Is Double Linking the Same as Double Dipping?

 

Linking two prompts with one post.

Five Sentence Fiction: Forgotten

Silly Sunday

My apologies to Rhonda. Today, I have a linking problem.

 

Jake picking up a scent of God knows what.

 

Following the Scent of Keys

Where did I leave my keys? Did I lose them down the FedEx chute while dropping off the package? No, I drove home, stuffed them in my pocket and then left them in a burglarproof place. After pinpointing their location in my head, I lost it when my dog ambushed me at the fridge. If only he could pick up the scent of nickel, plated brass instead of another dog’s ass.

 

Lillie McFerrin Writes

 

I’m participating in Lillie McFerrin’s weekly Five Sentence Fiction prompt — Forgotten.

I hope I’m not breaking blogging protocol by double linking.

I’m also linking to Silly Sunday since this piece is rather — .  Silly Sunday is hosted by Rhonda of Laugh-Quotes.
silly-sunday-badge-250-transparent-150x150

 

Why is this dog smiling?

This picture came with the frame

Jake is smiling because he’s been eating chopped meat and rice for the past several days. No gauche canned dog food for him.

It all started when he heard a rumor at the dog watering hole.

Barney the Boxer got Jake’s attention with a doggy rope toy and a “pssssst.”

“Hey you, Jake. Come over here,” he said.

Jake nodded and bounded over to a pine tree, with low hanging branches, where Barney was waiting.

“Step into my office.”

Jake followed Barney beneath the branches.

“I’m going to tell you something ’cause I like you. I heard that Spot is eating chopped meat and rice instead of that canned crap.”

Jake’s ears twitched. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“No, I was sniffing your butt, but that’s not important now. I know how you can con your human into giving you packaged red meat.”

“Bullshit!”

“Not exactly, but you’re close. All you gotta do is eat crap. You know, grass, dirt, litter box nuggets, fur.”

“Fur?” Jake barked. “Are you nuts?”

“No, dog. And I’ve got the pedicure papers to prove it.”

“I’m not eating my fur. It’ll make me sick.”

“Precisely!”

“You are crazy. You want me to get sick.”

“It’s only temporary. Your human will take you to see that guy in the white coat.”

“The painter?”

“No, you stupid mutt. The vet. And you’ll get a car trip out of it, too.”

“I don’t know, Barney. It sounds risky.”

“Do want to eat the good stuff or not?”

“Of course, I do. I hate waiting around for a food dropping to hit the floor. And there’s that stupid human 10-second rule. If I don’t get to the food in 9, I’m screwed.”

“So, start eating crap today, and you’ll be dining on rice and hamburger tonight.”

Barney turned, as a Shepherd furball rolled toward the tree.

“I’ve got dibs on this one!” Barney growled.

Later that day, when the vet found fur, grass, dirt and other indistinguishable matter at the tail end of Jake’s digestive system, Jake started a diet of chopped meat and rice.

Now, all the dogs are doing the con.

What’s the latest gossip at your local dog watering hole?

Relevant Articles:

The Ten Canine Commandments

Jenny after breaking one of the Canine Commandments

  1. Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s leg
  2. Thou shall not chase the cat when she wanders into mutt air space
  3. Thou shall not abduct a sock, shoe or glove from a wedded pair
  4. Thou shall not kill a rodent and leave it fermenting on the bed
  5. Thou shall not blight my clothing with thy muddy paw prints
  6. Thou shall not bark whilst thy pet parents are soundly sleeping
  7. Thou shall not steal a meatloaf from the counter
  8. Thou shall not gut feather pillows on the front lawn
  9. Thou shall not feast from the cat litter box buffet
  10. Thou shall not lick my face after wiping thy ass with thy tongue

Please add to the list. The Commandments aren’t written in stone.

Dog Steals Ham. It’s Virginia. Not the Dog.The Ham.

Last night Jenny stole a pound of deli ham from the counter. One second it was there, the next – poof, gulp slurp. She had scarfed it down, a groovy Scooby snack.

For Jenny, food layovers are never out of bounds and certainly never out of reach. It’s hunting after the fact and more like a game of “Who will be lame enough to leave the food near the edge of the counter within the range of my snout?”

Jenny-Up-Close1


In the past, Jenny has stolen two meatloaves and a frozen chicken from the counter. She growls and clamps down her teeth when you try to pry open her mouth. So, I let the meatloaf take one for the team. I’d rather keep my fingers. I haven’t yet mastered voice to type writing.

Indoor drama cannot compare to thorny outdoor situations.

Last night, with too much slack on the lead, Jenny circled around a bush thick with thorns. Stuck and no place to go. I dove into the snow to untangle the lead. It was like trying to unravel a really long cord but with a dog at the end. She waited patiently for me to untangle the lead in the dark, knee deep in snow. I did so without strangling myself or the dog.

I fell two times. Two missteps off the path in the yard and my foot plunged two feet below snow and then I was stuck. I thought Jenny would drag me out of the hole like Lassie did for Timmy but after several minutes of waiting in the cold, I yanked my own damn foot out of the snow.

This Friday is Jenny’s eight-week check up with the orthopedist. According to the doggy rehab instructions, she won’t be playing Frisbee anytime soon. She hasn’t played Frisbee in the past. She looks away when I toss her a stick or a ball. It’s beneath her. Yet, she digs for deer poop, which is much farther beneath her. It just tastes better, like chicken according to some of your comments or just because she can.

Reffie:  I think deer poop must taste like chicken. Cat poop must taste like chicken. Chicken tastes like, well, um, frog or somethi…

Snee:  As for deer poop tasting like chicken. I too must change my dinner menu. Rabbit poop must taste like chicken too. That’s our dogs’ favorite….that and fox. Or perhaps, I’ve got it wrong. Fox is for rolling in.

Jayne: I don’t know why dogs eat deer poop. Nor do I understand their appetite for snacking in the cat’s litter box. Maybe for the same reason they lick their own private parts — because they can.

And there you have it. Anyone for chicken?

How Deep is Your Snow – To the Tune of How Deep is Your Love w/Barking Dogs.

While taking my poor convalescing mutt, Jenny, for a walk on the front lawn, I got heel dragged across the snow, despite the surgical collar she wore.

Think Queen Elizabeth.

Queen Elizabeth's Collar

See the resemblance?

Jenny's Elizabethan Collar-ThinkSpin.com

Jenny dragged me until I slipped, releasing the retractable lead that used my face to stop the backward slide. After stars stopped circling my head, I got up and chased Jenny for several snow-slogging seconds before nabbing her. A slight turn of her Elizabethan head allowed me to grab hold of the dog death star and reattach the lead.

The incident occurred in twelve-inch deep snow prior to the Tuesday storm that dumped twenty-two inches of sky poop onto our already snow spattered lawn. Twenty-two inches plus twelve. Let’s do the math. While I wait for you to find a calculator, I will provide a visual aid.

To put the storm residue into perspective, now we’ve got enough snow to build a block of bird condo igloos.

The Tuesday storm created chaos at the supermarket Monday night when I headed to the Stop & Shop to pick up essential items: beer and frozen pizza. Apparently, the frigid temperature outside wasn’t enough to deter me from pillaging the frozen food section.

While in the fast food section, or pre-made meal emporium, I almost got into a fist fight with a woman who shoved past me to grab the last two boxes of fried chicken. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Even so, I took the high row past the cooking wine and didn’t deck her in front of her two kids. I couldn’t risk dropping the beer and pizza.

I escaped the supermarket still clutching the essential items and jumped into my car parked in a “mother with infants space.” Please don’t judge me because of my parking space faux pas. It was late, the parking lot was empty and I couldn’t distinguish the “gimp space” from the “mother with infants” space and the “free parking space.” Oh, that’s Monopoly. Besides, I didn’t see any infants in the diaper aisle.

I was just glad to get out of there alive.

Fast-forward three days later – You TiVoed it, right?

Today, Friday, I remain locked inside my house waiting for the malevolent snow to disappear or to wake up from this creepy lucid dream in which I wear boots and ski pants even though I don’t know how to ski. I pinch my arm and scream. Damn it! I’m awake and the dog is whining to go out.

I’ll wait five more minutes then pinch the other arm. Maybe there’s still hope that this is a dream within a dream. Otherwise, I’ll need the carpet cleaner.

How deep is your snow?
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Scarfing Down Scooby Snacks as American Idol Idles.

Bitsy - A blue basset houndImage via Wikipedia

GUESS WHO’S COMING FOR KIBBLES AND BITS?

While I listened to alleged singers on American Idol screech their way into millions of homes, my mutt Jenny started to bark and then promptly left the room. “I know,” I shook my head. “Just awful.” However, I soon learned that American Idol wasn’t the reason for her distress. Her barks were a Scooby alert for “Ruh-roh! Raggy!”

The barking continued outside in three part harmony, at which point I put an end to the Idol contestant’s misery with a click of the remote, opened the front door, and watched a mini basset hound named Lucky bound his way into my hallway with my two dogs, like the three amigos.

With broken chain swinging from his collar in syncopated beat to the sway of his tail, Lucky waddled into the kitchen, parked himself in front of a dog dish, and began demolishing the leftovers from Jake’s dinner, while my two mutts body slammed each other against the wall in delight. They love company, and I found out later this wasn’t Lucky’s first presumed dinner invitation.

It seems that Lucky likes taking early evening constitutionals without telling his owners and walk himself around the neighborhood, while saying “heel” and scooping his poop, then somehow ends up on our side of the mountain playing with my pups, who wear shock therapy dog collars to prevent them from wandering off like Lucky.

After Lucky finished snacking on kibbles and bits, he decided to take a tour of the house, headed upstairs, and stopped on the second floor landing to howl. Apparently, that’s what basset hounds do and do well, as my dogs continued to body slam each other then raced down stairs into the kitchen, slip sliding against the sleek tiles into several chairs, and having an altogether terrific doggone time.

Lucky, on the other hand, continued his house tour as my son tried to nab him in order to get the phone number off his collar. When my son finally cornered him, he called out the numbers to me as I keypunched them into the handheld. Several rings later, I was chatting with Lucky’s adopted human dad, who was thrilled to know that he we had his furry son, although not too thrilled with Lucky’s propensity for making himself at home in other people’s homes.

Ten minutes later, we said our goodbyes to Lucky and sat back down to watch American Idol and more howling. Maybe the karaoke-like screechy singing caused Lucky to break his chain in the first place. After all, dog’s have sensitive ears and a nose for that shit.

What do you think of this season of American Idol?
Do you care? 
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