Tag Archives: Pets

Joke 614

27 Nov

From ajokeaday.com.

What was that about cats and dogs again?

What was that about cats and dogs again? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Top Ten Differences Between Cats & Dogs:

10. Dogs come when you call them.

  • Cats take a message and get back to you when they are good and ready.

9. Dogs will let you give them a bath without taking out a contract on your life.

8. Dogs will bark to wake you up if the house is on fire.

  • Cats will quietly sneak out the back door.

7. Dogs will bring you your slippers or the evening newspaper.

  • Cats might bring you a dead mouse.

6. Dogs will play Frisbee with you all afternoon.

  • Cats will take a three-hour nap.

5. Dogs will sit on the car seat next to you.

  • Cats have to have their own private box or they will not go at all.

4. Dogs will greet you and lick your face when you come home from work.

  • Cats will be mad that you went to work at all.

3. Dogs will sit, lie down, and heel on command.

  • Cats will smirk and walk away.

2. Dogs will tilt their heads and listen whenever you talk.

  • Cats will yawn and close their eyes.

1. Dogs will give you unconditional love forever.

  • Cats will make you pay for every mistake you’ve ever made since the day you were born.

Joke 515

20 Aug
Dog sunny Day Afternoon

Dog sunny Day Afternoon (Photo credit: allert)

My friend Cliff forwarded this email doing the rounds.

Why Some Men Have A Dog And No Wife:

  • The later you are, the more excited your dogs are to see you.
  • Dogs don’t notice if you call them by another dog’s name.
  • Dogs like it if you leave a lot of things on the floor.
  • A dog’s parents never visit.
  • Dogs agree that you have to raise your voice to get your point across.
  • Dogs find you amusing when you’re drunk.
  • Dogs like to go hunting and fishing. 
  • A dog will not wake you up at night to ask, “If I died, would you get another dog?”
  • If a dog has babies, you can put an ad in the paper and give them away. 
  • A dog will let you put a studded collar on it without calling you a pervert.
  • If a dog smells another dog on you, they don’t get mad.  They just think it’s interesting.
  • If a dog leaves, it won’t take half of your stuff.

To test this theory:

Lock your wife and your dog in the garage for an hour.

Then open it and see who’s happy to see you.

Joke 423

20 May

This is possibly a true story, but I’m using it because it reads like a joke.  I got it from Magsx2′s Blog, via Barb at Passionate About Pets.

Bucket-headed dog

Bucket-headed dog (Photo credit: Paul Kidd)

An older, tired looking dog wandered into my yard. I could tell from his collar and well fed belly that he had a home and was well taken care of. He calmly came over to me, I gave him a few pats on his head; he then followed me into my house, slowly walked down the hall, and curled up in the corner and fell asleep.

 An hour later, he went to the door, and I let him out.

The next day he was back, greeted me in my yard, walked inside and resumed his spot in the hall and again slept for about an hour. This continued off and on for several weeks.

Curious, I pinned a note to his collar: “I would like to find out who the owner of this wonderful sweet dog is and ask if you are aware that almost every afternoon your dog comes to my house for a nap.”

The next day he arrived for his nap, with a different note pinned to his collar: “He lives in a home with six children, two under the age of three. He’s trying to catch up on his sleep. Can I come with him tomorrow?”

Weekly Photo Challenge: Wildlife

13 May

Some of our gerbils.  They are fabulous pets who will interact with you yet remain ‘wild’.  The photo of Pepper on the Hub’s hand is a little blurred, but I include it to show you how she would groom his hair.

Joke 30

23 Apr

A man runs into the vet’s office carrying his dog, screaming for help. The vet rushes him back to an examination room and has him put his dog down on the examination table. The vet examines the still, limp body and after a few moments tells the man that his dog, regrettably, is dead.

The man, clearly agitated and not willing to accept this, demands a second opinion.  The vet goes into the back room and comes out with a cat and puts the cat down next to the dog’s body. The cat sniffs the body, and walks from head to tail poking and sniffing the dog’s body.  He finally looks at the vet and meows.

The vet looks at the man and says, “I’m sorry, but the cat thinks that your dog is dead too.” The man is still unwilling to accept that his dog is dead.

The vet brings in a black labrador. The lab sniffs the body, walks from head to tail, and finally looks at the vet and barks.

The vet looks at the man and says, “I’m sorry, but the lab thinks your dog is dead too.”

The man, finally resigned to the diagnosis, thanks the vet and asks how much he owes.  The vet answers, “$650.”

“$650 to tell me my dog is dead?” exclaimed the man.

“Well,” the vet replies, “I would only have charged you $50 for my initial diagnosis. The additional $600 was for the cat scan and lab tests.”

My Dog Is In Season And I Am In Distress

2 Jan

It’s that time of year: Molly is on heat and we have covered all seats and ourselves with old throws.  She spends her time licking her bottom and ignoring my reproachful and repellant looks.

I have never been around a dog in season before.  I can’t say I’m in favour of it.  I don’t think she is either: she appears confused and doesn’t know what to do with herself when her tongue is at rest.  Nature is disgusting.

The Hub has taken charge, having grown up around breeding dogs and cats.  He is a great believer in female domestic animals having a litter before sterilisation particularly when, like Molly, they have had a phantom pregnancy, so he has found a mate for her in Bolton.  He and Spud are on their way there now, with Molly primped and perfumed to look her best for the great ugly brute about to violate her.  He is another Yorkshire Terrier called Toby.  Our own Toby is de-testicled and hasn’t paid her any attention at all.  I guess, if you can’t find love at home you will play away….

I couldn’t go with them.  My excuse is that I’m taking down the tree, but really it’s because I feel like a mother pimping out a beloved child and I can’t bear to watch her deflowering.  The Hub, of course, has taken a camera – for a picture of the father, I hasten to add.  He’s going to document the process, from innocent little girl to being loaned out as a baby factory to motherhood to having her beautiful babies snatched from her bosom…my dog, the pawn star.

On Toilets

6 Nov

The question was raised after yesterday’s post, Why can’t dogs use a litter tray like any self-respecting cat?  Well, it appears that they can:

 

A Woman Needs A Fish Like A Man Needs A Bicycle

21 Aug

Viv is one lazy goldfish.  The Hub says she’s the kind of fish who takes a note into school each week to avoid swimming lessons.  She sits in a corner of the tank and even lies on the gravel and doesn’t move all day; unless there’s food going, in which case she’s Speedy Gongoldfish and the others better not get in her way.  She’s the smallest but the fiestiest.

I thought she was sick; I thought she was so sick she was going to die – which was the moment I realised that naming pets after living friends is not a great idea: imagine poor Vivinfrance’s shock if she reads of her demise on my blog. 

I’m thinking of changing my fish’s name, but she looks like a Viv.  And how would I go about it?  What’s the equivalent of the human deed poll?  A fish stick?  Owwww.  I’m cringing even as I write it.  Fortunately, my non-Yankophile readers won’t get it.  And maybe some of my American and Yankophile readers as well, if the reaction to the marshmallow joke is anything to go by.

I think I’ll just go lie on the floor and wait for someone to feed me.

 

 

With Sincere Apologies To Viv

28 Jun

After years of tolerating the Hub and his tropical fish, I have finally succumbed: my name is Tilly and I love my goldfish. So, apologies to nephew David and his lovely wife for messing you around, but I’ll see to Bill myself, thank you very much.

And Betty, of course; she’s the companion we bought for Bill. Or HE’s the companion: turns out the Hub is not as good a sexer as he thought; on reading the book that came with the new fish tank we bought because the original was plastic, cracked and too small and the plants we bought took up all the room, he learned that his method for discerning the sex was faulty i.e. he had no idea what he was doing and might just as well have held a wedding ring on a string over the tank and decided that male was right twirl and female left.

Then came the accessories, donated by a kindly Freegler. Freegle is the English independent breakaway offshoot of Freecycle; a sort of retaliation for 1776 – no authorisation without representation (no money changes hands so it can’t be taxation).

Bill & Betty now have a castle and some slate tunnels and it’s my bet the Hub is thinking that as soon as Callie the Eternal Gerbil pops her clogs, he’ll have a use for her giant tank and the seventeen other fish castles now residing in the garden in an old carrier bag. I’m sure it has been his plan to get me to keep Bill & Betty all along; he’s always liked owning fish. He has asked me almost every day if I had decided to keep them and I finally said ‘yes’ this morning. He had me out of the house and into the pet shop before I could say ‘I’ll have some chips with that’ and we now have Bill & Betty & Jock & Viv.

Jock & Viv get their names from my good friend Vivienne, who always leaves complimentary comments on my posts, and her husband, who once gave the kiss of life to a goldfish and inspired a poem. I won’t post it again because I’ve posted it twice already, but you can read it here. It was one of my favourite poems I have written and I was really touched by Jock’s heroism, and Viv is just lovely, so I can’t think of a better tribute to them. I hope they forgive me.

We now have a dog, a gerbil, two kids and four fish. We may be getting another dog because Toby is still nervous around them and it would help socialise him. We will definitely be getting two more fish because the boys want one of their own now that we are keeping them; but I draw the line at having any more gerbils or kids in the house.

Which reminds me: I am really looking forward to having my niece and nephew staying for a couple of weeks in the summer holidays. Someone’s got to look after all the pets while I have my nervous breakdown.

Little Bill

6 Jun

I finally managed to secure the goldfish.  You may remember I put him on the ‘At Risk’ register because my blonde friend did not provide plants for his tank.  The Hub and I spent some of our Shop Local winnings on tank plants and then I spent the week trying to co-ordinate diaries with my BF so that I could collect him.   Once she offered me a bottle of wine (bought because it has ‘Silver’ in its name) it was amazing how quickly my engagements dried up.

He is now residing in his tank, surrounded by plants and my kettle and toaster.  There is no room for him in the lounge: the gerbil’s tank takes up half a wall and the dog’s mat, basket, toy basket and antique Woolworths chest containing his treats and accessories, takes up the rest of the room.  No matter – I spend half my life in the kitchen anyway, cooking, cleaning and avoiding the children, so Bill and I will have plenty of quality time together.

I have called him Bill after some discussion with the Hub and Spud (still in Wales but phoning home everyday to moan about his hosts because he’s not here to moan about us).  We considered Bert, Harry, Bubbles, Goldie and Fingers i.e. Goldfishfingers; if he was American it would be Goldfishsticks.  I suppose it’s daft to name him when we are only fostering him until the Hub’s nephew gives him a permanent home, but I like that it will give me the opportunity to say to my BF, when she asks how her fish is doing, ‘He’s fine.  Don’t worry, I’ll be sending the Bill to David.’

He wasn’t fine at first; he seemed to be quite upset at being taken into care and was quiet for a couple of days and off his food.  At least, I think he was off his food: we bought so many plants he couldn’t move and we couldn’t see him.  Once I had thinned them out he started swimming happily around the bowl.  At least, I think he’s happy; he doesn’t talk much.  I’m not sure if he’s shy or standoffish. 

I have come a long way as a pet owner since buying that first goldfish for Tory Boy: I left his bowl in front of the window when we went out for the day, so he would have something to look at.  We found him floating on the surface, having slowly boiled to death.  Tory Boy was upset but at least we had something ready for dinner.

 

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