Nosey’s Peanut Butter Puppy Poppers

2013
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Nosey checks out the very first batch! They get an enthusiastic "Four Paws Up!"

Nosey checks out the very first batch! They get an enthusiastic “Four Paws Up!”

NOSEY’S PEANUT BUTTER PUPPY POPPERS

INGREDIENTS

2 1/2 cups Whole Wheat Flour
1/2 cup Wheat Germ
1/2 cup Crunchy Peanut Butter
3/4 cup Water
2 tablespoons Corn Oil

METHOD

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Combine all ingredients in a large mixing bowl, forming a dough ball. (I like to wear medical grade non-latex gloves.)

Make tiny balls, the size of miniature meatballs. Place on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake for 20 minutes.

Makes 30-40 “Puppy Poppers” depending on the size of the balls you make.

Cool and keep in a tightly covered container. Does not need to be refrigerated. They will keep for about a week. Dough can be made ahead and frozen.

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Getting Ready for Valentine’s Day!

2013
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Howl-o! Do you like my new Valentine’s Day frock? My Mommy bought it for me at Kroger in Newport. It is really an apron! We found out that “people” aprons are the perfect size for my adorable Basset-y body!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Not to be left out, Mommy then hi-tailed it to the nail parlor where she had them paint her fingers and toes to match my dress!  

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Oh, we are just two fancy-dancy girlies in Highland Heights!

xoxo

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The Horror of Wet Paws!

2012
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LET ME IN!!!!!!!

The sign that hangs outside our front door.
“Hold still, I have to wipe your paws!” That’s the rainy day mantra here at the Newbold residence. Nag, thy name is Marsie. At the first sign of rain, I get a special towel out and drape it over the front door handle. That way I’m armed and ready.

There are only five hard and fast doggie rules at our house. They are:
  1. No nipping, biting or growling.
  2. Do your “business” outside. No peeing or pooping in the house.
  3. No chewing up anything that is not a “chewie” designed for that purpose. (This goes double when it comes to your mother’s shoes.)
  4. Stay out of the trash cans.
  5. Wait to get your paws wiped if they are wet or muddy BEFORE you enter the house.
None of these is negotiable. But reason flies out the window the moment it rains or snows. You see, Nosey  doesn’t like to get her paws wet.  (Just like Nipper who came before her.)

But, technically, that’s not true. When we are taking walks she makes a beeline for and jumps into every puddle she sees. But for some reason, in her furry little mind, she has decided that walking outside to go to the bathroom and getting the bottom of her feet wet with rain or snow has a decided “yuck” factor. It reminds me of the character “Sheldon” in CBS‘s “The Big Bang Theory.” Nosey has arbitrary “rules” that may not make sense to anybody else, but they can’t be broken.

So, Nosey refuses to go outside when it is wet out unless she is literally pushed, and she puts the brakes on. A 60 lb. Basset Hound can make herself dead weight if she wants. A simple thing like going outside to go to the bathroom turns into a BIG production. Between you and me, I suspect she has kidneys made of cast iron and could hold “it” indefinitely. It’s one of those things where your mother makes you wear a sweater because she’s cold? I make her go when I fear that she’ll die of uremic poisoning.

Then, once she’s outside she acts as though she’s walking on eggshells or hot coals, lifting each paw v-e-r-y-s-l-o-w-l-y. Once she’s found the perfect spot and done her business, she comes to the door, then tries to run from me when I try to catch her. Just the sight of the towel makes her start channeling her inner greased pig. Finally, she falls to the ground like one of those protesters you see on tv, who go totally limp in shows of passive resistence.

The things we do for love (and to avoid shampooing the carpet!)
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Cleanliness is NOT Next to Hamster-i-ness!

2012
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My hamsters are mad at me. Squeaking mad. Why? Because I had the audacity to clean their cage. (Well,actually it’s an aquarium with a screened lid, but let’s not quibble about the details because there is enough discord in the house right now as it is.)

It had to be done. They were getting downright stinky and since they share my office and I’m the responsible-pet-owner-in-residence, I’m the one who has to do it, even though it makes me the “bad guy.” I know that they spend lots of time getting their little lair “just right,” but it’s not like they’re not used to it. We have a routine.

Once or twice a week, I put up the baby gate to keep Nipper out of the kitchen, place Sheldon and Leonard in their little hamster balls so they can run across the kitchen floor while I work, spread the newspaper out over the kitchen table, gather the materials and give “Hamsterdam” a good, old-fashioned, soap and hot water scrubbing. Then they get fresh litter, clean water, a new bowl of food and to assuage their pique (gosh, I love dropping pretentious French phrases when it comes to talking about housepets), bribe them with a vanilla Oreo cookie to make it all better.

But they are still spitting mad…so angry they can barely run their wheel. You should see them stomping around that cage messing the place up again. Ah, well…what else do they have to do? As my Great-Grandmother was fond of saying, “Everybody has to have a hobby!”
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2012
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My hamsters are mad at me. Squeaking mad. Why? Because I had the audacity to clean their cage. (Well,actually it’s an aquarium with a screened lid, but let’s not quibble about the details because there is enough discord in the house right now as it is.)

It had to be done. They were getting downright stinky and since they share my office and I’m the responsible-pet-owner-in-residence, I’m the one who has to do it, even though it makes me the “bad guy.” I know that they spend lots of time getting their little lair “just right,” but it’s not like they’re not used to it. We have a routine.

Once or twice a week, I put up the baby gate to keep Nipper out of the kitchen, place Sheldon and Leonard in their little hamster balls so they can run across the kitchen floor while I work, spread the newspaper out over the kitchen table, gather the materials and give “Hamsterdam” a good, old-fashioned, soap and hot water scrubbing. Then they get fresh litter, clean water, a new bowl of food and to assuage their pique (gosh, I love dropping pretentious French phrases when it comes to talking about housepets), bribe them with a vanilla Oreo cookie to make it all better.

But they are still spitting mad…so angry they can barely run their wheel. You should see them stomping around that cage messing the place up again. Ah, well…what else do they have to do? As my Great-Grandmother was fond of saying, “Everybody has to have a hobby!”
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2012
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MONDAY, MAY 24, 2010


Cleanliness is Not Next to Hamster-i-ness!

Hamsterdam.
Peace offering.
Release.
Materials of cleanliness.
Inside the ball.

My hamsters are mad at me. Squeaking mad. Why? Because I had the audacity to clean their cage. (Well,actually it’s an aquarium with a screened lid, but let’s not quibble about the details because there is enough discord in the house right now as it is.)

It had to be done. They were getting downright stinky and since they share my office and I’m the responsible-pet-owner-in-residence, I’m the one who has to do it, even though it makes me the “bad guy.” I know that they spend lots of time getting their little lair “just right,” but it’s not like they’re not used to it. We have a routine.

Once or twice a week, I put up the baby gate to keep Nipper out of the kitchen, place Sheldon and Leonard in their little hamster balls so they can run across the kitchen floor while I work, spread the newspaper out over the kitchen table, gather the materials and give “Hamsterdam” a good, old-fashioned, soap and hot water scrubbing. Then they get fresh litter, clean water, a new bowl of food and to assuage their pique (gosh, I love dropping pretentious French phrases when it comes to talking about housepets), bribe them with a vanilla Oreo cookie to make it all better.

But they are still spitting mad…so angry they can barely run their wheel. You should see them stomping around that cage messing the place up again. Ah, well…what else do they have to do? As my Great-Grandmother was fond of saying, “Everybody has to have a hobby!”
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2012
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Cleanliness is NOT Next to Hamster-i-ness! 

Hamsterdam.
Add caption



My hamsters are mad at me. Squeaking mad. Why? Because I had the audacity to clean their cage. (Well,actually it’s an aquarium with a screened lid, but let’s not quibble about the details because there is enough discord in the house right now as it is.)

It had to be done. They were getting downright stinky and since they share my office and I’m the responsible-pet-owner-in-residence, I’m the one who has to do it, even though it makes me the “bad guy.” I know that they spend lots of time getting their little lair “just right,” but it’s not like they’re not used to it. We have a routine.

Once or twice a week, I put up the baby gate to keep Nipper out of the kitchen, place Sheldon and Leonard in their little hamster balls so they can run across the kitchen floor while I work, spread the newspaper out over the kitchen table, gather the materials and give “Hamsterdam” a good, old-fashioned, soap and hot water scrubbing. Then they get fresh litter, clean water, a new bowl of food and to assuage their pique (gosh, I love dropping pretentious French phrases when it comes to talking about housepets), bribe them with a vanilla Oreo cookie to make it all better.

But they are still spitting mad…so angry they can barely run their wheel. You should see them stomping around that cage messing the place up again. Ah, well…what else do they have to do? As my Great-Grandmother was fond of saying, “Everybody has to have a hobby!”
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Nosey in the Snow! (Or, what a difference a year makes!)

2012
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TRAPPED LIKE A DOG! (Or, Nosey’s Exciting Adventure.)

2012
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It began innocently enough.  I put Nosey in the car and told her to wait, I was just going to get the mail.

I’ve done it dozens of times.  The mailbox is just outside the garage door.

“C’mon, Mom… Let’s go!”
*CLICK*
“Uh, oops…  What was that?”.
“What’s the matter, Mom?  Why aren’t you opening the door?”
“What do you mean it is locked?”
“Who locked it?”
“Well, if I did it was an accident.  My paw must have slipped.”
“Well, use your key.”
“It’s inside your purse?”
“Well, go inside and get your purse…I’ll wait.”
“Your purse is right here locked inside the car with me?  Where?  
Oh, there.  I see it now.”
“Well, get your spare key.”
“The spare key is in your wallet?”
“Well, where’s your wallet?”
“Inside your purse?  Well, how can you get to it if it is locked inside the car with me?”
“Aaaaaarrrrrrroooooooohhhhhhhhh!”
“Let me out, I can’t breathe…there’s no air inside this stinking MINI Cooper.  Oh, help, help…AAAARRRRRROOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!”
“I can’t open the door from the inside, I don’t have opposable thumbs!”
“Oh, I’m dying of thirst.  There’s no food in here, either.  No, it’s been more than a couple of minutes, I’ve been trapped here for days!”
“No, no…it can’t have been just a few minutes.  Don’t forget I live in dog time.  One of your years is seven of mine.  How does that break down in minutes?  Surely, that counts for something!”
“AAAARRRRRRROOOOOOOHHHHHH!!!!!”
“It’s like an oven in here!”
“It’s in the 40′s?  Well, it sure feels hot.”
“My nose is getting all warm and dry.  That’s a bad sign, isn’t it?”
“Mommy!  Break a window with one of your high heels!”
“You’re sure I’m not going to die in here?”
“Call the SPCA!”
“Aaaaarrrrrrrrooooooooohhhhhhhh!”
“Call Daddy!”
“He can’t come home to bring his spare key?  He’s conducting a lecture in 5 minutes?  He won’t be home until 7:30 p.m. tonight?  It’s only 4:15 now?”
“Gulp, I can’t stay here until then.”
“Call Grandpa!  He’ll know what to do!  You and Daddy obviously can’t handle this.”
“Grandpa says to call the police?  Well, why didn’t you think of that?  Hurry, Mommy, hurry…the air is running low and I’m feeling faint.  My fur is falling out in clumps.  Everything is getting hazy…”.
“You can’t call 911?  What?  The non-emergency number?  Time is running out, lady…if this isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is…..”.
“AAAAARRRRRROOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“The dispatcher is giggling?  What?  She doesn’t mean to laugh at our problem, but they’ve never had a call about a Basset Hound locking itself inside a MINI Cooper?”
“This is no laughing matter.  We’re in the middle of a crisis!  This is bigger than when Baby Jessica fell down the well.  Call Channel 9 and get the I-Team on this.  Hagit Limor will get to the bottom of this and heads will roll. “
“Oh, they’re sending someone over right away?  She says to take pictures?”
“Oh, I have gotta pee.”
“What do you mean I just peed five minutes ago before I got into the car?”
“Well, in that case I gotta poo-poo.”
“I did that too?”
“Why did you lock me inside the car, Mama?  I’m just an innocent dog…”.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!”

“What’s that sound?”
“The cops are here?”
“Thank goodness…not a minute too soon!!!!  I’m here, I’m here….AAAARRRRROOOOOHHHHHHHHH!”

Officer Stubbeman to the rescue.

“What do you mean you aren’t going to shoot out the window? “
“There’s a special tool to open the door?”
“Wouldn’t a bullet be quicker?”
“Well, hurry…I’m dying in here!”
“AAAAAAAARRRRRRROOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!”

“Hurry, hurry!”
“Call the life squad…”.
“They don’t send the life squad for dogs?”
“Don’t they know who I am?”
“I am a very important dog.  I know Frank Marzullo from Channel 19 and he’s a registered meteorologist.  Oh, believe it.  I have his personal, private telephone number.  He’ll make it rain on you…or hail.  He’s smart and can do things like that just by snapping his fingers.  You SHOULD be scared.”
“No, I don’t have to prove it.”
“I also happen to know John Lomax from Channel 12.  He’s a hotshot anchorman and he’ll cover the bee-jeebies out of this story.”
“Stop laughing.”
*CLICK*
“Oh, thank goodness!”
“Officer Stubbeman, you’re my hero!”
“I love you, I love you, I love you!!!!!!”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Let me give you a great, big sloppy Basset Hound kiss!”
“Now, arrest my Mother for negligence…”.

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Filed Under: Channel 12, Channel 19, Channel 9, Frank Marzullo, Hagit Limor, highland heights, I-Team, John Lomax, police, trapped

All Pets Poop, Pee AND Slobber!

2012
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It’s true!!!!

Believe it!  It happens in the nicest of homes…even MINE!!!!

Here’s living proof!  Nosey slobbering on the bed sheets on my husband’s side of the bed.  I made it fresh the day before.  Hey, it’ll dry.  But I have my standards…slobber can stay but poop, pee and puke and muddy paw prints warrant stripping the bed.  Now you know.  Call the Board of Health if you don’t like it!  ;)

Yup, it’s true. As surely as all dogs go to heaven, they poop, pee, puke, slobber, shed and apply “shnozzy” nose-print smudges to sparkling-clean windows, mirrors and eyeglass lenses.

Even though this is factual statement, I have had dogs all of my life and can’t imagine living one day without one. (And, I’m not certifiably crazy yet!) All I can say is thank goodness for paper towels, carpet cleaning machines, stain sticks, Dustbusters, lint brushes and Windex.
You can’t have a dog or any other type of pet without a sense of humor, because even the most perfectly housebroken ones make mistakes once in awhile. Big ones. Once, years ago I threw a fancy cocktail party that took days to plan and hours to clean and prepare for. (Think Martha Stewart obsessive-compulsive here, people.) The night of the big soiree, my Cocker Spaniel, Amanda, walked into the party, sauntered over to one of our friends (the one who just happened to be a Veterinarian of course), gazed soulfully into his eyes, squatted and peed at least a gallon (well, it seemed that much to me at the time) onto the wall-to-wall carpeting. Nice. As you can imagine, “Mommy” nearly dropped the silver tray of cocktail wienies she was holding. I must have looked so elegant on my hands and knees mopping up that mess in my little black dress and pearls; like some demented June Cleaver, but I digress…
Oh, and another time I was selling a house and had everything prepped for the Realtor to show the potential buyers (including baking cookies so the place would smell all homey) and my Border Collie, Zero, threw up all over the master bedroom carpeting just as the doorbell rang. (Yup, that added just the right “homey” touch.) Then, there was the other Cocker Spaniel (Goldie) who exploded a “Bowel Bomb” inside my new car just because I dared to leave her (with the windows cracked on a cool fall afternoon) in the car for five minutes to dash into the post office. That was one long, stinky ride home with all the windows down. Talk about a “special delivery”…
Bottom line? Thank goodness for their adorably fuzzy little faces and loyal dispositions, because sometimes when I’m standing at the sink, running yet another bucket full of hot-sudsy water and snapping on my rubber gloves, I wonder why we even give them houseroom. But that thought never lasts.
What can I say except that I’m a sucker for a waggily tail…

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