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free skin care · Sun Mar 04, 2007 2:50 am

"How Many Dogs Does It Take to Change A Light Bulb?"

Golden Retriever: The sun is shining, the day is young, we've got our whole lives ahead of us, and you're inside worrying about a stupid burned out bulb?

Border Collie: Just one. And then I'll replace any wiring that's not up to code.

Dachshund: You know I can't reach that stupid lamp!

Rottweiler: Make me.

Boxer: Who cares? I can still play with my squeaky toys in the dark.

Lab: Oh, me, me!!!!! Pleeeeeeeeeze let me change the light bulb! Can I? Can I? Huh? Huh? Huh? Can I? Pleeeeeeeeeze, please, please, please!

German Shepherd: I'll change it as soon as I've led these people from the dark, check to make sure I haven't missed any,
and make just one more perimeter patrol to see that no one has tried to take advantage of the situation.

Jack Russell Terrier: I'll just pop it in while I'm bouncing off the walls and furniture.

Old English Sheep Dog: Light bulb? I'm sorry, but I don't see a light bulb!

Cocker Spaniel: Why change it? I can still pee on the carpet in the dark.

Chihuahua: Yo quiero Taco Bulb.

Pointer: I see it, there it is, there it is, right there.....

Greyhound: It isn't moving. Who cares?

Australian Shepherd: First, I'll put all the light bulbs in a little circle...

Poodle: I'll just blow in the Border Collie's ear and he'll do it. By the time he finishes rewiring the house, my nails will be dry.

CAT: "Dogs do not change light bulbs. People change light bulbs. So, the real question is: How long will it be before I can expect some light, some dinner, and a massage?"

Sun Mar 04, 2007 5:54 am

One of my closest friends had a super smart Border Collie and I have a Poodle and those two descriptions are just spot on! The Australian Shepherd is hilarious and spot on as well!

Thanks for posting this

ETA

Awww.... I just re-read the Chihuahua and the Cat.....

free skin care · Sun Mar 04, 2007 6:10 am

bkkgirl wrote:

CAT: "Dogs do not change light bulbs. People change light bulbs. So, the real question is: How long will it be before I can expect some light, some dinner, and a massage?"

Makes you wonder what they (cats) are thinking as they gaze at everything through half closed eyes...unless it's dinner time!

free skin care · Sun Mar 04, 2007 1:51 pm

Thanks for sharing, it's pretty funny and the cat response is spot on!

free skin care · Sun Mar 04, 2007 2:03 pm

Glad you all enjoyed it. Very Happy

I used to have labs, and that's spot on, too. Too bad there's no mention of a Maltese.

free skin care · Mon Mar 05, 2007 12:37 pm

free skin care · Tue Mar 06, 2007 7:40 am

Cute!

free skin care · Tue Mar 06, 2007 5:27 pm

That cat sure has his priorities right....

free skin care · Wed Mar 07, 2007 8:51 am

bkkgirl wrote:

"How Many Dogs Does It Take to Change A Light Bulb?"

Greyhound: It isn't moving. Who cares?

That's my baby! Very Happy

free skin care · Thu Mar 08, 2007 8:11 pm

free skin care · Fri Mar 09, 2007 1:32 am

Those are so great - my hubby had a border collie as a kid and says they are the smartest dogs ever.

free skin care · Fri Mar 09, 2007 2:41 am

Love it!!! Laughing

Quote:

Border Collie: Just one. And then I'll replace any wiring that's not up to code.

Right on! I have a border collie and she NEVER ceases to amaze me with her intelligence! It's incredible.

How 'bout this one for an Irish Setter (the dog I grew up with):
Yeah, sure, I'll change it! Smile

But I'll do it when I want to. Then can we go out and play????

free skin care · Sat Mar 10, 2007 6:19 am

free skin care · Sat Mar 10, 2007 9:03 pm

bkkgirl wrote:

Boxer: Who cares? I can still play with my squeaky toys in the dark.

Haha my friends Boxer is soo squeaky toy obsessed and I loove to buy to give her the loudest most obnoxious squeaky toys ever. Bad Grin

Wed May 02, 2007 1:34 pm

Saw this on C.L., and thought you'd enjoy it.

As you both approach your 10th and 12th birthdays I want you to know that I really do enjoy your company. I don’t know if I’ve ever said that to you. I know that many times I can give off a vibe of utter revulsion, but underneath it all, I really do understand, accept, and love you.

Now, with this being said, there are some things I would like to discuss. Maybe these are things I just need to get off my chest. I mean, who am I kidding? You’re both on your last legs in different ways, and as much as I will miss you, I feel as though you’ve both given me such a run for my money over the last decade or so, that if I don’t get this out now, my memory of you will be shrouded by thoughts of “What the hell?” - when it is all said and done.

Black dog – I’ll start with you because you’re the oldest:

When you came into my life you were so adorable. Your big brown eyes just begged for love and affection. Your little eyebrows furled when you looked up at me. It is fair to say that I fell in love with you right away. However, you were hands-down the most hyper-active and bizarre creature I’ve EVER known when you were in one of your “moods”.

When I met you for the first time, the staff at the Humane Society told me you were part Border Collie and part Black Lab. The Border Collie in you meant that you would thrive if I was constantly stimulating your brain with new and fascinating things to learn. I felt like we were a match made in heaven and took you home that day. I have since learned that looks can be quite deceiving. See, I realized very quickly that on the outside you were predominantly a Border Collie, however on the inside – hmm

m – I’m not even sure if on the inside you were a Black Lab. Truthfully, some times I wondered if you were an alien.

My first taste of your bizarre personality was revealed to me through all the disturbing things you began to ingest into your tiny little tummy.

During our first walk together you swallowed, nearly whole, a rather large, empty Styrofoam container that probably, at one time, contained some delicious sweet and sour chicken balls. You were so fast I didn’t have a chance to take it out of your mouth. Down the hatch it went, and you carried on your merry way while I stood in disbelief waiting for you to begin choking – but it never happened.

After this came the time you ate an entire pound of butter – foil and all. I had grown accustomed to your impressive skills when it came to reaching for objects on the counter tops. I dealt with the fact that everything always had to be pushed up against the walls and I honestly thought I was doing a good job at protecting you from anything on the counter that could harm you.

Imagine my shock when I came home and realized the butter I had left thawing on the counter had disappeared. I knew it was you because you didn’t greet me at the door like you usually do. When I found you there were scraps of foil lying all around you. There was also a piece stuck to your lip. When I opened your mouth in a last ditch effort to try to spare you from maybe swallowing the entire pound, I saw foil stuck to your teeth. You looked like Old Dirty Bastard. I laughed, but nearly cried at the same time imagining your poor digestive system having to tackle such a thing. I also worried about what it would be like for you during the elimination process.

Then, there was the time you ate the deflated yellow balloon. This was out of my realm of comprehension because unlike the Styrofoam that once had food in it the yellow balloon was just that – a balloon. Stinky, chewy rubber. By this point I wasn’t surprised to see you gobble it up as if it were fresh meat, and again, much like the Styrofoam – the minute I saw you hone in on the balloon, and I saw that look in your eyes, everything turned to slow motion as I lunged toward the ground at the same time, but you were faster than me, and down it went. A day went by as I anxiously waited for the balloon to show up in your excrement. It wasn’t until you passed me while I was lying in my lawn chair in the backyard and I looked over to see you squatting and noticed a peculiar-looking yellow bubble poking out of your bum. I realized the time had come, and your body was finally ready to eliminate the balloon. Thankfully, it was easy and I don’t think you even noticed.

For the most part, I think I’ve been an easy-going Mum to you, and although some of the things you would do would make any other owner beat you senseless, I loved you too much to ever disrespect you. However, I can attest to there being ONE time where I really was on the brink of murdering you.

I’m sure it was one of your best meals - one fit for a King in fact. It was the night of a dinner party I was hosting. I had been slow cooking a roast in the oven and it was finally finished. The house smelled wonderful and guests were set to arrive in under and hour. Everything was perfect. You were a good helper that evening too - so diligent picking up food or drops of liquid that would fall to the ground. I had just taken the roast out of the oven – the phone rang. You were lying on the mat in front of the kitchen sink sleeping. I took about 8 steps to reach for the phone, said “Hello?”, and then heard a crash. In the blink of an eye I saw you running out of the kitchen with my roast in your mouth and out the back door into the backyard. You little ingrate!! I had even left the back door open so you could come and go as you pleased without disturbing me while I was cooking. I don’t know what shocked me more: The fact that you just ran away with my roast. Or, the fact that it must have been so f***ing hot, your gums must have been on fire while you were running. Maybe the wind in your face as you picked up speed darting down the hallway cooled your mouth down a little.

It’s really no wonder that in your old age you are now limited to eating ONLY the most expensive, prescription geriatric dog food for dogs with bowel troubles. I’m sure there were still many things that made their way into your stomach that never made it out. After everything, I try to disregard the fact that for the last 5 years you have not made one “easy” or “clean” bowel movement. I accept the fact that I try to take you for walks in secluded areas or in the middle of the night because I can’t bear for someone to see what comes out of your system … or when you’re really “backed up” the sounds of your strained grunts. Let's not forget the fact that every time I try to clean up after you I nearly vomit all over the ground - I need to spare myself some measure of dignity. Never mind the fact that I have had to resort to sleeping on the sofa by the back door weeks on end so I can let you out at four o’clock in the morning because your “attacks” come in the middle of the night. At the end of the day, when you crawl up on the sofa and rest your heavy head on my lap and blink yourself slowly into slumber, I look down at you; your once black whiskers are turning gray around your mouth, and eyes – and I still smile and thank-you for being in my life.

Brown dog:

I had always wanted an Italian Greyhound but had been avoiding getting one because registered champions often sold for $1200+. Imagine my delight when I heard through a friend that they knew a breeder who was getting rid of her last litter for free because she didn’t want to breed anymore. I researched her, and met her, she was a wonderful woman. Both your parents were Champions, you were tattooed, registered, and on your way to stardom. Your bloodline name was “Piano Man” – after Billy Joel – but your owner called you “Billy”. You were so delicate, so petite and so perfect. You were still a puppy. Your fur was fawn-coloured and you were so vulnerable and reliant.

I spent a short time getting to know you but it didn’t take me long before I decided you’d be mine and brought you home to meet Black Dog. We had a lot of fun just the three of us, playing ball, wrestling in the field – we were such a good team.

One early morning I was marveling at your speed and grace as you darted up and down the field. Your legs moved so fast I could barely see them. Then, it happened; you stumbled and rolled over several times finally coming to a stop on your side. It took about 5 seconds for the pain to set in and you started wailing. I had never seen a dog in such horror and pain before. Black Dog and I ran over to you. To my absolute shock and horror your front leg was bent right in half. I lifted you up and it just dangled. The whites of your eyes beamed at me – I could tell you were in extreme pain, your heart was beating so fast and you were whimpering and grunting. I scooped you up slowly and made my way back to the house. Every urgent step I took back sent pain up your dangling arm so I hugged you tight to me to minimize the movement.

I took you straight to the animal hospital. After a series of x-rays it was revealed to us that your forearm was broken right in half. You needed a steel plate and four screws to put your arm back together. It wasn’t until I paid the bill that it dawned on me how quietly thankful I was that you were free. Your vet bill was $1300.

You had a pretty pink cast though which all the kids on the street wanted to sign. You were definitely the talk of the town. Since you were an Italian Greyhound I cringed each time you went for your runs – I don’t think you were capable of running slowly. “Please don’t break your other arm” I would think to myself as I saw you awkwardly running in unbalanced and jerky form.

To this day the steel plate is still there. I’ve had to outfit you with a home made sleeve to keep your arm warm in colder temperatures – for without it, the steel plate cools and causes you a great deal of ache up your arm.

Seven years into your life you started urinating on my hardwood floors. I wondered if it was senility or just rebellion. Eventually the floor started to bubble and rise up. I fixed that for $900 and finally resorted to outfitting you in modified baby diapers during the day. You were embarrassed and quite displeased and it made little difference because of course your anatomy is not quite the same as a human baby’s. Then, I tried puppy training pads. Aesthetically they looked horrid. Bright blue pads taped down to the floor in the hallway and half-way into the living room. I guess you didn’t like them there so you started urinating in other more hidden areas. Next step was a puppy training litter box. I don’t need to go into detail but you made your hate for it quite obvious. After nearly three weeks of urine-proofing my house I decided that perhaps you actually had a health problem and took you in for some blood work. Sure enough you were diagnosed with Canine Diabetes (Another costly expense). I took it with grace and valour and decided we were going to tackle this together.

Every morning and every night; then right before bed I have to inject you. You hated me for it at first, but now since your shot accompanies two delicious rice crackers, you actually have begun to beg me for your injection. We’re a team once again.

Then the weight started to pack on. Your body took on a new and peculiar formation. I have never seen a more bizarre looking Italian Greyhound. When I see you waddling toward me I picture a freshly cooked turkey with a dog’s head, legs, and tail. You became quite awkward-looking. I know that passers by ogle at you. They’re not sure what to make of you. But you are still so proud – head up – facing the world.

Then the fat deposits started to form over the last year and a half. You have a massive one growing out of your neck now. I would get it tested regularly to make sure it wasn’t cancerous – but it came back as fat every time. Now when you walk a few steps and turn to look at me to make sure I’m still there you have to strain your neck to look over the fat deposit. You look like a dog version of Quasi-Motto. You have a massive skin tag on your eyelid. I wanted to get it removed but the vet said it didn’t seem to bother you and removing it might be hard on your old, weakened body – so we left it there. You also have a massive skin tag that hangs from your bare tummy. I don’t even want to begin to explain what people have asked me it was. I just tell them you’re “special”.

Now here we are. I know you’re both tired. You walk slower now. You sleep more. Black Dog – I know you’re going deaf, and your arthritis is bad. Billy, I know it hurts you to walk for long periods now – this is why I carry you half way.
I know you love the pit – so we drive there now rather than walk. I know you still like to hang out with your friends. We drive to the beach now and when before it used to take every ounce of energy to make sure you didn’t run away, now we lie together on a big blanket under the sun.

So I’ll take you, warts and all, and feel more enriched in life for having known both of you. We make a great team.

free skin care · Thu May 03, 2007 9:17 am

Aw, man, I'm sobbing like a great big daft soft baby here. Crying or Very sad

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