Tag Archives: Confessions

Human Shaming: The Dog Snob Edition

19 Mar

By now, most of you have probably seen the website known as “Dog Shaming”, where people share stories about the naughty things their dogs did.   Here at The Dog Snobs, we are not immune from these often embarrassing moments.  We’re actually fairly certain that some of our dogs actually bathe in the glory of making us look like idiots.   Here are a just a few examples of the ways in which our dogs like to bring us shame.

BusyBee:

 I honestly don’t really know where to begin.  Mr. T is a dog that likes to make a scene–a real center of attention type.  Always has been.  He’s a complete ham and will “show off” for people if he senses they find him amusing.  Usually this ends up being at my expense.  If I had to choose the three most embarrassing things Mr. T has done to me, they would be (in no particular order):

Indecent exposure:   Mr. T came to me as a pup with a bad habit of tugging on clothes, and although we had been working on it, this unfortunate “trick” was still likely to make an appearance when he got overly excited.  One morning while out on a walk, we passed by a bunch of construction workers who wanted to come say hi to him.  Apparently having a bunch of men in construction hats cooing over him was just too much to bear, so he jumped up, tugged the back of my pants, and dragged them all the way down to my ankles.  In the daylight.  In front of about 20 construction workers. Yep.  This all resulted in a few whistles and cat-calls and me grabbing Mr. T and running back inside as quickly as I could.  I spent the next few weeks slipping out the back entrance of our building so I could avoid my new fan club.

Shitting at the Ritz:   On one of our daily walks as a young pup, I decided to take Mr. T on a stroll through our neighborhood, which was lined with fancy hotels.  We were walking merrily on our way when suddenly, and in the middle of the circular driveway for the Ritz Carlton, Mr. T stopped and had epic diarrhea.  As I sat there mortified trying to figure out how to clean it up, I was immediately greeted by several disgruntled doorman as well as a handful of really disgusted hotel patrons waiting for their limos to come pick them up.  Except the limos didn’t dare pull up since Mr. T’s mess was smack dab in their way.  I apologized profusely, cleaned up what I could, and scurried out of there.  Not that I’m the type of person to hang out at the Ritz anyway, but I’m pretty sure I was black-listed there after this incident.

Tourist Trap:  And there was the time that we unwittingly became the highlight of a large group of Japanese tourists visiting the Washington monument.  Sigh.   Mr. T went through a phase (fine, like a two year streak) of flopping emphatically on the ground and refusing to move when he didn’t want to leave what we were doing.  Given he weighs 75 pounds, this usually meant that I would wait it out until he decided that getting moving again was more rewarding than playing mule.  However, this time, right as he started to throw a tantrum, a group of roughly 50 Japanese tourists stopped dead in their tracks to look at us, and before I knew it, cameras were flashing, people were giggling, and a few brave souls even had their pictures taken next to Mr. T (who was still playing mule) and me.  The more they huddled around us and laughed, the more Mr. T ate it up.  He tends to think any attention is good attention, so he stayed on his side, wagging, and mugging for the crowd.  Now, I don’t speak Japanese so I didn’t know for sure what they were saying, but I am pretty sure that we ended up on quite a few of their vacation slideshows.

Fang:

I tend to block out the many ways in which my dogs have embarrassed me and generally speaking I have fairly biddable creatures. They’re fairly content to come along quietly so generally speaking their transgressions tend to be minor.

The Closet: I tend to bring my larger two dogs to work. Z is fairly content to hang around the desk (and in fact has a bed underneath it for uninterrupted napping). M is 1) Too large 2) Too exuberant and 3) Too much of a Malinois to appreciate people reaching over the desk, and as such he can either be in the grooming area or he goes out to daycare to run out his zoomies. This particular morning was unusual in that grooming was too busy to accommodate him and daycare was not running because of inclement weather so M was hanging out in the office. Inside the office is a large walk-in closet with some shelves and some boxes and not a lot else. Several dogs came in at once to get nails dremeled, one of which dislikes M intensely, so being inventive, I shuffled M into the closet to wait while we sorted out who was in the office. After returning the first of the six dogs from their pedicure, a noticeable odor had permeated the office. Three of us wandered around trying to locate the inevitable poop pile, but put it down to one of the dogs having gas. As the smell intensified after each dog, we all quickly turned into bloodhounds trying to locate it as even clients were commenting. As you can predict, I traced the smell to the single locale I had been dreading. Inside the closet looking pleased with himself sat M, surrounded by smears of the giant poop he’d taken on the floor. I grabbed his collar and shuffled him outside as quickly as I could manage but the evidence was all over him and the floor and the wall, in front of clients. It took over 15 minutes to clean and deodorize the area.

The CGC Test: M tackled the evaluator for kisses and hugs.

The Heel Free: Z heeled beautifully down one side of the ring in her first UKC Novice Obedience class. We took the left turn and she decided she wasn’t going to repeat herself, turned, trotted to the judge and sat in the center with her to watch me complete the heeling pattern sans dog. By the time I finished she was leaning on the judge’s leg. It was not a fun car ride home.

Potnoodle:

 At this point, I’m basically immune but I do have a few standout occasions.

Awkward Agility: The First time I remember being truly embarrassed by my dogs, was my first time in the agility ring. I set B, my cattle dog mix, up at the start , tossed her leash to the side and led out to the first obstacle. I looked back over my shoulder and called. B promptly turned, grabbed her leash, hopped over the first obstacle with leash in mouth and then turned and left the ring. My mother had to catch her going out of the ring, I was mortified.

Fancy, yet Farty: L is a lovely dog, very lady-like in movement and action. There is, however, one big divergence from her polite behaviour. She’s gassy. It rarely stinks, but it is always loud. It never fails that I ask her to sit and as soon as her bottom hits the floor she farts. I always get awkward looks. People assume it is me, I guess. I sometimes gesture half heartedly at L but I’ve given up mostly. I’ve been accused of blaming it on the dog. It wasn’t me, it was the dog. Really.

Putting on the Brakes:My most recent Dog Embarrassment is thanks to my boy, I. We compete in dock diving and he constantly makes fools of us. He hits the dock running, spinning around, screaming for his bumper. I set him up back at the 20 foot line, walk to the end of the dock, release him. He comes thundering down the dock, ninety miles an hour… and puts on the brakes. Nearly sliding in half the time. He then proceeds to scream and spin at the edge of the dock. I am constantly tempted to just push his ass off in the drink. Apparently, that’s frowned on. He does, eventually, go in. Not before eating up all of our time though.

What are your most embarrassing dog-related stories?  We want to hear them!

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Confessions: I’m in an abusive relationship with my dog

11 Mar


Lest you think The Dog Snobs are perfect, we will occasionally be confessing sad truths about our own dogs.  In today’s first installment, we tackle the touchy subject of dog abuse…as in, how our own dogs abuse us.

BusyBee:

In the four years that I’ve had Mr. T, not one, but two physicians have asked me in all seriousness during an exam if there is anything I needed to tell them about the bruises and cuts on my legs and arms.   At first I was confused by their questioning, but upon seeing their concerned expressions, I quickly realized they thought I was either self-harming myself or being abused.  When I laughed and told the first doctor that I just have a large exuberant dog who likes to be on top of me at all times, she smiled and said she that she had a Great Dane and totally understood.  The second doctor however, was not convinced.   He assured me that if I needed to talk, he was there for me.  Clearly this man was a) either not a dog owner or b) owned civilized dogs.

If anyone has ever owned a bully breed, you know exactly what I mean when I say these goofy, big-headed beasts love with exuberance.   Mr. T approaches everything in life with gusto, and loving me is no different.  Between flying leaps (with running starts, of course) onto my lap when I am on the couch, trying to sleep on top of me, crawling into my lap at every possible moment, and generally just being a bull in a china shop, it’s no wonder that my body bears constant reminders of his affection.  In addition to countless bruises and scrapes, Mr. T has concussed me at least once (that’s been confirmed), given me a bloody nose several times, and knocked me silly on multiple other occasions.  When you have a 75 pound dog who thinks he is a lap dog and throws his GIGANTIC head around in unbridled glee, bad things are bound to happen.   But honestly, I  don’t think I would change it.  His enthusiastic affection is part of his charm, and after four years of living with Mr. T, I’ve accepted that sometimes love is pain.

“Even when trying to sleep, I can’t avoid his gigantic head!”

Potnoodle:

Dog ownership isn’t always cupcakes and rainbows. When you own a dog that acts before he thinks… bleeding is just part of the job description. Before I came into my life, not once had I ever been made to bleed by one of my dogs. L isn’t mouthy at all and my cattle dog mix before her would never lay teeth on a human (dogs were a whole other story, of course.) When I brought I home at a year old, I sort of knew what I was getting in to. I had seen his grandmother and mother run in agility and I had seen both of them jump up to bite his breeder’s hands at the end of their runs. Since I’ve had I, he has broken my thumb, left several puncture wounds and I can’t even begin to count the bruises. He isn’t aggressive, of course. His bites are never ill intentioned, really they can’t even be called bites. He just dances around with his mouth wide open, swinging his teeth and usually catching flesh. It isn’t just the mouth you have to watch though, he also enjoys using me as a springboard. You really can’t fault his enthusiasm, but I do wish there was a little less damage done by it. His enthusiasm isn’t just limited to play though, he honestly can’t go anywhere at a walk. He dashes about, paying no attention to what he is doing. He has knocked me down our front steps, not once but twice. He’s that dog everyone hates, bouncing off knees like a pinball . Of course, training him out of it is an option and I have settled him down quite a bit. He no  longer takes flying leaps at my face, for instance. Really though, the flying around with his mouth open is just part of his personality. I just ask that he does it with at least three feet between us.

Now replace that ball with my arm and you understand my day to day life.

Fang (Unacceptably delayed but still awesome): I have bitey dogs. You can call it what you like–mouthy, nippy, whatever, but they view the world through their usually open mouths and they interact with everything teeth first. Both M and Z‘s favorite activites are extremely physical and involve a lot of flying incisors. Luckily,  I’ve avoided major damage beyond some pinches in the midst of play and a long puncture wound from a “Don’t eat that!” hand reach into a mouth. My dogs however aren’t prone to being as careful with my own friends, who incidentally have to be careful playing tug in their placement or they get what could only be described as a ‘purple nurple’.

Blissed-out on boobs. Surprising, but true.

Do any of you want to confess as well?  Be sure to leave a comment!