Bridgey Speaks

This fact, or at least my belief in it, was the only reason I could come up with at 3:45 a.m. for not strangling him. Sigh. Now that it is normal daylight hours, I’ve come up with several more reasons. However, in the wee hours of the night, it was hard to come up with ANY good reason. I’ve heard of neurotic dogs, but he is by far the most neurotic creature I have ever encountered. Poor Mojey. I suppose it’s not his fault that not all the wires in his brain connect up the way they should.

Leela and I will be requiring one of these. Trust me, there is plenty of room on her bed to accommodate this request.

I get this every so often via email, and it’s too fun not to share and have here to look back at. I imagine the Cat Diary being read in Stewie’s voice.

The Dog’s Diary
8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!

9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!

9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!

10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!

12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!

1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!

3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!

5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!

7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!

8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with my people! My favorite thing!

11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

The Cat’s Diary
Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about
what a “good little hunter” I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food.. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of “allergies.” I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now…

Leela is a GIRL. I know Boxers, especially brindles, are sort of masculine dogs. But Leela has natural ears, a pretty, girly face, and the girliest collar we could find. People, it’s pink faux crocodile skin with brighter-pink flower charm thingees with rhinestones in the middles of the bright-pink flower charm thingees. It’s UBER girly people. (Judge for yourselves!)

I know pink isn’t only for girls. There are many men out there who can pull off pink shirts in a very masculine sort of way. But when we are talking about babies and pets who cannot speak for themselves, and who, at first glance, might be somewhat gender neutral-looking, pink is the stereotypical color that says, “I’m a GIRL.” And, did I mention the flower-charm-gem-thingees? Even masculine, pink-wearing men can only rarely (if ever?) pull this off.

So take a note: please stop asking me questions about “him” or telling me stuff about “him” or “he” when referring to Leela. I cannot even accept compliments anymore (”He is a beautiful dog.” Yes, SHE is!). Unless Dave is with me, there is no he here, so please knock it off!

Leela had her first birthday on Thursday, and what did she get? A visit to the vet and a birthday hat, also known as the e-collar. Poor baby.

Last Sunday we went to the dog park at Hartwood Acres where she played with some doggie buds. Then we (and the doggie buds and their owners) watched the free concert there of the symphony. It rocked in a symphonic kind of way.

However, while we were there, one of her little doggie friends got a bit rough and punched her in the eye. It got all weepy on Monday or Tuesday, and so Dave took her to the vet. We didn’t know at the time she had gotten bopped in the eye; we just thought she had an eye infection. Turns out this “trauma” to her eye made it swell a little, which reduces the tear production, which made for thick, yucky (infection-looking) mucus. So, after a thorough exam, she was sent home with some prednisone eye drops and some goopy medicine for eyes and instructions to wear the cone (aka party hat) so that she didn’t rub her eye.

So, happy birthday Leela. You were going to get homemade peanut butter dog biscuits until you pulled the recipe off the fridge and ate it. I hope it was worth it. Poor puppy.

But this weekend we made up for her sort of sad birthday week. We headed out to central PA early yesterday morning. We arrived at Simon and Michelle’s with a dozen donuts from the Oakmont Bakery and had a wonderful few hours with them and their two kiddos, Emma and Peter. Such sweet, cute, smart kids! (Well, Peter is only 7 months, but he liked Leela. So he MUST be as smart as his big sister, who at three and a half talks like at least a five-year-old.)

Then we headed out to Waterfall, PA for a picnic at the Watkins’ house. We got to meet another new baby (this one only 6 weeks, little Jack), and catch up with the Watkins clan and Dave’s parents. We were not only celebrating Jack’s arrival but gathering to say hello to (via phone) and gather treats for Richard, who is doing a second tour in Iraq. Hurry home, Richard. We miss you.