Joke 949

Ask a dog to change a light bulb…

Funny Dog Door Mat (Photo credit: pberry)

• 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.
• 

  Funny dog (Photo credit: kattebelletje)

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

• Labrador: 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, checked to make sure I haven’t missed any, and made 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? What light bulb?  I can’t see anything.
• Cocker Spaniel: Why change it? I can still mess on the carpet in the dark.
• Yorkshire Terrier: Sure; let me just bark and bark and bark at it first. Where’s my treat?
• 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.

A funny picture of a cat on streets in Riga, Latvia. Visit http://www.startlatvia.com for more information about Latvia. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Cat’s Answer: ‘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?’

Proving once again that, while dogs have masters, cats have staff.

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From a jokeaday.com

Let Snoring Dogs Lie

English: Road north from Little Snoring to Great Snoring (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m off to see the Ear, Nose & Throat doctor this afternoon, about my snoring.  I have begun to suspect that all of this bad weather is caused by my sucking in the sun every time I inhale in my sleep.

Yes, I am that bad.

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If you are wondering where Patrecia, Miss Whiplash, she who was always thinking about things, has gone to, it’s to a new blog, God’s Creatures, about animals.

She forgot to tell you what she was doing before she deleted her old blog.

I bet she snores; it’s hard to remember things when your head is aching from sleep-sniffing the entire contents of your bedroom.

Patrecia writes about animals, including her dogs.  

Did you know that the calculation of 7 human years for every 1 dog year is incorrect?  And did you like my smooth segue from one topic to another without the use of an asterisk?  I should be on TV.

According to BBC News, it works like this:

For first two years:

• 12.5 years per human year for the first two years for small dogs
• 10.5 years per human year for the first two years for medium-sized dogs
• 9 years per human year for the first two years forlarge dogs

For years 3+:

• Small: Dachshund (Miniature) 4.32, Border Terrier 4.47, Lhasa Apso 4.49, Shih Tzu 4.78, Whippet Medium 5.30, Chihuahua 4.87, West Highland White Terrier 4.96, Beagle 5.20, Miniature Schnauzer 5.46, Spaniel (Cocker) 5.55, Cavalier King Charles 5.77, Pug 5.95, French Bulldog 7.65
• Medium: Spaniel 5.46, Retriever (Labrador) 5.74, Golden Retriever 5.74, Staffordshire Bull Terrier 5.33, Bulldog 13.42
• Large: German Shepherd 7.84, Boxer 8.90

The Village sign, Little Snoring, Norfolk (Photo credit: Wikipedia) I can only dream…

Time for my favourite-ever joke (from the film, Dumb & Dumber):

What do you get if you cross a Shih Tsu with a Bulldog?  

A Bullshit.

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Despite the funniest joke in the world, I think I’m in a bad mood. My head aches: my dog woke me an hour early for his breakfast, and wouldn’t take ‘no’ (or ‘Get lost, you horrible dog!’) for an answer.  You’d think at age 39.34 he’d be able to fix his own breakfast.

He’ll be wanting me to run his shower for him next.

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I think I’m mostly in a bad mood because a popcorn machine arrived this morning.  

Do you like a lot of salt on your Hub?

Pimp My Dog

My Dog Was In Season And I Was In Distress

It was that time of year: Molly was in heat and we had covered all seats and ourselves with old throws.  She spent her time licking her bottom and ignoring my reproachful and repelling looks.

I had never been around a dog in season before.  I can’t say I was in favour of it.  I don’t think she was either: she was confused and didn’t know what to do with herself when her tongue was at rest.

The Hub took 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.  He found a mate for her in Bolton. 

Hub and Spud took Molly, primped and perfumed to look her best for the great ugly brute about to violate her.  The Brute was another Yorkshire Terrier called Toby.  Our own Toby is de-testicled and has never 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.  I felt like a mother pimping out a beloved child and I couldn’t bear to watch her deflowering.  The Hub, of course, took a camera – for a picture of the babydaddy, I hasten to add.  He intended 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.

Reprieved

My little girl is still virgo intacta –  being only eighteen months old, like any adolescent male Toby was enthusiastic but clueless.  He kept looking to the Hub for help but, even when the Hub lifted him on top of Molly, he couldn’t make the bat hit the ball, if you get my meaning.

Toby finally gave up but she came back exhausted anyway, because they spent an hour running and playing in the garden instead.

She was invited back next season, when it was hoped he’d have done some studying into the matter.

This post first appeared as two posts in January 2011.  

Still no puppies.  Toby never got the hang of it.

Rain, Rain, Nothing But Rain

The dog is going stir crazy.

Just the one dog: Toby loves his walks but not in the rain.  He’s a Yorkshire Terrier and terriers believe in sniffing their way around a walk.  You can’t sniff anything in a puddle so what’s the point in going?  If it’s raining, he won’t go out and that’s that.

Unfortunately, it has done nothing but rain for a week.  There were at least two days when we didn’t get out, and on other days we managed ten-minute walks in the hiatus between one lot of clouds moving on and the next lot of clouds rolling in, but it’s not enough for a Squirrel Chaser (First Class) such as Toby.  

He’s driving me mad with his incessant nagging.  I have to open the front door every time he starts, letting the rain soak the carpet because the wind is always blowing in this direction.  

The problem is, dogs don’t think in the abstract; they live in the now as in:

I want a walk now, I want a walk now, I want a walk now!  Good, she’s putting on my coat, my harness, my lead, her coat, her scarf, her gloves, her shoes, what’s that big stick that opens up?  At last, I’m having my walk at last, at last – I’m not going out in that!  It’s filthy and I can’t smell anything.  Heels in; I like a good tug of war.  Let her get wet if she likes; I’m not that daft.

And then we have to take off the coat, the harness, the lead, the coat, the scarf, the gloves, the shoes.  I’m never sure which one of us is most disgruntled but I know who sulks the most.

Molly is a different kettle of dog:

It’s past September?  No thanks; I’ll walk in April.  

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Joke 603

From dogbreedinfo.

Breeds like this Doberman were specifically bred for guard duty. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sign on a fence:

Salesmen welcome.  

Dog food is expensive.

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Sign in a vet’s waiting room:

Back in five minutes.

Sit.  Stay.

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Did you ever notice when you blow in a dog’s face he gets mad at you?

But when you take him in a car he sticks his head out of the window.

 

Three Things

Tragedy by Steps at Merseyway Xmas lights last night

When I read this on Twitter today about my home town, I thought, ‘Oh no!’

They even had video:

I just read this on Facebook:

Stalking is when two people go for a long romantic walk but only one of them knows about it.

A couple of weeks ago, we received a reminder card through the post that Toby and Molly were due to have their booster jabs.  There was also an offer to download a money-off coupon.  The Hub phoned the vet, made the appointment, and off we went yesterday.

They had no record of our appointment but fitted us in anyway.  Turns out Toby didn’t have his booster last year because, at the time we took the dogs, his lesions had returned, he needed antibiotics and he couldn’t have the booster at the same time.  He was injected several times at several appointments and we had thought as we cried into our wallets that one of those was his booster jab.  

Never mind – at least we had the money off coupons to make it a little easier this time.

No, we didn’t.  The coupons weren’t valid for this particular branch.  

We came away unimpressed yesterday – not only had our beloved dog been unprotected for a year, he needed to start a whole new course of immunisations at a boosted price, they wouldn’t accept our coupons and they hadn’t even known we were going to turn up despite the Hub making the appointment a week earlier.

When we got home there was a message on the answering machine:

Hello!  This is anonymous from another vet’s.  Toby and Molly missed their appointment for their boosters today.  If you would like to make another appointment, please call back on number given.

The Hub had made the appointment and downloaded the coupons for one vet’s practice, but we had visited another.

 

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Tilly (Photo credit: Stuart L Ruffell)

I haven’t been around the blogosphere much these last few days.  I haven’t visited many blogs, or even my own – comments have been left  unanswered, unapproved, unspammed.  Having a life outside of blogging is really irritating sometimes because it gets in the way of my real world.

tilly (Photo credit: ParsnipSoup)

 

Time I would normally have given to you was spent on my poetry blog this week.  Here’s a snippet from last Monday’s post (apologies to those of you who have already seen it):

…on 12 May it was the 200th anniversary of Edward Lear’s birth. I adore his poems and he has been an influence on my writing […] I have decided to hold my own event to celebrate, and you can expect a nonsense poem a day for the next week, written by me, not Mr Lear.

And here’s a snippet from yesterday’s post, when I wound up the celebration:

I have a confession to make and I’ve been putting it off.

You know how I’ve been celebrating Edward Lear and his nonsense poems all week, by posting nonsense poems of my own? I made the first post on Monday and then I had one of those middle-of-the-night moments when you sit up in bed and shout, ‘Oh no!’

I had suddenly realised that when I read it was Edward Lear’s 200th birthday, what my brain heard was ‘Hillaire Belloc’, who wrote those wonderful cautionary tales of naughty children and was the actual influence on my own writing, not Edward Lear.

What a delicious irony: my posts have all been nonsense, because I have been celebrating the wrong poet.

Once the shame fades, I will try to catch up with your blogs and comments, but please accept my apology if I don’t get to you straight away: I am going to work backwards down my email inbox because I tend to miss things otherwise.

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Tilly (Photo credit: Digitalorthodoxy)

I found a great typo this morning in an article I read; the author was discussing slugs in her garden:

…I saw a trail of slim…

Wish I could get me some of that.

She must have found the spare ‘e’ because she stuck it on the word ‘mar’ later on:

It will mare one’s character.

A horse!  A horse!  My slimdom for a horse!

I shouldn’t laugh; I bet she knows her poet from her pot.

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Tilly (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I heard about another Tilly Bud from Siggi of Maine.  No relation, although she is also in the Manchester area.  There’s nothing to tell and I wouldn’t have mentioned it except that I discovered yet another Tilly Bud this morning.  Actually, Tilly and Bud. 

Videos still won’t work on this blog – WordPress Unhappiness Engineers please take note – so you’ll have to check them out yourself, here. 

I’m a little afraid to send you over there, because I think you will prefer that Tilly and Bud to me.  In fact, I guarantee it.

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No Dogs

Dear Subscribers,

If you came here looking for four funny videos of dogs, I spoke too soon: the videos worked in the draft but disappeared as soon as I hit publish.  I trashed the post in a fit of pique.

Here’s a dog joke, by way of apology:

How many dogs does it take to put in 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 light bulb?

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

Dachshund: I can’t reach the stupid lamp!

Toy 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.

Rottweiler: Go Ahead! Make me!

Shi-tzu: Puh-leeze, dah-ling. Let the servants do it…

Labrador: Oh, me, me!!! Pleeeeeeze let me change the light bulb! Can I? Can I? Huh? Huh? Can I?

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

Doberman Pinscher: While it’s dark, I’m going to sleep on the couch.

Mastiff: Mastiffs are NOT afraid of the dark.

Irish Wolfhound: Can somebody else do it? I’ve got a hangover.

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

Greyhound: It isn’t moving. Who cares?

E Is For ‘Poo’

Cover of Dog Day Afternoon

I’ve had a rash of new subscribers the last few weeks, so they might as well know my level from the start, before they get sucked in to my dark world of bad puns and toilet humour.  Welcome, newbies!  Thank you for subscribing.  Just so you know, you may regret it.  Ask my regulars.  You can’t say you weren’t warned.

FYI: I write an irregular series of posts about me, based on the alphabet.  No reason, really; just copying more original bloggers.

Where was I?

E is for ‘poo’, or ‘excrement’.  Excrement is the same thing as poo, but sounds worse.  Let’s not go there.  Babies and children poo; adults excrete.  Okay, I went there; but I need to thrash this out.

I write about poo a lot; I don’t know why.  Bowels don’t move me.  Perhaps it’s because I spend my life picking up after my dogs (I am a responsible owner).

Before we knew Spud had an eye problem, he used to fall down a lot.  Into big piles of steaming (summer)/frozen (winter, spring, autumn) doodoo.  I lost count of the pairs of pants and/or shoes I threw into the bin on the way to school (just to clarify: he was a toddler at the time, escorting his big brother). 

I HATE dog poo.  I LOATHE lazy owners who leave their dog’s dirt lying around for children to fall into and go blind.  If caught, they should be forced to collect all the poo on the park with their bare hands.

I have a whole collection of poems about poo. 

Really.  It has my favourite title of all my collections: Number Two Cycle.  Here’s one:

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Dog Day Afternoon

Spring day; a walk in
the park: the triumph of hope
over effluence.

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And another:

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Time and Motion

I’m always here
On the loo.
Diarrhoea?
It’s déjà poo.

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My favourite post about poo was a long ramble with the dogs, in which I described their toilet habits (regular and often) and colour (five in one, at one point), and how I had to carry it all around with me until we found a bin.  It was a lovely sunny day and it allowed me to close with the line, I never felt more like swinging the poos…

Toilet humour!  I love it!

Unsubscribers to the right, please.

Happy Mother Day

I am a mother of two children.

I have the best job in the world.

No.1 Son

No.1 Son

I am a mother of two children.

I have the best job in the world.

No 1. Boy

No. 1 Girl

A Re-Blog, But Can You Blame Me?

Before I start, let me tell you that they were groomed to within an inch of their lives before these were taken, though you would never think so.

Molly & Toby.

Do we not have the cutest dogs in the world?

Will Smith: An Apology

Dear Will, I’m sorry we are both happily married to other people because, with your ears and my size we’d have been perfect for a remake of ‘Dumbo’.  Love, Tilly Bud.

I love Will Smith; he’s a natural actor and incredibly funny.  I declare today Will Smith Day, for no other reason than it gives me an excuse to think about him.  I loved him in The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.  I didn’t know then that he was a rap star and I often wondered about the funny little fellow who couldn’t act who kept making guest appearances (DJ Jazzy Jeff, his rap partner).

My two favourite movie lines of all time are Will Smith’s in Independence Day, and they both occur in the scene where he and Jeff Goldblum are attempting to plant the virus that will wipe out the alien invaders:

‘We have got to work on our communication’ 

‘I ain’t heard no fat lady!’  

Doesn’t sound interesting flat on the screen like that, I know; it is definitely one of those moments where you had to be there.  Like Frank Carson, it’s the way he tells ’em.   If you haven’t seen Independence Day – what is wrong with you?  I have seen it about twenty times.

Do you know what?  I have seen ID about twenty times and it has just occurred to me: what happened to the dog?  Remember how Jasmine risked her and her son’s lives to call Boomer in the tunnel when Los Angeles was being blown up?  And he was in the truck when she was driving around saving what was left of the population?  Boyfriend turns up to rescue her and all of a sudden – no dog.  He’s never seen again in the movie.

Does anyone know if Will Smith claims to be vegetarian?

I saw Mr Smith in an interview and he described how, after his first record went platinum or he won Grammy awards or something, he went home and told his Mom and she said, ‘Yes, very nice, now go and get some milk; we’ve run out.’   With a mother like that, no wonder he’s grounded.

Sadly, Will won’t be starring in my forthcoming movie, in which large blonde dogs band together and betray humanity to an alien species.  I call it Independence Day: Boomer’s Revenge.  Tagline: The Day The Dogs Bit Back.

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This is a re-post (with edits). 

Joke 93

Three handsome male dogs are walking down the street when they see a beautiful, enticing, female Poodle.  The males are speechless before her beauty, slobbering on themselves and hoping for just a glance from her in return.

Aware of her charms and her obvious effect on the three suitors, she decides to be kind and tells them, “The first one who can use the words “liver” and “cheese” together in an imaginative, intelligent sentence can go out with me.”

The sturdy, muscular black Lab speaks up quickly and says, “I love liver and cheese.”

“Oh, how childish,” says the Poodle. “That shows no imagination or intelligence whatsoever.”

She turns to the tall, shiny Golden Retriever and says, “How well can you do?”

“Ummmm…I HATE liver and cheese,” blurts the Golden Retriever.

“My, my,” says the Poodle. “I guess it’s hopeless. That’s just as dumb as the Lab’s sentence.”

She then turns to the last of the three dogs and says, “How about you, little guy?”

The last of the three, tiny in stature but big in finesse, is a chihuahua. He gives her a smile and a sly wink, turns to the Golden Retriever and the Lab and says, “Liver alone. Cheese mine.”

The Little House On The Prairie Will Never Be The Same Again

Image via Wikipedia

If you’re not a fan of poo, look away now.

I’m watching series 3 of The Little House On The Prairie.  So is the Hub, but I’m only allowed to tell you that if I don’t mention that he loves it.

The Ingalls have a dog called Jack.  An amazing dog, who just helped save Carrie from certain death (death not being a great plot strand in a series aimed at children and soppy Hubs).  Jack is mostly amazing, however, because he never poops.  We never see a squat, a sniff and mooch for the right spot, or a scratch at the door to be let out, quick! before I do it on the pristine floor Ma keeps.   We see the human characters use the outhouse, yet no dog toilet.

I begin to suspect Laura Ingalls never really had a dog – despite the way he warned of the tornado that ruined Pa’s crop – and Michael Landon added him just to keep the Hub watching.

Real dog owners know that real dogs’ lives revolve around poop: when they’re not doing it, they’re filling up to do it later and when they’re not filling up to do it later they’re smelling other dogs’ bottoms to see where it comes from, and other dogs’ poo that irresponsible owners have left on the park for me to stand in.

Not that I needed to go to the park to stand in it this morning: poor Molly seems to have the excremental blues.  She did something that frightened her, and I hope you other dog owners might have an explanation as to why it happened, because I am baffled.

I put the dogs out after their breakfast but, unknown to me, Molly sneaked back in.  Looking out the back door, there were poo blobs (as opposed to proper, steaming piles) dotted all over the garden, which is unusual.  I looked around to find one plop on my rug, and Molly squatting up against the Little House dvd case, obscuring Laura Ingalls.  Talk about defecation of character.

Don’t worry, I didn’t hit her, or even scold her.  It’s not as if she’s my husband.  I’m kissing and cuddling her right now.  It’s not as if she’s my husband.

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