And I now dub you, Sir Rupert Poopsalot of the Crunchy Turd

Now I know this is pretty gross, but I’m sitting here sick, and unable to nap and yet unable to get up the energy to do much else, so I’m sharing this all with you.

Sunday I made a bone-in ham.  It was delicious.  Leif saved the au jus and the bone and yesterday used them to make Navy Bean Soup.  It rocks.  Totally.  In fact when I’m done with this post I just may avail myself of a bowl of left overs provided I can muster the energy to shuffle over to the kitchen.

Anyway, I digress.  After the soup was done he gave the bone to Rupert.  Rupert is extremely picky about his bones.  He will only eat fresh home cooked meat bones.  None of those plastic wrapped, store bought, basted beef bones for him.  Oh, no.  But when we do treat him to a home cooked meat bone he gobbles it up, no bones about it.  Then for the next 36 hours he has petrified poops.

The poor thing pooped not once this morning.  Not twice.  Not even three times.  Oh, no.  Poor guy grunted and strained and pushed out 5 crunchy doggie turds.  Now, it’s gross enough scooping up a stinky, hot, steamy dog poop as it is with only a thin piece of plastic baggie between one’s hand and said poop, but grabbing a pile that is hot and hard as rock is it’s own level of grossly disconcerting.

And, now that I’ve shared this with you, I must let out Sir Poopsalot yet again because the poor dear is scooting along the carpet.  Yuck.  As soon as I can breathe through my nose and the concrete drains out of my head I am soooo steam cleaning this carpet.

What good is a dog that won’t eat peas?

We had peas with dinner tonight.

We aren’t much of a pea consuming family, but it just so happened that there were a few hiding in the mixed vegetables that I bought on sale.

Spud: Awww. I don’t like peas.

Me: Well, eat a bite with all the vegetables mixed together instead of picking out the peas, then you’ll hardly notice that you’re even eating the peas.

Spud: Can I give Rupert a pea?

Me: No honey, Rupert won’t eat peas.

Spud: Well, maybe if he tries them he’ll like them.

Me: No. You’ll have to eat your own peas.

Spud: Awww. I hate peas.

And, I nearly gagged on the end woof.

I was having some trouble thinking of what to blog this morning. Fortuitously I happened to comment on a blogspot blog which required those security word entries. I kid you not, there I typed: ENDWOOF.

Which made me giggle. Then I thought it ties in nicely to my 6WS offering.

The end woof is the smelly dog breath that permeates your breathing space after a dog barks.

Ooh that smell.

Six word Saturday

“The smelly dog breath surrounds you.”

You too can sing along with this Saturday’s six word offering using the tune of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s That Smell

Ooh, ooh that smell
Can’t you smell that smell?
Ooh, ooh that smell
The smelly dog breath surrounds you.

Yeah.
Dog of rankness is upon you.
Cover up your sleepy face (you, dog, you)
He’ll take another lick, stick his tongue up your nose,
Dodge it quick, dog breath astounds you. (smell, yeah)

Enjoy your Saturday and all it’s smells.

Six Word Saturday Challenge is courtesy of Show My Face, Six Word Saturday

Typhoon Rupert *or Janie is slowly succumbing to cabin fever

Because I’m sure you all are dying to know how Janie is spending her Summer Holiday. Because I’m sure you all just can’t wait to find out how I’m spending my every moment now that I’m free to blog at will….

It is the rainy season in the Great White North, where instead of getting 4 feet of snow, we get 4 feet of rain. Rupert, apparently, is deathly afraid of rain. It is bad enough he shakes and pants and cries, but then he positively refuses to go out and do his business.

Which can be a problem when you have monsoon force storms for 3 weeks in a row. We let him out in any break in the storm, and we even toss his little doggie butt out between breaks, because lets face it, breaks are not very common or reliable. In fact, I rushed out yesterday hoping to get some dog business done before things got nasty but unfortunately got caught. Not only was no dog business done, but the poor doggit became frozen with terror two blocks from home and had to be practically dragged the whole way back.

I don’t believe in umbrellas. They really don’t do any good anyway when the wind seems to blow bucket sized drops of rain at you from sideways and under. So, I had to towel off the dog, completely change my clothes, and dry my own hair.

But the worst part is not the little piles of doggie love we find later, and that is pretty irritating, it’s the unexpected wetness of plopping down onto the sofa into a huge puddle of dog drool because Rupert has been panting in fear for the last hour, apparently drooling in the process.

Oh, and no. That’s not doggie love. I wouldn’t post a photo of dog poop on my blog. I would, however, be so bored and sick of the crappy weather that I’d find an old photo of making Christmas Fudge and insinuate doggie poop.

I think I have a long day of Bookworm ahead of me. I wonder if you can get points for the word poop….

Rupert, the Doggins

OMG!  It’s like been forever since I blogged.

Not because I didn’t love you all, but because school really sucks.  Combined with the joys of mothering a 6 year old and there just simply wasn’t time to breathe much less blog.

Besides, all I’d have blogged anyway was complaints about school.  Booooring.

But now I can introduce you all to Rupert, the new Jones family Doggins.  Isn’t he cuuuuute!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.