You know how everybody has their own little Sunday schedule?? Like, some people spend the day with their kids, some work on passion projects, some do yoga, yada yada yada.
Turns out, my Sunday activity is sleep.
It’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon and I’m only just waking up and, dog or not, this can’t be the healthiest Sunday ritual.
In my defense, though, this has turned into more of a daily habit, so at least I’m consistent.
After nearly two weeks of discomfort and torture beyond compare, the Lassa has FINALLY gone back home. This is a cause of elation for several reasons, the most important being that I can now watch Masterchef all by myself without having to share the bean bag with another furry mutt.
Life’s lookin’ good, for sure.
Intruder McUninvited is still camping over at my place and the situation is getting worse by the day. I mean, I have more than enough problems [try typing a sentence with paws for hands and then you can talk to me about struggle] without having to constantly guard my territory, thanks very much.
To make matters worse, the dog’s a Lassa, which is probably just code for “walking cloud” and don’t try to tell me that anyone with half a heart wouldn’t melt at the sight of THAT. Really, it’s all I can do to guard myself against succumbing to its intense cuteness while simultaneously safeguarding my turf.
It really is a dog’s life.
I’m TRYING to be calm about this, I really am, but this is all getting a bit too much. I’m a nice dog so I keep to myself as much as possible but this? This is really crossing the limits.
You know what they say, the more you keep quiet the more you’re taken advantage of. And isn’t that what’s happening? I’m being exploited, aren’t I? My personal space is being compromised, my territory is being infringed upon, my oxygen is being polluted, honestly, I can’t take much more of this, I just can’t-
Guess what? Just when I thought my family couldn’t POSSIBLY care any less about my needs and desires [I mean, I only get four meals a day! How do you expect me to maintain my curves if I’m being starved like this?] they go ahead and INVITE ANOTHER DOG INTO THE HOUSE!!
Can you believe them? They had the guts to tell their colleague -not even a close buddy or a blood relation, just a colleague, mind you- that we have the space at our place to babysit their pet for three entire days! While they fly to London and look after their ailing mother or some such garbage! The audacity!
What I really want to know is how on EARTH they thought this arrangement would work out. Tempting a dog into my turf and then expecting us to get along? How stupid are they, anyway?
Look what they’ve made me do; in all my frustration I’ve knocked over a glass of orangeade and stained the tablecloth quite considerably. Ugh, I’ve got to go clean up this mess.
To tell you the truth, I’d rather wash a thousand tablecloths than have to go back ad face The Other Dog, so I guess I’m not really complaining.
So maybe I owe y’all an apology. I mean, I DID just spring up from nowhere a week ago and avoided explaining my year-long absence like it’s the plague.
And I’m sorry if you were expecting some big, cinematic reveal but the truth is…
I was lazy.
Annnd that’s basically it. I was too comfortable lounging in front of the TV to be able to haul myself in front of a laptop and string together a few sentences.
You can blame me all you want but, in my defense, HBO is running some classy premiers nowadays and I don’t know about you, but I’m pointing my finger at Sandra Bullock.
…Annnd I’m back!!
After just about a year of sitting around and neglecting my fans from all around the globe [read: my Mom], I, Feni the Labrador, am officially making my triumphant return to the blogosphere.
Well, maybe not so triumphant considering how my follower count has dropped drastically and my page views are now in negatives, but that’s not really what we’re talking about here, is it??
After what seems like an eternity and a half, I’m BACK and so, so ready to start sharing all the gossip from my glamorous life [just this morning, I ate breakfast AND a whole scoop of London Dairy Vanilla ice cream. In one sitting. I don’t see how life could get any more glamorous than that, honestly].
So strap in, sit back and get ready for the adventure of a lifetime because this dog is BACK, and you’d better get used to it.
I was casually minding my own business while stalking Karlie Kloss on Instagram yesterday evening when I happened to overhear my own MOTHER [well, foster mother] on the phone with one of her baking buddies.
What’s that?? There’s nothing scandalous about chatting up casual acquaintances??
Absolutely. I agree with you completely.
UNLESS you’re calling them up to nonchalantly tell them that you’re planning to SHAVE YOUR DOG!! ESPECIALLY if the aforementioned dog has NO IDEA about this to-be drastic change in her presently-perfect appearance.
I got such a shock when I heard this that I was forced to close all the open social media tabs at once [well, after reading through a few more captions and liking one or two more photos] and proceeded to promptly faint at the foot of the family study table [as quietly as I could manage it, because, being a dog, I’m naturally not supposed to be using the computer and hearing a loud thud from the forbidden study caused by my fainting would surely raise a few unwanted questions].
I mean, REALLY, imagine me naked!! Well, not naked but as close as you can get to that being a dog. I’ll be furless and shivering [hey, the summer can get frosty too!!] and the laughing stock of the entire town…
Oh my GANDOLF, the humiliation!!
If only I were Karlie Kloss, strutting the runway sporting the best clothes in the whole world, flaunting my flawless cheekbones on my insanely popular Instagram page, my life devoid of fur-related problems…
Just my luck!!