’s so fat he can’t even get any air for his disc.

I blame my alarm clock.  Or more correctly, I blame the placement of my alarm clock.  It’s right by my face, so when it goes off at the ungodly hour of 4:50AM it’s too easy to hit snooze a bunch of times until I realize in a panic that I am running out of time, leap out of bed and walk the dogs for 20 minutes before I have to get ready for work.  They just aren’t getting enough exercise.  IT’S MY ALARM CLOCK’S FAULT MY DOGS ARE FAT!!

Although, to be fair, it’s still really dark out in the morning when we get up, and TWooie generally has to stay on a leash anyway, elsewise he is off and hunting at full volume.  Not something the neighbourhood appreciates.  If I could teach him to be silent, he could vanish into the darkness along with his brother and get his cardio on.  But then again, Woo is fat too and he’s not on a leash.

I am going to move my alarm clock across the room, so that I *have* to get up when it does.

What’s the problem?  Just more of me to looooove.

Too bad those two baddogs don’t have Dexter’s naturally svelte physique.

You’re looking at my ass, aren’t you sugar?  It’s okay, I know it’s fine.  Oh yeah.

Dexter’s feelin’ pretty fly these days.  He’s all healed up, his stitches came out last week and he doesn’t think there was ever anything wrong with him anyway.  And a couple of weeks off from agility class seems to a have done wonders for his attention span.  It’s also helped to replenish my storage locker of Dexter Zen I think.  Last night in class he was darn near perfect – responsive, accurate, fast and (zomg!) he actually paid mind to my motion cues, while I was calm, (kind of) precise and not all worked up about him.  We had some super nice runs for a change.  I don’t mean to alarm you, but the world is clearly about to end because The Sadist paid me an *actual* compliment – TWICE!  This can only mean the end is nigh.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Springaling did super well too – we’re doing running contacts because asking her to stop demotivates her something fierce, and she has a nice natural stride for RCs.  We’ve had to play with her dogwalk contacts a little because she was missing the contact sometimes, and because I don’t have access to a dogwalk at home to practice on regularly, it’s been a bit hit-or-miss.  But I’ve discovered that if I don’t race her cross the walk until she’s on her way down, and then I accelerate, she hits the yellow nice and square every time.  Once she learns how to weave, she’ll actually be ready to start trialing.  Who woulda thunk it?!

I thunk it.  

Not that any of us will be trialing for a while – we’re far too poor for that.  But Tweed and I *WILL* be going to Regionals this year, and we have you to thank for that.  You know who you are, and we have a surprise for you which we’ll unveil at / after Regionals :)  But know in the meantime that you have our eternal gratitude!

First though, Tweed goes to see Dr. Bowra on Tuesday for prolotherapy on his other foot.

Excuse you?  I’m going where for what?

Three weeks of crated, pained Tweed again … I can’t see this going over super well.  Don’t tell him it’s about to happen!

I heard you.  And I am going to slap you to death with my frisbee.  How d’you like them apples?

I’m not looking forward to doing this to him again, but the alternative is a painful limp for the rest of his life.  Anti-inflammatories aren’t touching it.  And I’m not looking forward to the vet bill either, but I *AM* looking forward to one last helluva party with my old man dog!  I don’t even care anymore if we are first, 10th or dead last .. we’re going out with a bang, baby!  There is no dog I love to run more than Mr Barky Von Sassmouthenstein.  He’s the best agility partner a spastic gal like me could ever hope for.

I’m crushed.

Oh no wait – WOO is crushed!  Take that, fatty!

Sorry Spring, but you have a long road ahead to reach Tweed Status.

And whilst I am doling out apologies, it might be that I blamed TWoo too quickly for Dexter’s gaping wound.  I can’t know for sure, but I’m just sayin’:

Sweet vindication … at long last.  Do I smell hotdogs?

The universe tried to crush ME these last few weeks, but I’m determined to get up every morning with a smile on my face (well, maybe not when the alarm goes off at 4:50AM …).  I’ll overcome!  After all, the sun is shining, the chickens are giving me more rainbow coloured eggs than I know what to do with, and everything is coming up roses!  Or daffodils at least.  These appeared in my front garden yesterday.

I’m just not going to let shit get me down :)

And if you ever wanted to see what happens when I release the Six Pack Of Terror from their group sit-stay, here’s your chance!

Happy long weekend friends!