Aug 18, 2010


My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's over at the Borders looking for books that will tell her how to be a better mo-ther. This means that I have all day to do whatever the damn hell I want to, including play on the 'puter and have potty mouth.

Y'all were so nice to try to make her feel better, but let's face it folks....she's not exactly what one might call the coolest cube in the tray. She frets over crap that most people wouldn't bother wiping off of their shoes, let alone bleed from the colon over. She's always been this way, though...high strung and easily to tears.

Case in point:

Last night I was happily snoozing away in my little fort under the bed when I heard Mommie Dearest on the telephone with my Aunt Chrissy. "Can you come over, " she sniffed into a hanky, "I really think (hic) there's something wrong (hic) with Stewey, and I just (hic) don't know what to do. Oh, Aunt Chrissy (hic) , I think I broke my little sweet wonderful (hic) perfect little dog (hic) and I am the worst (hic) person (hic) on the whole (hic) entire planet (hic hic)."

(My mom hiccups when she bawls. It would be really funny actually, if it weren't for the big fat tears that run down her face and the fact that her nose runs and she dabs at it delicately with Kleenex until you just want to rip her eyebrows off.)

I could practically hear the sigh of disgust as Aunt Chrissy hung up, told Bosco she was going over to the Cracker Factory, and put her shoes on.

You know, some things you can get away with when it comes to Mommies. But with Aunt Chrissy? Fugged-abow-dit. I've known my Aunt Chrissy for five years now, and despite the fact that we share a certain sensibility when it comes to my mo-ther/her sis-ter, she's had my little number from the get go. I've tried almost everything I can think of to win her over and make her swoon and gush and baby me, but she usually just puts her hands on her hips and says "Now Stewey. Do you REALLY think that's the way for a big boy to act? Go get the laundry basket and take those drapes into the laundry room before I give you something to pee over."

She's tough that way, my dear Aunt Chrissy. And it doesn't help that my stupid pesky little cousin Bosco gets all of the attention. "Watch out for the baby!" was all I heard for about the first eighty-billion years of his stupid pesky little life. Twerp. I had a good thing going over here before he came along. Now it's all "share your toys" and "don't pee on your cousin" and "why can't you just play with him for five minutes and then you can go back to your magazine". I swear, one of these days they're going to find a ransom note and an empty roll of duck tape.

But I need to get back to the story. (My therapist and I are working on unmitigated hostility toward my cousin and the "energy of angst" that it produces in my universe. I'm trying to channel that into happier thoughts, but sometimes I forget and get totally p***** off.)

So Aunt Chrissy comes over, takes one look at me, and tells my mom that I'm perfectly fine and that she should stop the damn crying already and just let me be a damn dog for once. What gave me away was my tail. Damn thing wiggles and wags every time it sees my aunt. No matter how hard I try to act all indifferent and smug, my tail sees Aunt Chrissy and practically wags itself right off my butt. So I played on the floor for a few minutes with her, looked as pitiful as I knew how to look, and then obediently hopped up into mo-ther's lap for a little pre nightnight cuddling. I even managed to score a nice piece of turkey bacon for all of my efforts, and the old lady let me have the blanket all to myself last night in the big girl sleigh bed.

Hmmmm. If I would have known how easy it was going to be, I would have had a hangnail a lot sooner.

So thanks again for all of your well wishes and voices of support for Mom. When she gets back from the bookstore, I'll let her read a few chapters before I gaze deeply into her eyes and tell her how much I really do love her pitiful, wretched, bumpkin-like, little heart and that I won't spend any more time in my fort than is absolutley necessary.

I just hope she doesn't see the drapes.

That's all for now. I remain, as always.....

Your pal,


  1. Stewey, my sweet prince. It is SO glad to hear you are doing much better. I loved two of your comments the most: "Cracker Factory" and "don't pee on your cousin." Both had me laughing out loud. Enjoy your day!

  2. Stewey, Stewey, Stewey -- can always count on you to bring a smile to my face!

    Take care of your mama!

  3. So glad you are feeling better. Those hangnails can be rough. Glad Mom is feeling better too.

  4. I'm glad you are fine Stewey! And really, you shouldn't pee on your cousin. I hope your mo-ther doesn't feel too badly about your injury; she is far from the worst mo-ther in the world!

  5. The two of you crack me up every time I read your posts. Thank you both!

  6. I`m glad you weren`t injured Stewey...just be grateful your mo-ther really loves and cares for you. STOP MAKING FUN OF HER!!!

    My 2 cats fell off the windowsill tonight and broke the lamp. All I could think of was 'oh my god I hope they are ok' We humans truly do love you wee furry beasties. So be nice and give mo-ther some lovins.

  7. Coni, you are truly brilliant and light up my day. Thankyou for being you!

  8. Stewey, Stewey, Stewey, you must refrain from a potty mouth-it just destroys the image of one who wears a silk smoking jacket!!