A Very Ralphie Sleepover

Friday morning started with a surprise.  After Ma and Pa left for work, Sister told me that my friend Ralphie was going to be arriving at any moment for a sleepover and I was like:

"Whaaat?  Ralphie's coming over?!  Yay!"

As my loyal readers know, Ralphie and I always have a lot of fun when we get together.  Back in November 2012, I visited Ralphie at his house and he showed me how to make dog angels in the snow.  Then, last September, Ralphie slept over at my house and, while we only got to play together for a couple of minutes before his Mom came to pick him up (I had been out east with my Ma and Pa), we ran around the backyard and hit my family up for all the pets we could.

This time, however, we had almost twenty four hours to play and believe you me, we made the most of it.  We...

...watched Sister make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch and tried to telekinetically cause the peanut butter jar, the sandwich, or both to fall onto the floor (we only succeeded in making Sister feel very uncomfortable).


...debated whether or not we would be able to play a couple of rounds of Go Fish if:

a.  Ralphie had both his dew claws but no thumbs.
b.  I had only one dew claw and no thumbs.

(we decided the answer was probably no, but 52-Card-Pick-Up-And-Shred seemed possible).


...and told jokes.

Me:  "A cat walks into a bar and says to the bartender..."
Ralphie:  "Stop!  You're killing me!"




But we didn't spend all our time together.  Every once and a while, Ralphie went off to explore on his own.  Here's some of the fun stuff he did.  He...

...played with Monkey Monk.

...discovered that pizzas are out of season (but decided to pose next to the Pizza Tree anyway).

 

...and walked around with two toys stuffed in his mouth (and discovered that one of them still had a working squeaker).

But that's not all.  We also barked at the Chinese food delivery man when he had the nerve to knock on the front door, did our business all over the back yard (I'm only allowed to get away with that kind of behavior when I have company over--my humans insist on a designated business spot for everyday use), and forced my family to give each of us continuous ear and butt scratches despite the fact that they were quickly developing carpal tunnel in their wrists.

Two Buds Hanging Out

I'd say, overall, it was a highly successful day.

Seeing Green!

Happy St. Patrick's Day to all my two 

and four legged friends!

Bath Time Perks

I'm just going to come out and say it:  I got a bath on Sunday.  After spending a little over three months perfecting my odor, all my hard work was literally washed down the drain when Ma and Pa, in the guise of taking me somewhere nice, loaded me into the car and drove me over to the doggy spa where I was hoisted into a bathtub, hosed down, then lathered up with stinky smelling shampoo and conditioner. 

Now, over the years I've posted a number of videos of me howling, barking, and carrying on immediately following an event that I found less than pleasurable (such as a bath or ear cleaning) and chances are, I will continue to do so (my buddy Ralphie particularly enjoys listening to my rants)--especially if my family continues to insist that I maintain some level of cleanliness (their definition of the word, not mine).  But this time, I've decided to highlight a different aspect of bath time; not the displeasure, but the actual perks.

I know, I know.  All my loyal readers just re-read that last phrase in complete and total disbelief.  Could there actually be a perk to taking a bath?  Yes, in fact, there are technically three perks.  The first is all the treats I receive for participating in the bath (my favorite being cheese).  The second is how my coat glistens in the sun when it's clean (which causes even more people notice my devilishly good looks).  The third is the hairdryer.

The doggy spa has a blow dryer, but I'm not a big fan of it (no pun intended).  All it does is make a whole lot of noise, blow cold air on me, and prolong my time in the giant bath tub.  Nope, the blow dryer is not for me.  The hair dyer at home, however, is a different story:  it's not as noisy, the use of a professional tool leads to better control which in turn leads to more stylish hairstyles (such as the little curl I have on the point of my head) and, best of all, the air it produces is nice and warm.

Check out me enjoying the warm air:

 

And what could possibly make being nice and warm even better?  Being nice and warm and comfortable! 

 

Sometimes, however, the displeasure of having been given a bath rises to the surface and comes spilling out of me despite the fact that I'm warm and comfortable (Ralphie, this one's for you!).

Luckily, the displeasure dissipates quickly and the warm and cozy feeling re-asserts itself.

So there you have it.  It cannot be denied that bath time is a traumatic and sometimes demeaning event (who would want to smell like lavender or green tea?), but I would be remiss if I didn't also highlight the good.

Guest Blogger: Daisy

I love going to the vet. Why wouldn’t I? When I go to the vet, I get to visit to my good friend Doctor Friedman and all the nice ladies at the front desk who never disappoint when it comes to admiring my devilishly good looks. Not to mention, if I’m a good boy—if I get up on the scale all by myself, if I allow the doctor to give me all my shots, and if I don’t fuss too much when he tries to give me my nose spray (which he’s yet to succeed in accomplishing through, I swear, no fault of my own)—there’s a cookie waiting for me when I leave. Not a bad deal, right?

I know, however, that there are those out there who do not like going to the vet and Daisy the hamster is one of them. You see, Daisy had her first trip to the vet yesterday; she needed her nails clipped.  Now, seeing that I can’t wrap my head around someone not thoroughly enjoying his/her trip to the vet, I’ve asked Daisy to share her experience. Perhaps, with her help, we’ll understand her aversion to it.

And just so everyone knows, Daisy refers to my Sister as Mom and my Ma as Grams.  Also, Daisy's a speedy little thing who doesn't really have time for proper grammar.  Please forgive her.

Daisy’s Trip To The Vet

By Daisy the Hamster

Yesterday I was sleeping in my habitat, tucked under my red climbing barn (you know, the one on which Mom and Grams leave me peanuts, sunflower seeds, and pumpkin seeds) and wrapped up in a couple of tissues when all of a sudden, Mom woke me up, scooped me up, and transferred me over to a smaller version of my habitat that lacked all the amenities of home (no wheel, no food bowl, no water bottle) which she then wrapped up in a scarf (she said it was to keep me warm) and carried me out of the house (it was really, really, really cold), into the car (she put the seat warmer on which was nice), and drove away from the house, but not really far, only a little far (maybe a couple of rounds on the wheel) until she reached the place we were going at which point she stopped the car, got out, got me, and carried me into a building that smelled suspiciously like cat (I've never met a cat but all us rats know what cats smell like).

After a little while, the scarf was removed from around my cage and two vet technicians looked in at me and commented how cute (and small) I was before they stuck their hands in my carrier and tried to pick me up which I really didn’t like because I didn’t know them and then they started talking about how quick I was as I tried to burrow away, but I fell for the “I Know Who You Are” trick when Mom stuck her hand in my carrier and I climbed on hoping that she would put me back in my normal house, but she didn’t, instead she handed me off to one of the technicians who tried to flip me over and hold me still while the second technician attempted to grab my feet and trim my nails with a nail clipper that was bigger than me.

I might be small, but I’m feisty and I was not going to have any of what was happening so I sunk my teeth in the finger of the technician who was holding me and she screeched and I jumped out of her hand (spewing pee all over the place) and onto the table where the second technician corralled me and the first one went to wash the blood off her hands after which the second technician picked me up and the first tried trimming my nails, but I turned around and bit the second technician who decided that the vet, AKA “The Muscle” needed to be called and put me back in my carrier to wait for her arrival.

Next the vet, AKA “The Muscle” came in and she and the technicians discussed how they were going to proceed and they decided that the second technician would trim my nails as the vet, AKA “The Muscle” held onto me which was really annoying because the vet, AKA “The Muscle,” had a good grip on me and despite trying to bite her, and showing my teeth, and pooping all over her, and hissing ferociously (bet you didn’t know hamster could hiss like a snake) she continued to hold onto me and prevented me from struggling as the technician trimmed each and every one of my nails muttering something about how she doesn’t break a sweat when she deals with Rottweilers, but that little things like me always cause her trouble.

Once all my nails were trimmed, the vet put me back in my carrier case and Sister wrapped me back up in her scarf and carried me back through the waiting room which still smelled like cat then we got back in the car, turned the seat warmers on, and drove home at which point Mom cautiously scooped me up and put me back in my normal habitat with an apology peanut on my red climbing barn (you know, the one on which Mom and Grams leave me peanuts, sunflower seeds, and pumpkin seeds).

A Buzzing Butt

Over the years, I've been under the impression that "The Land of No," wherever it was located, was thus named based of the simple fact that there were fun things inside its boarders that my family wanted all for themselves.  For instance, the basement “Land of No” is a safe haven for dirty laundry and mismatched socks (nothing beats digging through dirty laundry), the first floor temporary “Land of No” can be filled with anything from Christmas presents to drying craft projects (a great place for maximum destruction), and the outdoor “Land of No,” located alongside the house, is home to some of the most pristine mud patches to dig holes in and, in the summer, a ton of cherry tomatoes (yum!). To me, “The Land of No” has always been a synonym for "A Place In Which Rigby Would Like To Play, But Is Not Allowed."

However, I’ve recently come to the realization that my theory is flawed.  Sometimes, “The Land of No” isn’t a fun place at all.  Sometimes, it's a place where scary things and noises live.

Over the last couple of weekends, Pa has spent all his free time working in the basement--ripping down walls, putting them back up again, and putting up a ceiling.  He's told me repeatedly that once the basement is "finished," it would no longer be considered a "Land of No" and that I'd be allowed to hang out and play there.  To him, this sounds like a good thing, but to be honest, it doesn't sound that great to me.  A "finished basement" means that all the fun stuff I would love to chew on and all the weird places I'd like to explore would be removed or closed off (and if that happens, why would anyone want to spend time down there?)

So anyway, last weekend Pa was installing the ceiling downstairs, I was snoozing in the living room, and Ma and Sister were watching TV (I would have preferred to be helping Pa, but he had already informed me that I wasn't allowed to help and that he didn't have time to play my favorite game:  "Rigby Grabs a Tool and Runs Around the House While Pa Chases Him Trying to Get it Back"). I was about ten minutes into my early afternoon nap and thoroughly enjoying a dream involving my pizza tree, when all of a sudden I was awoken by a loud bzzzz and the sensation of my butt vibrating.

Me, Concerned

I won't lie. I was definitely concerned by this development, but I was able to quickly write it off as simply part of my dream--after all, I've been connected to this butt for almost 5 years now and it's never vibrated once before.  Annoyed that my nap had been disrupted, I got up, moved over a couple of feet to a nice cool spot on the floor, and settled back down.  However, as soon as I fell back asleep, my butt started vibrating again.

There was no denying it.  My butt was definitely vibrating and I had no idea why.  Frantic, I jumped up and ran over to Sister who started rubbing my ears in sympathy, but as soon as I sat down to thoroughly enjoy my ear rub, my butt vibrated again.  Next, I ran to Ma.  She reached over to pat my head, but before she could, I felt the floor vibrating beneath my feet.  It was following me!

I Even Commandeered the Blanket

Now, I'm a very clever dog, if I do say so myself.  After thinking about it for a couple of seconds, not only did I figured out the problem (the floor kept vibrating because Pa was using his cordless drill to hang the ceiling tiles directly below me), but I also came up with a solution (get off the floor).  With a single bound, I jumped up onto the couch, muscled Ma aside, curled up into a ball, and went back to my nap.

Who's smarter than me?  No one!

Now, every time Pa pulls out his cordless drill, I waste no time in fleeing the uncomfortable (and vibrating) floor and securing my spot on the nice comfy couch.