Walking the dogs around downtown yesterday, it occured to me that I could very happily live in Wilmington for the rest of my life. For a semi-small town, it’s got a lot to offer–the coast, plenty to see for history buffs, lively downtown scene, and it is defiantely dog friendly. The boys and I have a couple of favorite dog friendly bars, one of which is a hookah bar not too far from my house. Last night we went to see the fire dancers, and the boys did what they do best. Ernie went from patron to patron, a big ol’ smile on his face, enthusiastically licking any offered hands, feet, faces, etc. Dexter is a bit more calm, and spent most of his time inside enjoying the air conditioning…
…or hanging out by himself, pretending he doesn’t know either the crazy lady snapping pictures or the face-raping dog.
I am a
bad blogger. Life’s been a little stressful lately, and I’ve become seperated (yet again) from my camera. But not to fear–the joyous reunion occured at around 8:45 last night. So, a quick update on the boys. Dexter has become re-attached to his crate–he loves it! Even when Ernie pulls the blankets out in an attempt to uncover hidden nyla bones.
(*Note: I know he looks like he’s being punished, but that’s because I’m torturing him with the camera, not because of the crate)
In a fit of stress-induced creativity, I made the boys new beds:
(Again, they look extremely put-out, but it’s due to the camera.)
The boys also got baths (no pictures) and new collars:
And the feral cat family? They’re doing alright, too.
Also, I saw Journey/Heart/Cheap Trick in concert:
…and saw a van with a vagina painted on the back. Enjoy!
The temperature’s been soaring this week, but the dogs still need their walks. We travel the 9 blocks from my house to downtown, the destination being a artisan well located along the riverfront where the boys can get a drink and cool off. Along the way, I get comments of all sorts. I guess it’s not everyday you see a girl walking 150 lbs. of dog. Unless you live in my neighborhood. Then you are treated to the Bad Mutha Fudruckin’ Parade 7 days a week.
Some people tell me I’ve got beautiful dogs. I like these people. Some people remark that I’ve got some really well trained dogs. I feel bad for these people. I mean the boys do walk politely on a leash and sit at crosswalks, but that’s pretty basic obedience. I get lots of offers to breed the dogs, or requests for puppies, but since they are both male and fixed that’s usually a short conversation. I try to avoid those people.
Lots of people ask me if they bite. I used to laugh and say no, but now I tell people they only bite on command. Then I laugh. I was sitting outside of a coffee shop with the dogs one day, and a guy asked my favorite question. “No,” I said, “they don’t bite.” The boys were laying on the sidewalk under the table, quietly watching the pedestrian traffic.
“They look like biters,” the man said and walked away. You look like a child molester and your breath stinks, I thought. But I didn’t say it, because I didn’t think the mother of the little girl petting Dexter would have appreciated a child molester joke. His breath did really smell like he’d been eating a shit sandwich, though. On second thought, maybe the boys would have bit him. They enjoy a nice turd now and then, and they don’t like to share with assholes.
The point of this post was not to wax poetic about the joys of shit sandwiches, however, but to share this picture of Dexter cooling off in the aforementioned well.
Birds and I have never seen eye to eye. Mainly because I am seriously afraid that they will peck my eyes out. I don’t get people who keep them as pets–I prefer my companion animals a little less delicate and a lot more cuddly. Plus, you can totally trick birds into thinking it’s nighttime by putting a blanket over their cage. Ernie’s not the smartest cookie in box, but even he’s not so easily fooled. My aunts have a bird they’ve trained to poop on command, which I admit is kind of a cool trick, but I have two dogs that have trained themselves to poop in the farthest corner of the yard so I don’t have to constantly be on the lookout for doggie landmines. I think that makes dogs the winner.
I’ve taken to hiding from the
mocking devil birds that live in the hedge next to my house. They’ve claimed the front porch by pooping all over the railing, and I refuse to sit out there to be dive-bombed by those relentless sons of bitches. Also I refuse to poop all over the railing. Hemo hasn’t given in to their tyrannical ways. She continues to bask in the sunshine and keep an eye on the comings and goings of the neighbors. I tried to get an action shot of the dive-bombing, but I flinched everytime and only got blurry pictures.
She even tried to encourage me to reclaim the porch, but I’m a chicken. I sat on the guest bed with Ernie and watched the mocking birds crap all over the porch from behind the safety of the window.