Weekend Behavior: Mixed Bag

So. Things that pickles fights:

• Bedtime
• Dietary restrictions
• Her lamb "baby"
• Shelties???

What started out as an innocent sniff somehow morphed into a dog fight. Sean and I had just gotten back from the new Batman movie, and I volunteered to walk the dog. It was a two-part mission: 1. get the dog to crap and 2. pick up my car at the nearby bar, where I had left it the night before (which was very smart considering I was hammered).

We met up with said sheltie and his owner, a very nice lady I'd briefly met on a previous walk. After we both verbally confirmed that our dogs were friendly, we let them meet. About 2.3 seconds later, they were snarling, clawing, and biting at each other.

We separated the dogs, apologized to each other, and went our separate ways. Both dogs were fine, except I noticed a scratch on Pickles' flank when we got home. I hate to say this, but I think Pickles might have been the aggressor. She always acts like she wants to love on other dogs, but maybe I've been misinterpreting her whines. A friend pointed out a scar on her forehead, so perhaps, I've adopted a little hood rat! Note to self: no more dog fun for Pickles, at least until we see how she reacts to her "cousins" in Green Bay in a couple weeks.

In other, less dramatic news, we're on day four of no trash digging! Wheeeee. We need to get a chalkboard and keep a formal count, like a factory. She did, however, knock over a mostly-empty glass of milk. I'll take it, I guess.

And because you've sat so patiently through my blathering, here is a picture of Pickles with her battered lamb.

Have a good one!

Hello. This is Pickles.

We adopted Pickles about a month and a half ago. She's a 3ish year-old beagle who escaped from a backyard breeder in southwest Missouri (wheeeeeee, Missouri pride, number one in meth production AND puppy mills!). In the past six weeks or so, Sean and I have become her obedient and leal servants. Six different types of treats? Check. A bunch of toys in which she shows no interest but I keep buying anyway? Check. Permission to sleep in our bed? Check. But Pickles doesn't care about any of that. Her one and only love on this earth is garbage.

Delicious, delicious garbage.

We'd had her for three days the first time she went spelunking in the trash, and of course, I freaked out because she had eaten some aluminum foil (she was fine). The next time, she had scored the packaging of some of Sean's kipper snacks (bleargh) and while she didn't eat it, she did clean it thoroughly.

The third time, I think she went in there just to see if there was anything good. There wasn't. Beer cans, cigarette butts, and coffee grounds. THAT WAS FUN TO CLEAN UP!

Now, this last time, the dog finally hit the jackpot. No more chincey meatjuice to lick--she found real life expired cupcakes. A friend had brought them over for a party, oh, two weeks ago, and we'd finally thrown them out. While we're usually pretty good about putting the trash up, Sean...YES, IT WAS HIS RESPONSIBILITY, HE WAS LAST OUT THE DOOR...Sean forgot last night. And Pickles had the world to gain.

So yes. Yesterday, Pickles ate six to eight mini red velvet cupcakes, wrappers included. Oh, and she ate the crumbs out of a discarded bag of Triscuits.

I know, I know, get a better trash can, cheapass! I'm sorry, I just can't justify spending $60 on a brushed stainless steel automatic blah blah thing that's just going to hold our refuse! I can't do it! So it's either stick our trash on the counter, or forget, and let Pickles do her thing. Hopefully, we'll at least get some amusement out of her exploits.

Who doesn't like hot wings?

Bleargh. Full of Jim Beam and Journey. Should not be at a computer.

So. Sean informed me that Pickles got at his empty take-out container for hotwings. The bones themselves had been trashed, but for some reason the container was still in our house? Why!!?? Why do we still have an empty fucking foam container on the counter? And how the hell did our BEAGLE get to it? Beagles are short, but they are crafty. So, here are my theories.

Jesus said, "Rise, Pickles, for you are chosen amongst dogs." And Jesus lifted Pickles up. And she found noms. And it was good.

Pickles "Mission Impossible"ed herself upon the counter using Jeremy Renner and a series of complicated pulleys. This is my optimum situation because that means that Jeremy Renner is hanging out in my house somewhere! I just need to find him.

Or it was probably, "Hey, if I stick this box up here, the dog won't go for it." And she jumped higher than a beagle should.

This dog is *not* just a dumb girl. If there is any sort of food-ish thing within reach, she will find it. I'm convinced that she's plotting our deaths as we speak. Pickles might look cute and innocent, but she is not. She stares just a little too intently.

Seriously, she's staring at me and I don't know what to doAOU0[28U324OIJOLJEFWERFSDSAFASFASDFKJHKJLKJHKLJHASFDJHKLJ

SARA IS STOPUD WANT FUDS. PICKLES IS FOREFER XHAMPTION OF DIGS. TRIBYUTS DEKYCVER TO HOUXSE. hATE KYBORD. kYBORD BAD, FEED PIX GOOD. TREATS.