Topics by letter--now with pictures
What's this? TWO posts?!
Same story as before. Meme. 26 slots. Navigate here to play. Comments are still screened.
Today's post brought to you by the letter U.
U is for Ursula.
I met this little ball of fluff in a pet shop in Shawnee, where I attended college. This pet shop was part of a tradition of sorts which started one day when my roommate and I were both having a retched time of things. She came up with the idea of going to the pet store to hold baby animals. As I'm not one to argue against more fluffy cuteness in my life, I agreed and off we went. This was the start of puppy therapy. There weren't always puppies there, but there was pretty much always something fuzzy and suitable for cuddles there. The tradition continued and grew to include other people we were friends with. We played with kittens, held bunnies (even named some of them), and went to pieces whenever there were puppies. Somehow, we all managed to keep our logic about us and made sure the critters didn't come home with us.
Well, until my senior year anyway.
Jennifer (of maid of honor infamy) and I showed up for puppy therapy. There we were greeted by the sight of a squirming pile of Schipperke pups. My. God. I had never seen one in person. When I was little, I had received a book on dogs which listed I don't know how many dog breeds, all with photos and all with a little bit of breed history and/or information on their personalities and such. For whatever reason, Schipperkes were among my favorite of all the new breeds I had discovered. We snuggled the babies, felt better about whatever was sucking that day, and went on our way.
A week or two later, we again found ourselves in need of puppy therapy. When we arrived, we found one lone Schip left in the pin. She (we didn't actually know her gender at that point) was accompanied by a little chihuahua pup who was the last of his respective litter. She looked like a tiny little bear cub, all round and fluffy and so tiny. Her little face looked like a fox though. She was just so. cute. At some point my brain melted and I told Kent about the little fluffball. He was due to visit me soon (I think it was a concert weekend) and when he got there, I took him to the pet shop. Between then and the next weekend, we talked about getting her. At some point we decided it was a good idea to bring her home. Obviously we were both suffering of brain melt as she was about $300 and would still need more shots, a bed, toys, and all the other puppy accessories.
But we still did it. How could you say no to this? We dubbed her Ursula--"little bear"--and agreed we'd call her Ursie as Ursula was too grown up a name for this little cutie. But Ursie just never stuck.
The pet shop refused to hold her even if she was paid for. With some arguing, I finally got the owner to agree to holding her until the next day. I found a local vet who could board for ten bucks a night and she stayed there overnight. They weighed her and I was so goddamn proud when she registered a whopping 4.1 lbs on the "big dog" scale after the tech mentioned she might be too little for it. My friends and I went out shopping for her like she was a baby. They had to fulfill their auntly duties and buy toys for her. Kent called to say he was buying her first brush and pull rope. He also asked that we not take her to PetSmart--he didn't want to miss out on her first trip.
Her first full night with us, she passed out in the middle of playing with her rope. We picked her up and put her to bed and she was so conked out that she never moved. Over the next few days, we discovered she was afraid of doorways. We had to pick her up to get her past thresholds. We also realized that this little pup knew just how cute she was when we took her to go potty. A car drove by us and she flopped over on her back, staring after them, going "you're going to pet me, right?"
We taught her to ring a set of bells that we hung from the door knob to let us know when she needed to potty. We did puppy classes and she learned basic obedience and some cutesy things how to high-five and do a little puppy pirouette. She developed an attitude and decided her daddy was more fun to chew on than take orders from. I yelled at him not to teach her bad things. They still play by him harassing her and her gnawing on his thumbs. If she had thumbs of her own, we have no doubt she would take over the world. Thank goodness for small favors.
Sunday is her third birthday. She's a Valentine's baby. There's a possibility for a pup-friendly cake. Maybe we'll be lazy and just give her a Frosty Paw. She's grown up into a lovely little lady. If you believe her outward appearance that is. She's a little bundle of energy and still mouthy for me to feel comfortable letting her play with little kiddos. I know she'd never hurt them, but she would scare them. She'd be a whiz at flyball if we ever bothered finding a league and training her. She loves to run and her favorite trips to the dog park have been when there were other pups there willing to play chase. At home, she gets a great deal of joy out of trying to kill the laser point dot. She tears around the living room after it like a cat and even pounces it like one. She gives butt wags instead of your average tail wagging. She doesn't have a tail of her own (never did). Her fur grows slightly longer over where her tail would be if she had one. It's pretty cute.
So that's Miss Ursula Valentina McNeill. Being all black, she doesn't photograph too well. It's probably just another ploy to get people to love her in person.
Same story as before. Meme. 26 slots. Navigate here to play. Comments are still screened.
Today's post brought to you by the letter U.
U is for Ursula.
I met this little ball of fluff in a pet shop in Shawnee, where I attended college. This pet shop was part of a tradition of sorts which started one day when my roommate and I were both having a retched time of things. She came up with the idea of going to the pet store to hold baby animals. As I'm not one to argue against more fluffy cuteness in my life, I agreed and off we went. This was the start of puppy therapy. There weren't always puppies there, but there was pretty much always something fuzzy and suitable for cuddles there. The tradition continued and grew to include other people we were friends with. We played with kittens, held bunnies (even named some of them), and went to pieces whenever there were puppies. Somehow, we all managed to keep our logic about us and made sure the critters didn't come home with us.
Well, until my senior year anyway.
Jennifer (of maid of honor infamy) and I showed up for puppy therapy. There we were greeted by the sight of a squirming pile of Schipperke pups. My. God. I had never seen one in person. When I was little, I had received a book on dogs which listed I don't know how many dog breeds, all with photos and all with a little bit of breed history and/or information on their personalities and such. For whatever reason, Schipperkes were among my favorite of all the new breeds I had discovered. We snuggled the babies, felt better about whatever was sucking that day, and went on our way.
A week or two later, we again found ourselves in need of puppy therapy. When we arrived, we found one lone Schip left in the pin. She (we didn't actually know her gender at that point) was accompanied by a little chihuahua pup who was the last of his respective litter. She looked like a tiny little bear cub, all round and fluffy and so tiny. Her little face looked like a fox though. She was just so. cute. At some point my brain melted and I told Kent about the little fluffball. He was due to visit me soon (I think it was a concert weekend) and when he got there, I took him to the pet shop. Between then and the next weekend, we talked about getting her. At some point we decided it was a good idea to bring her home. Obviously we were both suffering of brain melt as she was about $300 and would still need more shots, a bed, toys, and all the other puppy accessories.
But we still did it. How could you say no to this? We dubbed her Ursula--"little bear"--and agreed we'd call her Ursie as Ursula was too grown up a name for this little cutie. But Ursie just never stuck.
The pet shop refused to hold her even if she was paid for. With some arguing, I finally got the owner to agree to holding her until the next day. I found a local vet who could board for ten bucks a night and she stayed there overnight. They weighed her and I was so goddamn proud when she registered a whopping 4.1 lbs on the "big dog" scale after the tech mentioned she might be too little for it. My friends and I went out shopping for her like she was a baby. They had to fulfill their auntly duties and buy toys for her. Kent called to say he was buying her first brush and pull rope. He also asked that we not take her to PetSmart--he didn't want to miss out on her first trip.
Her first full night with us, she passed out in the middle of playing with her rope. We picked her up and put her to bed and she was so conked out that she never moved. Over the next few days, we discovered she was afraid of doorways. We had to pick her up to get her past thresholds. We also realized that this little pup knew just how cute she was when we took her to go potty. A car drove by us and she flopped over on her back, staring after them, going "you're going to pet me, right?"
We taught her to ring a set of bells that we hung from the door knob to let us know when she needed to potty. We did puppy classes and she learned basic obedience and some cutesy things how to high-five and do a little puppy pirouette. She developed an attitude and decided her daddy was more fun to chew on than take orders from. I yelled at him not to teach her bad things. They still play by him harassing her and her gnawing on his thumbs. If she had thumbs of her own, we have no doubt she would take over the world. Thank goodness for small favors.
Sunday is her third birthday. She's a Valentine's baby. There's a possibility for a pup-friendly cake. Maybe we'll be lazy and just give her a Frosty Paw. She's grown up into a lovely little lady. If you believe her outward appearance that is. She's a little bundle of energy and still mouthy for me to feel comfortable letting her play with little kiddos. I know she'd never hurt them, but she would scare them. She'd be a whiz at flyball if we ever bothered finding a league and training her. She loves to run and her favorite trips to the dog park have been when there were other pups there willing to play chase. At home, she gets a great deal of joy out of trying to kill the laser point dot. She tears around the living room after it like a cat and even pounces it like one. She gives butt wags instead of your average tail wagging. She doesn't have a tail of her own (never did). Her fur grows slightly longer over where her tail would be if she had one. It's pretty cute.
So that's Miss Ursula Valentina McNeill. Being all black, she doesn't photograph too well. It's probably just another ploy to get people to love her in person.