Saturdays suck.
They're mean to me here.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Saturday Beast Blogging
Something's up. I know it. This morning she got out the ironing board -- always a bad sign. It means she's going to tell me she's "going to work," which is a lie; she thinks it fools me, but I know that half the time "going to work" means leaving me home while she gallavants around somewhere. And she's not cooking yet; all the food is on the counter...but darn it, there's no cooking. The coffee isn't even on yet. She keeps saying the word "brunch." What in the heck is brunch? Can you eat it? Is there cooking?
Saturdays suck.
They're mean to me here.
Saturdays suck.
They're mean to me here.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
9 comments:
It's a hard life sometimes. On Saturday, my people sleep late. They don't seem to understand that I need to get out and see the world. They tell me it's raining. They sit around at their screens. The children are nowhere to be found.
I don't like it.
(Neither does Sam.)
Your friend,
Molly
The cat woke us this morning, wanting food. Dang. First time in years she has done this. And if I put out too much food, it just gets nasty and she won't eat it anyway.
Again, that is one cute dog!
Brunch involves cantalope my poor canine friend, a delicacy that doesn't fare well on little doggy stomachs.
Peace,
Chris
They are mean to me here, too, buddy.
Friday SHE took me to the horrible smell place where I got prodded and stuck with needles (two of them, can you believe it?). When the guy started clipping my nails, I told them that was enough.
The cats had to go to their own smelly place, too. Little Cat told me Big Cat swore something terrible when the guy there put a pill down her throat. It took of them to put the second pill in Big Cat. Little Cat says she just let them stick both pills in her throat--she didn't like the towel and other stuff they used to finally get the second pill into Big Cat. Big Cat won't talk about it, just gets a hateful look in her eyes. The guy said she was overweight, too. Big Cat hates that.
We're with you, guy.
Saturdays suck. Big time.
Your buddy, Mr. M.
Before two many tears are shed over The Codeman, I should point out that, in the course of the past weekend, he enjoyed:
not one, but two kinds of breakfast sausage, plus pancake nubbins fed to him by hand, plus special puppy crackers, plus chicken;
the ministrations of not one but two human maidservants;
and the company of not one but two big blondes of his own species -- a pair of very friendly and patient female golden retrievers who seem to think that he is just the cutest li'l thing as he skitters around and between them in his wacky, maniacal way. (And the feeling is mutual...now when I say, "Let's go see the big girls," his little ears go sproing.)
It could have been worse.
Mr. M doesn't think so. At least, not for him. He doesn't have any blondes to play with, of his own or any other species.
Just a barky German Shepherd next door and a friend's obnoxious beagle.
Lutherchik
You're lucky you can actually go out without your dog on the weekends. A few weeks age my husband and I went to vist my stepson and his wife for the weekend.
They have a huge Akita dog that pretty much resembles a wolf. This dog is a total sweetheart, and simply expects to be taken everywhere. (The weekends are her time.) We couldn't get out the door without this big lug shaking and whining, looking pitiful with her melting brown eyes. She actually tagged along pretty much the whole time. The dog really doesn't even need a leash.
You know I love animals, but I have never experienced one like this. She is incredibly loyal and intelligent. (My husband and I tease that so far all our grandkids have tails.)
Grace.
Did I mention in my blogs that I had a dream recently that I had somehow acquired a French bulldog (someone I know fosters them, but still) and started going to early church again so I could bring the dog with me?
Wow, Charlotte..."Paging Dr. Jung...Dr. Jung..."
Post a Comment