At the end of a long day, there’s nothing like having a quiet, undisturbed moment on the couch.?

Um, I meant alone?? Come on now—am I really expected to work under these conditions?

I give up.? Believe it or not, I was here first, and somebody just couldn’t resist pushing? her way to the toasty spot behind me.

After awhile, Fergie decides to go encroach on hubby’s space.? Now maybe I can get some work done!

Okay, so I know I’m constantly? harping? on how rotten Fergie is.? I mean, let’s face it—she’s not the ideal dog for somebody who prizes their personal possessions (which obviously isn’t the case around here—-apparently, folks that cherish their stuff tend not to? spew it throughout the house like so much barf at a frat party).?

Fergie gets away with all kinds of houndfoolery, though, because she’s such a sweet pumpkin underneath all the mischievousness.? In fact, my hubby and I talk quite a bit about how tolerant both of our girls are, especially with all the grubby little grasping? (human) kid paws? around here.?

A quick example—I still remember walking around the corner of our house one day to see blood splattered all over our blond hardwood floors.? It seriously looked like somebody had opened a butcher shop.? In our family room.?

Actually, it was just my son, playing a little game of doggy barber.? He was brandishing a pair of scissors, and Fergie was brandishing a gash on her ear, with blood spraying every time she moved.? And yet she didn’t make a peep, and hadn’t even left the room—she just stood there, waiting patiently by my son, with a look on her face that said, “Can we pleaseplay something else now?”? (Yes, my husband and I are idiots–we left the scissors in a toddler? accessible drawer, but seriously, our son had never ever looked at them twice.? Until we cut his hair one day, and apparently, he decided Fergie needed a hair cut too.? And no, I don’t think he has a future in the dog grooming business—folks tend to like their dogs to leave with as many appendages as they came with.)

So, honestly, we couldn’t ask for two dogs that are better with our children.? Fergie loves kids, and Skye is impressively tolerant.?

And that brings me to the Queen of Tolerance—Fergie and Skye’s Grandmama Hound, Shani.? If ever there was a Ridgeback who would? accept virtually any indignity with nary a peep, it was Shani. (Although, I will say, she had perfected the patented “Are you kidding me?” Ridgeback look.? And she could pull out the woebegone? expression with ease, too—guaranteed to make even the hardest of hearts toss her a treat.)

Below are some examples of Shani suffering through our silly human idiosyncrasies (all the while thinking, “This is so beneath my dignity”).? She was, after all, the ultimate princess.

? Easily one of? Shani’s most impressive feats was her begrudging tolerance of my husband’s? peculiar dog-related? amusements, all of which I’m sure she found quite pedestrian.

Exhibit A:? Hubby flying airplanes on a two-year old Shani.? (And he wonders why she used to scoot hin out of bed in the middle of the night).

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Exhibit B:? Another of my hubby’s favorites, which I liked to call “Rock-A-Bye Hound”.? ? This, of? course,? was when he wasn’t shouting “Death comes from above, hound dog!” and bombing her with various items (dirty undies being his favorite) from the upstairs loft while she was lounging? on? the couch downstairs.? (Again–can you blame her for chowing through a pair of his ostrich-skin cowboy boots, or his cordless phone?)

(And yes, perhaps now we all? have some good insight as to why his rottweiler is so troubled.)

Just? a couple? of Shani’s many Halloween costumes.? We also took her out to the Chicago bars in costume one year, much to her chagrin.?

Exhibit C:? ? “This costume was bad enough without the added indignity of stockings dangling rom my ears, Mom!”

Exhibit D:? And in this one, Shani’s dressed up as a retired show-girl.? Get it?? Get it?? Okay, so I’m easily amused.? (And in case you’re wondering, that bun in the oven is my son, Connor).

Exhibit E:? ? Yep, busted—I’m one of those put-antlers-on-your-dog-and-laugh kind of girls.

Shani also showed impressive tolerance for all kinds of interlopers, of both the canine and human variety.? ?

Exhibit F:? Shani “sharing” her bone with the intimidatingly huge rottweiler (who honestly didn’t ever grow much bigger, just more defective).

Exhibit G:? “Oh no, don’t eat me, you gi-normous Rottweiler, you!”

Exhibit H:? Okay, so I actually think this was less like tolerance, and more like love at first sight.? But I? adore this photo of Shani and my old adopted dog, Riley, so I had to include it.

Exhibit I:? Shani, unsuccessfully attempting to take a little afternoon snooze.

Exhibit J:? “I suppose I can share the couch, but really, Mom—-must I put up with the butt-grabbing?”

After reviewing these photos, I’m no longer surprised that Shani used to go on a little destructo chewfest a few times a year.? Let’s face it—some Ridgebacks may be tolerant, but they all know how to get even.

Well, obviously the weather has warmed up around here.? How can I tell without going outside?? By? taking a gander at the view of the bathing beauties from my? sliding glass door (By the way, please forgive the fuzziness of the photo.? For some reason, it looks like our doors have been utilized as someone’s personal? snot rag? and scratching post.? ? Nothing like a? little hound dog slime? to add flavor to our pictures.)

Okay, so at least Fergie deigned to open her eyes and look at the camera, but honestly, Skye appears to be dead.? What is it about a sunny day and warm? concrete that turns even the feistiest hounds into lazy loungers?

And take a look at this photo.? It was actually taken about an hour after the first one, and in that time Fergie had begrudgingly gotten up for a drink and a quick bird chase before her next lounging session.?

What I want to know is, how in the heck did she manage to assume the exact same position she was in prior to getting up?? Seriously, can you tell the difference between this photo and the first one?? It’s like somebody made one of those chalk outlines to mark her? spot (except those are just for dead people).?

Actually, I’m thinking she must have super special top secret hound dog powers, including some kind of? sunbathing? radar.? Oh? yeah, and? the not-so-special (or secret, for that matter) ability to destroy massive amounts of? household items in a single bound.

What I want to know is—when is she planning on tanning the other side?

? So, I look outside our sliding glass door this afternoon, and I realize I was right about why we have a gi-normous barren wasteland where our grass used to be.? Although, I have to admit, when I was thinking “broken sprinkler”, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.?

The Ferganator strikes again.

Exhibit A:? ? Oh, how sweet, the two sisters are playing together.? Wait a minute–what’s that they’ve got?

Exhibit B:? Fergie, that’d better not be what I think it is!

Exhibit C:? Son of a bitch! (or, to be more precise, daughter of a bitch)? I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that object dangling from your mouth isn’t an approved hound-dog chewie.

Exhibit D:? Wow, Home Depot doesn’t make sprinklers the way they used to.? Anyone need a slightly well-used one?

? So, I guess getting that layout in House Beautiful is out of the question?

Musical beds.? Sounds kind of kinky, right?? It brings to mind orgies, swingers, or some kind of new-fangled frat party theme.? At the very least, you might think of being serenaded by an acoustic guitar while snoozing.

Yeah, well,? we had a little musical bed action going on here last night, and I can guarantee you, nothing quite that exciting was happening.? Not by a longshot.? Oh, everything started off? okay.? ? ? Hubby and I got in bed, turned off the lights, and had ourselves all tucked in nice and cozy by 10:15 pm.? Nothing unusual about that.? Except that while I stayed there all night, hubby abandoned ship sometime before midnight.? Apparently, he’s been having insomnia issues lately.? So he ended up sleeping on a pallet he’s made in the loft.

So far, no huge deal, right?? But then, I go downstairs this morning for seriously? no more than? a minute.? When I come back up, ready? to crawl? under my nice warm covers? again, who do I find?? Impostors, hogging my bed:

Why isn’t anyone staying in their own bed?

Now, it’s no biggie? if Skye and Connor? help themselves to our? bed once in awhile.? However, I do object to the fact that they look annoyed by me coming back to claim my rightful spot.?

Notice who’s absent from this photo.? Yep–the Ferganator.? She sleeps in her locked kennel virtually every night.? Why?? Because I don’t really fancy being smothered by a hound dog blanket in the middle of the night, thank you very much.? As with all things, Fergie pushes cuddling to the extreme.

And of course, Peanut doesn’ t get to sleep on the bed because, for some reason, it’s hard to fall asleep with fetid old rottie breath growling in your ear.

Hmmm….maybe that’s why hubby chose the pallet—smart man.

My dog is broken.? ? Or defective.? Either that, or she’s a Mastiff in disguise.

Why do I say this?? Because as far as I know, Ridgebacks are not supposed to spill enough water when they take a drink to cause the Titanic to sink.? Seriously, I’m afraid one day she’s going to flood my kitchen, at the very least.

None of our eight other Ridgebacks have ever done this (And before you ask—no, they don’t all live at my house, although I realize that’s hard to believe, given the? mess).? ? In fact, most of them are downright dignified imbibers, taking dainty tea sips from the bowl.? At the most, they spill a drop here or there.? I mean, we’re talking Ridgebacks—if they get their paws wet, they might melt.

So why, oh why, do I have? the? defective one? that forces? me to wade through small ponds of water day after day, soaking my socks with spillage and doggy drool?

Exhibit A:? ? Fergie, taking a drink.

Exhibit B:? The aftermath.

The question now is—-do I refill the bowl, or do I just let her drink off the floor?

As you may or may not know, we have three dogs in our household.? On any given day, that’s three too many.

First of all, we have Peanut, the neurotic growl-machine mini-Rottweiler.? I’ve already discussed his growling issue (to growl or not to growl), but he has a few hundred other foibles that make him, well, “special”.? For example, today, as soon as I put my infant daughter and son down for their nap, guess who starts howling?? I mean, it’s bad enough when it happens once, but this, my friends, is a daily occurrence.? I? realize the sirens in his head call out to him—but what I really want to know is, why the heck can’t the sirens speak to him when everyone is awake?

As an added bonus, Peanut likes to puke in the baby’s room.? Only the yellow bile stuff though—you know, the one liquid that nothing known to man can actually remove from the carpet?? I guess it’s just his way of adding a little something? extra to Finley’s residence.? Maybe if I gave him pink or pastel green food coloring, I could at least get the barf to match the decor.

Next up, the Ferganator.? ? Fergalicious.? The Ferger Berger.? No matter what we call her, we know this one’s trouble.? ? This liver-nosed girl is? a chewing machine with the stomach of a goat.? She can and will chew anything.? Seriously.? We once? went into the backyard? and found? a beer can she’d chewed in two.? It looked like somebody had taken a hacksaw to it.? She also loves snot rags, diapers, sanitary pads, and all manner of? other disgusting items that simply should not see the light of day again once tossed out.? Baby toys, toddler toys, rocks, undies, collars, bulletproof vests (okay, so we don’t have one, but I know she’d chew it if we did)—you name it, she chews it.

And then, we have Skye.? Skye, who, apart from the need to digest (literally) a good book every now and then, is really the only semi-behaved dog in the house.? She’s the only good one.? Except for when it’s cold outside (which is was today).? Then, apparently, she only pretends to pee when she’s supposed to, and instead, saves it all up until I leave so she can break out of her kennel and pee in the house.? Or at least that’s what she did today.? Where does she go?? Yep, you guessed it—the baby’s room.? Because apparently the Peanut barf already there was simply not disgusting enough.? You know some days when your dog has an accident but at least, thank God, the urine is super clear and barely smells?? Yeah, well, this wasn’t one of those days.? Skye usually has a bladder of steel, too, so I’m thinking she must have been saving up this special little prize for several nights.? I seriously hope Finley enjoys eau de dog funk.? Because her room now reeks of it.

And somebody, please tell me, why do the dogs always head for the carpet to empty their orifices?? I mean, half of our house? has ? hardwood floors.? ? Could not one dog out of three ever have? an accident there, where it conceivably might not remain in our house until the end of time?? Apparently, this is a stupid question, because it never happens.? I mean, the horror—the pee might actually run and touch a toenail!

So, I’ll say it again—on any given day, three dogs per house is three dogs too many.? And today it’s a given.?

Apparently, this is how we celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day around here.

? They had a dream, all right.? ?

…I just sat here and watched my husband toss a handful of cereal on? our kitchen floor? for his dog.? And his dog is a notoriously picky eater.? In fact,? Pig often prefers to roll in food vs. eat it.

And he wonders why we have ants.? (My husband, not the Pig—although, based on the behavior above, I see where the confusion comes in).

Sigh.

Never leave a Ridgeback puppy unattended with a used fire pit for longer than 10 seconds, lest you end up with your patio looking like this:

Doesn’t? Fergie look proud? of herself?? Note the golf club—how random is that?? I’m not entirely? certain how golf figures in with fire pits, but apparently my husband is.? Oh wait— so that’s the club he was in frantic search of all day Saturday!? And here I thought he said the Dolph club—no wonder he looked at me strangely when I hummed the Rocky theme.

A close-up of the disaster zone.? The scariest part?? It’s looked like that for two weeks already.? And I don’t see us getting to it anytime soon.? Oh, the joys of being a procrastinator.

Skye, the Princess,? is disgusted with the mess.