Clean up, clean up and keep the cat classy. That is what good breeding does for Northern European Viking cats.
The son's oldest Golden Retriever (16.5) is helpless now, and will make her last trip to the vet today. The othe one is sad. They moved into thr new home they built on Lake Oconee this week.
Winston, my basset hound, would find something nice and smelly and roll in it to his heart's content.
Yesterday, we were unloading the car and Juliet, the current basset hound, wandered out the garage door and down the hill. She came back with a suspicious bulge in her mouth and a tail hanging out of the corner. It looked like a rat she had found.
My wife was screaming at me to get it out and ran for a paper towel. Before I could do anything (I was laughing too hard to do much) she had swallowed it.
Now, we are both in trouble. Juliet for eating the rat and me for laughing. She is the first dog I have had that does that.
Years ago I had a Basset mix. One day we went to visit some friends at their hobby farm near Muscoda, WI. They kept goats, among other things. I let the dog run free while we shot the breeze. He found the pile of goat manure and rolled in it like the proverbial pig in shit. When it was time to go, he was totally covered in the stuff, and I had to hose him down for the ride back to Madison. Someday I hope to be as happy as the dog was in that pile of goat shit.
My parents once lived on a cul de sac off a main road. The neighbor's cat slept in the middle of the street about 100 ft from the intersection. She lived well into her teens, outliving her kittens, who went in the main road.
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I'm liking the shift at Althouse to pussy galore.
Why not take a luxurious morning bath in the gutter?
What a perfect invitation to an Althouse comments thread.
I loved everything about that, but Trump was not cooperating with that glorious setup for presidential Tweetstorm blogging.
But I give you massive kudos for cleverness.
Clean up, clean up and keep the cat classy. That is what good breeding does for Northern European Viking cats.
The son's oldest Golden Retriever (16.5) is helpless now, and will make her last trip to the vet today. The othe one is sad.
They moved into thr new home they built on Lake Oconee this week.
And life goes on,
My cat loved rolling on his back on concrete sidewalks. It must have felt like a good back scratching.
Cats are such beautiful animals.
Winston, my basset hound, would find something nice and smelly and roll in it to his heart's content.
Yesterday, we were unloading the car and Juliet, the current basset hound, wandered out the garage door and down the hill. She came back with a suspicious bulge in her mouth and a tail hanging out of the corner. It looked like a rat she had found.
My wife was screaming at me to get it out and ran for a paper towel. Before I could do anything (I was laughing too hard to do much) she had swallowed it.
Now, we are both in trouble. Juliet for eating the rat and me for laughing. She is the first dog I have had that does that.
Years ago I had a Basset mix. One day we went to visit some friends at their hobby farm near Muscoda, WI. They kept goats, among other things. I let the dog run free while we shot the breeze. He found the pile of goat manure and rolled in it like the proverbial pig in shit. When it was time to go, he was totally covered in the stuff, and I had to hose him down for the ride back to Madison. Someday I hope to be as happy as the dog was in that pile of goat shit.
My parents once lived on a cul de sac off a main road. The neighbor's cat slept in the middle of the street about 100 ft from the intersection. She lived well into her teens, outliving her kittens, who went in the main road.
Is this a Brian Stelter joke?
"Someday I hope to be as happy as the dog was in that pile of goat shit."
Dogs love to roll in stuff that changes their smell. It must be some ancient hunting instinct, So they don't smell like a dog.
Usually, in my experience, the worse it smells the better they like it,.
The cat abides.
I seem to recall waking up in a similar situation years ago.
The son's oldest Golden Retriever (16.5) is helpless now, and will make her last trip to the vet today. The othe one is sad.
I'm sorry for your loss.
We usually find half a mouse or a skink tail a couple times in the house during the winter months.
My favorite cat novel of all time: The Fur Person, by May Sarton
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