I'd Rather Be At The Dog Beach

I can't remember a more dreadfully hot summer in Chicago since I moved here over 8 years ago.  Last summer, I barely turned on the air conditioner until August.  This summer I'm paying for that.  It hasn't been good dog beach weather, or rather good dog-watching at the dog beach weather.  Its been too hot to sit out there and most of the dogs are smart enough to hit the water and stay there.  A couple of weeks ago, it was a nice cool 80 degrees, which is about right for dog beach watching. 

Below are my first dogs of interest.  Very obedient black lab, calmly waits for human to throw frisbee, which guarantees that he never gets it. 

The hotshot muttly dog is much more take charge and from watching her/him (I'll go with 'her'), a bit of a showoff.  She was after that frisbee so fast, black lab didn't even bother to run for it.  "Oh, she's after it again I see.  Well, I'll just stay here with you.  Maybe next time."

This Muttly Hotshot was actually pretty good at catching it, but when she missed it, it was clear she wasn't happy.  Probably not happy with the human...or the frisbee.  She didn't seem the type to blame herself.  Every single time Ms. Muttly ran back with her prize, she stopped about ten feet before the human (and poor neglected lab), pranced around in a circle three times and then dropped the frisbee.  Ten feet away.  She'd look at the human with a "Get over here, and pick it up," attitude.  Heaven forbid she'd bring it right to him.  Occasionally, the frisbee would land in the dirt before she could catch it.  In her exuberance, Ms. Muttly drove into the sand and got a load of it in her mouth.  She'd gag a bit, and I thought there was some justice.  Later, Ms. Muttly pranced with the frisbee into the water, which was a bad choice because it made her less mobile when the human intentionally threw the frisbee in the lab's direction.  Wouldn't ya know that lab brought the frisbee directly to the human's hands every single time.  Without a shred of attitude.

About an hour of watching had passed and I thought to myself, "I never see a basset hound here.  That would just make the day perfect if one showed up."  Well, perfect it is then!  Maybe I'm acquiring some serious powers!  Yeah, me!  Its about time!

"I'm awesome, I know."

Who can ignore a basset?  Especially a young, peppy one who still has a reason to live.  Every single person this dog passed had to stop for a pet, and the basset took her due.  As she should.  The woman in the foreground is her human, and she was a bit of a drip.  She's one of those people who just hit the beach and plant themselves, which is fine if you're at the regular beach, but the dog beach just requires a bit more.  Some interaction, particularly with your pet.  She kept calling her basset over.

Notice white Frenchie by the water.  I LOVE!

Do you see her dog next to her?  You see how well, that turned out.  "Come here, sweetins'.  Oh, you'd rather wander over there?  Oh. Okay."  How long has she had this dog?  Did she really think that woudl work?  I mean, obviously she did, but why did she think that?  That is some downright mysterious decision-making.  Here's the deal with bassets.  They do what they want, and they have a short window before they become old, woe-is me, creatures.  So, this little lady had some living to do, and her momma could just stuff it with the sitting nicely on the towel business.  I mean, this dog didn't even look her mom's way.  At all.  Perhaps this woman should have invested in the neurotic mess that is a chihuahua. Those creatures usually bond to their humans to an extreme degree.  

I can remember one other basset at the beach before, but that one went nowhere near the water.  Sassafrass here, thought it was just fine.

As I was leaving, I noticed this odd couple:

This pug and black lab wading in the shallow end.  The lab seemed mindful of his friend's height and didn't go in any deeper.  That pug stuck to that dog like glue.  If the lab turned right, the pug turned right with him.  Every single direction the lab moved in, the pug immediately followed.  The pug would put his face near his friend's face too.  It was very odd and interesting.  I wish I could have stayed to figure out that puzzle.  Maybe I'll see them again.

J.J.'s View

Sam is not the only boy in the house whose greatest hobby is lady-gazing. J.J. is Sam's neighbor (so is Francis, but J.J. pretty much rules the cage), and he's also quite dedicated to observing the latest activities across the way.

But there's just one obstacle.


A big-ass chair.

Well, its actually a child's chair...a human child's, which is gigantic compared to the pigs, so big-ass chair does apply in this wee world. J.J. is so intent, so dedicated to Lady Watching, but he doesn't notice or doesn't mind that this chair is right in front of him. What appeal does the chair have for him? Does it make it more of a challenge? Is it like a curtian in a burlesque show, where the site of a bare leg peeking around it, is enough to excite the spectators? Less is more?
Sam has figured out that the perfect viewing is between the chair and the water bottle, but perhaps he does not like to be teased as much as J.J. Sam is older. Low expectations are for the young.

A couple of years younger, J.J. hasn't realized that life is not enjoyed in small doses. Or small peepshows.

Yes, Its Sam Again

Yet another post about Sam. Before you think that the other pigs are jealous, they're probably happy that Sam takes all of my attention away from them. The last thing they want is the human eye staring at them.

A couple of years ago, I found this shirt on clearance. It was originally for wee dogs, but I thought it would be perfect for a certain wee guinea pig.



Sam hasn't worn it in quite some time, and while I can't say he was thrilled about it the other times he wore it, he was really a beast about it last night.


Perhaps he feels that he has reached a certain age where he is above these costumes or that he recently had major surgery and should get to keep some dignity, but however he felt, he was having a fit. I thought he'd be flattered. It IS a Superman shirt.

So, I dusted off an old cat costume my previous kit-ten, the late, wonderful Sweetpea owned.

He's just luckly I couldn't find the tiara.

Sam, you could have been a superhero, now you're just a tranny.

Sam is High Maintenance

...which is alright with me. Too bad there isn't a pillow with "Totally Worth It," on it for a companion piece because that's how I feel. Anyway, Sam's idea of high maintenance is "Come over here and rub my head while I look at you adoringly." Its a reciprocal relationship. Only Sam appreciates me and the life he lives. I won't sugarcoat it, its nice to be liked.

Sam's stitches were removed a week and a half ago, and there has definitely been a spring in his step since then. This is a picture of Sam's stitch-less tummy last Friday (one week after getting the stitches out).

To celebrate the big occassion, Sam received something that was taken away from him after I first noticed the tumor...

a f*** buddy.

I took away all of his small and medium sized stuffed animals and any pillows he could wrap his body around and possibly aggravate his lump. So, Sam has been totally chaste since then.

The poor boy has a lot of pent-up frustration.

Even the camera didn't want to take any sexually suggestive pictures, but its unwillingness inadvertently created a very 1970s, cheaply-made porn movie look. Here's Sam giving the stuffed puppy the getting-to-know-you butt sniff.

But it all worked out. They seem to have bonded.


Sam also has a brand new Healing Meditation cd to listen to every night. I WILL TRY ANYTHING to keep my boy healthy.



Much to my surprise, Sam found the cd more fascinating that the "Be Happy" pillow I bought for him this weekend. I don't know if he was insulted or apathetic to the message since he already lives it everyday or if his discerning eye saw this pillow (which I found to be cheerful) as garish, instead.

I also found some Valentine's stickers on clearance. I do love stickers, but they really aren't of much interest to the pigs.


However, they do provide considerable amusement for the human.

Sam's telegraphing, "Don't even think about putting one of those on me, Lady."

That's what the kit-ten is for, silly.

A Second View on the Last Post

Francis' butt.

There are worse pigs for a human to deal with than Ms. Kiddo. Francis, here, is the most difficult pig to groom. He's incredibly squirmy, so as I held him, trying to clip his nails, he was working very hard to make sure that didn't happen. He managed to get himself upside down and work himself down my arm.

Yet, he never takes into an account that I have developed fingers and hands of steel after dealing with his shenanigans for over three years (THREE YEARS, submit Francis!), and I'm not about to let him go. He can fight all he wants (although, I'd prefer that he didn't), but I always win in the end. Perhaps, he's satisfied with a hard fought battle, knowing that he can never win the war.

But he really does make himself look like a damn fool.

His sister, Wheezy Jefferson, is the most dramatic of the lot. When getting her nails clipped, she squeals, grunts and uses her little legs and body to try to lift herself out of my hands. In the pictures below, she's looking over my arm, perhaps weighing her options--submitting, taking a jump and hoping for the best or intentional suicide. Maybe Sam (pictured in the background) is communicating to her "Jump, I'll catch you," but she, in the end, acquiesced to my superior strength.

The End Is Near

There comes a time when every girl of substance is forced to confront her own mortality. Even though still young, once or twice a month, Kiddo is forced into such experiences. Feel sorry for her readers, this is what she goes through...She gets picked up. Let me repeat that for full comprehension. Kiddo, thinking she is the Mistress of Her Own Universe, is picked up by a veritable giant. A creature who doesn't speak Guinea Pig-lish (although has some basic comprehension of the language), does not emanate the comforting smells of hay, parsley and tomatoes, does not eat her own poop and is just...Other...not right...not one of her...not easily understandable. This Other could certainly kill her at any moment. Its survival, people.

Then the giant hurts her ten times with some sort of contraption that takes off parts of her body. Kiddo did not give the giant leave to do this. The giant takes it upon herself. And why exactly, does the giant do this? Kiddo wonders if the giant is using her body parts to cast spells for world domination or flavor her food with them. This offends Kiddo. Even though she has been known to headbutt her cagemates, she works very hard to live a life of peace and is not pleased that parts of herself are being used for evil. Is this all some sort of terrible plot with disastrous consequences for all of pig-kind?

Or could she just be getting her damn nails clipped?

Either way, the eye doesn't lie.
That's terror, readers. Kiddo feels what she feels and no one can tell her to think or feel differently, thank you very much.


Ah...was it only days ago that she was starting a revolution against the tyranny of the interest-mongers? Look at how happy she was fighting evil. Now she's a victim herself (albeit of a different sort).


When you say your bedtime prayers tonight, Kiddo asks you to remember her.

How Many Piggies...

are hiding in this igloo?


The Ladies were enjoying some playtime in Sam's cage until I ruined by looking at them. Certain that death was imminent, the only place to hide was Sam's igloo (Sam, himself, doesn't spend much time in there. He's a pig who thrives on excitement and spits in Danger's eye--although, I don't think guinea pigs can spit, but if he could, he would. He embodies the idea of it, anyway.)

The Ladies...well, they will probably always believe that the soup pot is their final destination. No amount of organic food, pillows and big cages will ever change their minds. Victim mentalities, all of them! Yet, they are all my best friends when food is around.

Anyhoo, how many are taking the scaredy-cat route?


That there is four little ladies (from bottom of picture to top-Kiddo, Swoosie, Wheezy Jefferson and Isabella), packed into a little igloo built for one. All five have actually piled in an igloo before, but this time Ina decided that she had better things to do than to cater to a Wimp's Way of Life.
She was having a tete-a-tete with Sam. Perhaps, there was some whispered flirting or Romeo and Juliet dialogue, since the two will never get closer than this. Maybe it was a scientific conversation about global warming and fretting over the hay and lettuce crops. Perhaps Sam was dispensing the advice acquired as an Elder Statesman. Perhaps its merely a mystery.

But whatever those two discussed, Ina did not take kindly to her sister, Isabella, busting up the party. The moment, I lifted the igloo, Belle-Belle made a run for it. Unfortunately for her, she had no where else to hide. She chose to make a spot for herself underneath Ina. This sent Ina off to another part of the cage in a huff, Belle-Belle trailing her.

Clearly, Ina is merely tolerating this foolishness.