War Dogs: A Post from Mitch

Hey, y'all.  It's me, Mitch.  Well, I've been so lazy about blogging lately.  I don't really know what's gotten into me.  I mean, maybe my Aunt Cassie has been rubbing off on me, or maybe I'm just turning into a cat.

Actually, I'm totally not turning into a cat, y'all, because that would be like the worst thing.  I mean, have you ever met a cat?  They are so mean and have such sharp claws!  One time this cat came in the house because my mom thought that I wanted a cat brother and then I tried to play chase with it and I ran into a chair that ran into the Christmas tree and a bunch of ornaments fell off and my mom was sooooooo mad.  And I was all, "I mean, why'd you bring a cat in here?  Cats are such jerks."  And they're lazy, too.  

Anyway, not that much has been going on with me here.  I've basically just been keeping my mom company while she takes really, really long naps.  Naps that are so long that even I--a dog!--am like, "Whoa, shouldn't we be doing something with our lives?"  But we have been watching a lot of the Air Bud movies (I mean, have you SEEN Seventh Inning Fetch?  If you haven't, then you're really missing out on an important part of American cinema.)

And, as you may know, I recently turned seven, which was a little bit of a crisis for me.  I mean, seven?  That's like, old, y'all.  And, to be honest, I don't feel a day over two.

And then I look around at all of these other dogs (Air Bud aside) who are really doing something with their lives.  I mean, there's Bo, who's working on foreign relations.  And there are those dogs who go to my mom's school to smell for drugs and cell phones.  And what about the dogs who can smell for cancer?  I totally should've learned to do that.  And did you know that there was a dog on the super secret Osama bin Laden capture/kill mission?  I mean, is there anything cooler than being able to say that you were the dog who sniffed that a-hole out?  Um, I'm also have reason to believe that it was the dog who killed him.  But that's classified information and I've already told you too much.

I totally should've joined the army when I had the chance, y'all.  Look how cool it is!

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Oh, what?  They fire guns?  Those loud boom guns?  And they don't get to sit on couches or sleep in the big bed?  Do they at least get to pre-wash all of the dishes after dinner?  No?  Well, that's some bull jive, y'all.

Nevermind.  Scratch that whole army business.  If you need me, I'll be lying in the guest bed with my mom watching Air Bud: Spikes Back.  Or maybe Golden Receiver.  I've seen Spikes Back like 30 times already.

Happy Birthday to Mitchell!

I make no bones (HA!) about the fact that I am 100%, completely and totally in love with my Mitchell.  Any regular reader here knows that it's basically an unhealthy obsession. 

But, really?  Can you blame me?

So today we're celebrating the 7th birthday of the furry perfection who greets me at the door and snuggles with me in the big bed and on the couch, who licks my tears off of my face when I'm crying and who licks the sweat off of my legs after ellipting.  He's the best dish pre-washer this side of the Mississippi and he is the best protection against mailmen. 

But now I'll stop gushing because I need to go enjoy some post-walk snuggles with him.  (What?  75 degrees on Groundhog Day!  Looks like the universe wanted Mitchell Pancake Hedberg E-F to have a fun birthday, too!)

Here's how he's spent much of his birthday.

Refusing to wear the birthday hat I made for him.

Proving that age is only a number, bounding about the yard like a rodeo dog.

Finally acquiescing and wearing the hat.

And being rewarded with ice cream.

 Note the toasted coconut on his face.

I can't even believe that I've enjoyed seven years of this insane cuteness and my heart hasn't exploded.

Love and Marriage

[A conversation that took place when we walked into the living room, only to find Mitch watching Hotel for Dogs on HBO.]

 

Me: Wait, is that that Don guy?

Matt: Cheadle?

Me:  Yeah, him.  What's he doing in Hotel for Dogs?

Matt:  Well, he was in Hotel Rwanda.  It just makes sense.

Happy Birthday, America. (A Post from Mitch)

Hey you guys.  It's me, Mitch.  I know it's been a long time since I've written on here, and I'm sorry about that.  Geesh, I'm getting to be as bad as my dad is about being a bloggin' dog.  Anyway, I hope you've managed to get through your days without my updates.  I'll try to be better.

I haven't been up to too much lately.  My mom made treats for me the other day, and I've been having a lot of fun burying them in the bed and in the couch.  I've been going to the park with my mom a lot, and meeting other dogs.  Plus, I have two new dog neighbors now, which is fun because sometimes at night we like to all go outside and howl at the ambulances.  It's sooooooooooo funny, you guys.  I mean, I'll be all "ooout-a-woooo!" and Toby'll be all "ooouuut-a-woooo-wooo!" and then Rider'll be all "yappa-wooo!"  It's a riot.  Not like a riot in L.A., but like a fun party-like riot.

Tomorrow my mom and dad and I are driving to Augusta to visit Uncle Hugh and Aunt Cassie and Fletcher, my cousin that I say I hate (but that I secretly love--my wagging tail gives it away), Fletcher. (It's actually the one-year Fletchiversary--so it's been exactly one year since I've had a peaceful visit with Aunt Cassie and Uncle Hugh).  We're going to eat homemade treats and run around the yard and celebrate our freedom and celebrate the fact that we live in a pretty darn great country. 

Here's what I love about our country.

I love that we have a Humane Society, where moms and dads can find dog children of their own.  I love that people can own as many dogs as they want.  I love that I can bark whenever I want and bark whatever I want.  I love that we have awesome entertainment in America (um, hello, Air Bud franchise!).  I love parks that have water fountains for dogs.  I love restaurants that have outdoor seating and waitresses that give me a bowl of water.  I love watching kids practice football at the park.  I love the smell of grilling in the summer. 

Now, if only America would work on two things:

1. I think it'd be better if I could just be off my leash at the park, and pretty much everywhere. 
2. The fireworks need to go.

Seriously.  I'm a patriot dog and all, but I can not stand the booms of fireworks.  I mean, I howl the "Star-Spangled Banner" with the best of 'em, and I watch Glenn Bark every night.  I love to take time to reflect on those people and animals that have helped to make our country what it is today; I just don't see why we have to have big fire booms in the sky to show our appreciation.

Oh, and the taxes.  Sometimes, after I have a long day of work in my tie collar, I just want to have all of that money to myself to buy treats and toys.  Why do I have to give some of it to the government?  Oh yeah, so that I can have parks that have water fountains for dogs.  Fine. 

But we can all agree on the fireworks, right?

Puppies Are Exhausting: A Post from Mitch

Hey you guys, it's me, Mitch. Oh man, I'm so exhausted right now. Let me tell you why.

First of all, I'm six. That's like forty three in dog years, which means that I'm middle-aged (immortal if you ask my mom). So I'm no young pup. Sure, when people stop me at the park to remark about how beautiful I am and to and ask about my breeding (American Dingo, natural selection all the way!), they are always so surprised to find out how old I am because I project such youth and vitality. But, I mean, that's just when I'm out for walks mostly. Because when I'm at home, I'm either sleeping on the bed, sleeping on the couch, sleeping under the bed, sleeping beside the couch, or sitting on the couch watching out for kids or mailmen (so that I can scare them with my loud and vicious-sounding bark.) Point is, when I'm on walks, I'm all about being Energy Dog, but when I'm at home, that's time for Mitch to relax.

When my mom and dad kept talking about this "spring break," I thought I might get to forget about some of my stresses, you know, like cats and bicycles and kids bouncing basketballs.

But apparently "break" is more like "stress," because I had a really stressful "break."

First there was Fletcher. I mean, we've talked about Fletcher. I kind of like him; I just wish that he would chill out. Come on, Fletcher. You don't have to be punching me in my face every waking minute of our visit together. We can just relax in a dirt spot. And wipe that grin off your face. Okay, and like, when I first met Fletcher, he wasn't that much bigger than Reilly, but now he's as big as I am! What the hell is that? I'll tell you one thing, Mitch is not okay with Fletcher getting bigger and bigger.

Basically, with Fletcher I just growl and growl and maybe snap. Sometimes I can get him on the ground and start "dancing" with his face, but not too often. Fletcher is so strong! But he sure is handsome--so handsome that it's hard to overcome my desire to "dance" with his face.

So, anyway, Fletcher came, and he was only here for a day, and I was all, "Thank goodness! I'm so tired!" So I had a day of rest. Only a day. One day. That's it.

Because the next day we had another visitor, Phebe. Phebe is even younger than Fletcher, but she's not quite as big, which was nice. And you know what she did? She ate my bones! Sure, I had my own bone the whole time, but she'd just saunter over to MY bed and start chewing on a bone that came from MY bone jar. So you know what I'd do? I'd drop the bone I was chewing on, march my dog butt over to Phebe, and take that bone back from her. Why? Because I'm Mitch, and sometimes I'm an asshole.

Phebe was here for a couple days, and she did get better. I even decided to give up on being so jealous about bones. She liked to run, so I would chase her around the house trying to wear her out, but you know what? You pretty much can't wear out a puppy. They have so much energy! What the hell, you guys?

Then Phebe left, and so did my mom and dad (Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad. It's not like I wanted to go to the lake or anything. I hate the lake. Oh yeah, that's right. I LOVE the lake. And now I hate you guys.) I thought that with everyone gone I would finally get some solace, but I was again mistaken, because Reilly came over. Now, Reilly time is like really exhausting but also really fun (kind of like a trip to Mexico, except that I didn't get to go to Mexico, either.  That was just another example of Mitch being left behind.  I seriously would bite my parents if they didn't sprinkle parmesan cheese over my food), and he's getting older and more into naps, so we had a great time. We even rented some of the old Air Bud movies and popped popcorn. Maybe you didn't know this, but dogs LOVE popcorn. And also steak.

And no sooner did Reilly leave than Mom and Dad returned. I mean, can't a dog relax?  I really need my alone time!

Mom and Dad are back at work now, and whining about getting up early and needing rest, but I'm happy, because I needed to get some rest to make up for that "break."

A Commercial About Me! (A Post from Mitch)

Hey guys, it's me, Mitch again. Oh man, I've been so busy lately because I've been helping the Traveler's Insurance people with their new ad campaign. I was all, "You guys know what's really important, right? Bones. We need bone insurance." They loved it. Here I am, a regular mad dog. No no, not like the alcohol, like the awesome advertising guys on that show.



And I had them put in that song by that guy my mom likes. There are two kinds of singing that she loves, me singing "I Will Always Love You," and whiny boys with guitars. This one is of the latter variety. I had a sore throat (hint, Mama, I need a COUGH DROP!) that day.

Inside a Dog's World

If you are my Facebook friend, you already know that when I pulled the couch cushions off of the couch today to wash the covers, I discovered that one Mitchell Pancake had buried nine rawhide bones within. NINE. It's like he grew up during the Depression or something. (Looking back, he kind of did. Matt and I were super broke during the first years of Mitch's life.)

Somewhere in my brain I know that Mitch is not actually a human, and that he doesn't view the world the same way that we do. But I refuse to believe it. The dog uses armrests for Christ's sake! It's only when he acts on his dog instincts (i.e. burying bones around the house) that I must acknowledge that he is a dog, and not a cuter, more furry, more quiet human companion. (Though it must be said that I would prefer the company of the dog to the company of approximately 97% of humans. I mean, we are E.T. and Eliot.)

Matt and I will talk about what Mitch is thinking, and we constantly put words in his mouth (and an occasional blog post in his, what, paws?). Today my friend Brian sent me this fascinating doggy article, "The last word: Inside a dog's world," that attempts to explain the world from a dog's point of view. If you have a pup, I'd recommend reading it. Did you know that human noses have about 6 million receptor sites, but beagle noses have more than 300 million?

You would know that if you had read the article.

One of my favorite passages, on the topic of kisses from a pup:

First, the bad news: Researchers of wild canids—wolves, coyotes, foxes, and other wild dogs—report that puppies lick the face and muzzle of their mother when she returns from a hunt to her den, in order to get her to regurgitate for them. Licking around the mouth seems to be the cue that stimulates her to vomit up some nicely partially digested meat. How disappointed Pump must be that not a single time have I regurgitated half-eaten rabbit flesh for her.

I know that, regardless of what experts may say, my Mitchell experiences the same emotions I do. I dare you to disagree. . .

Desperation

Melancholy

Frustration and Annoyance

Suspicion

Pride

Adoration

Compassion, Sympathy

Apathy

And that's just to name a few. What about your dog? Is your pup just a human trapped in a body with a tail?

Labor Day Pictures

Friends, food, pups, babies, and booze.

Young Fletcher has stolen my heart.

But it'll take a little more doing to win over the Mitch.

How was your Labor Day weekend?