I HATE CRUNCH FACE!!! I know, it’s Christmas, I shouldn’t hate anyone, or, anything, but I just can’t help it! How long have I been doing time in this house? What, at least four years? How many times have I went with mom and dad on Christmas Eve? I’ll tell you how many, zero, bubkus, the big goose egg, nada, less than one, anyway, you get my point, never! Along comes this crate pooping, bug eyed, tail pulling, man part nipping plague, who’s been here less than three months, and off to grandma’s house she goes! Meanwhile, I was stuck here with the Furball! The Furball, by the way, must have heard the hippie talking about Santa Claus, because that’s all he could talk about last night while everyone else was gone! At first, I thought Crunch Face pooped just one too many times on the floor when mom and dad took her with them. Maybe she was going to the proverbial family farm! Oh no, according to Crunch Face, she went to see dad’s side of the family and mom’s side! She even saw Bad Grams, who said Crunch Face could come to her house today for dinner! Now get this, she said Crunch Face could come on one condition, I can hardly type this I’m shuddering so bad, mom would have to clip Bad Grams toe nails! What? There wasn’t any sewers needing unclogged? No lepers needing bathed? I can’t believe mom agreed to this! Anyway, if Crunch Face does get to go to Bad Gram’s for dinner, and I get stuck here with Furball again, I’m going to poop like I’ve never pooped before, right on the dining room floor!

On the first day of Christmas, my master brought to me, a pug to torment me!

On the second day of Christmas, my master brought to me, two tail tugs!

On the third day of Christmas, my master brought to me, three rabbit pens!

On the fourth day of Christmas, my master brought to me, four bunny turds!

On the fifth day of Christmas, my master brought to me, five PIT BULL BEATINGS!

On the sixth day of Christmas, my master brought to me, six vets a spaying!

On the seventh day of Christmas, my master brought to me, seven nail trimmings!

On the eighth day of Christmas, my master brought to me, eight crates with poopings!

On the ninth day of Christmas, my master brought to me, nine yippy lap dancers!

On the tenth day of Christmas, my master brought to me, ten Furballs weeping!

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my master brought to me, eleven hippies piping!

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my master brought to me, twelve Grammies grumbling!

That’s twelve Grammies grumbling, eleven hippies piping, ten furballs weeping, nine yippy lap dancers, eight crates with poopings, seven nail trimmings, six vets a spaying, five PIT BULL BEATINGS, four bunny turds, three rabbit pens, two tail tugs, and a Pug to torment me!

Merry Christmas everybody!

It’s been a while since I last blogged, I just can’t seem to get motivated to write these days! Things don’t seem to be getting better with Crunch Face, although, she’s lost a little of her luster with mom and dad. It’s funny how pooping where, or, when you’re not supposed to poop can make you a little less cute! Kind of like getting a date with that special someone you’ve been working so hard to impress, only to have them poop in your car on the way to dinner! Yeah, it gives you something to talk about, but it’s not really something you would want to build a long term relationship on! Mom really crossed the line the other day, she found my pink sparkly collar, the one I was saving for a big date with the Pit Bull, and gave it to the little poop tramp! She was parading all around, wearing nothing but the collar and a coy smile. Furball was all; “that collar really brings out your eyes!” Brings out her eyes, really? If her eyes were any more out, they’d be on the floor! We don’t believe in reincarnation in this house, but I’m telling you one thing, Marty Feldman had nothing on Crunch Face! When she first came to this house, every time she looked at me, I thought someone was sneaking up behind me with an axe! The hippie girl had me worried the other night, I really thought I was a goner, she was actually being nice to me. I was thinking; “yeah Moon Beam, I’m on to you sister, nice to me one second, on the way to the “family farm” the next!” Christmas is quickly approaching, overall, I think I’ve had a pretty good year. I’ve often heard dad say he’s never had a dog like me before, that’s gotta count for something! Needless, to say, the hippie girl’s friend, Santa, better come through with some bling to replace my collar, a hit man for Crunch Face and Furball would be nice too!

They say politics makes strange bed fellows! In my case, an annoying, uncouth, tail munching, food gobbling, bug eyed, man part nipping, pest, has created an alliance I never thought possible! The Furball and I have been forced to work with each other in order to have some bit of sanity here at the pet sanctuary! The Furball chases Crunch Face, while I give her a good growling and some well deserved looks of disgust. Speaking of disgust, you should see this petulance eat! Or, should I say inhale her food! There is no way she is tasting a thing! I believe you could put a bowl of rocks in front of the wrinkle faced freak, and she would have them in her stomach before she knew she’d be pooping cement later! The Furball and I have been forced to eat at a frantic pace in order to prevent mallet mug from eating our food! Oh sure, it sounds funny, however, imagine if every morning for breakfast you were in Nathan’s Hotdog eating contest! The only thing missing is some bimbo standing behind us holding up a card indicating how much kibble we’ve ate! I’ve just about quit caring about my tail. Every time I turn around, my tail is being ravaged! It’s not too bad, until the thug pug gets to the meat of the tail! Then it really smarts! Mom took us all to see some old guy in a red suit, with a white flowing beard. Apparently, according to the hippie, this guy is called Santa Claus. The hippie told us if you tell ole Santa what you want, he’ll break into your house and leave the item you requested under a tree mom and dad put in the living room. The hippie also said after you tell Santa what you want, he has to go have his elves build it for you before he can bring it to your house. Poor, poor hippie! I think it’s time for an intervention! She must have got into some of Bad Grams’ private stash! Anyway, just to cover my bases, I told Santa I’d like a certain wrinkled, crunch faced creature to disappear! I hope he knows I wasn’talking about Barbara Walters!