I massively overslept today. I was freaking exhausted. In fact, someone at work told me I looked “horrible” last night. How flattering. So, I put in about nine hours atop the platform, and feel roughly a million times better.
However… there’s not much time for an update. So, I’m going to have to rely on you guys again.
Today I’d like to hear your stories about the damage your pets have rendered unto your world. I assume these will mostly be about dogs, but there’s no reason to limit it. Do you have any tales of animal destruction, in a domestic setting? Please share them in the comments section below.
I have three, off the top o’ my tiny Duke head:
Steve used to have a beloved golden retriever that he confined to the basement when they weren’t home. This was no case of hardship for the dog; Steve loved that thing, and the basement was practically a dedicated suite of rooms geared toward the hound’s comfort. And one day he came home, and discovered that it had eaten an entire section of drywall. Well, as high as he could reach anyway… Heh.
My aunt and uncle used to have a crazy-ass cocker spaniel (I love dogs, but there’s a limit to everything) which would eat anything that wasn’t locked-down. It could jump onto the kitchen counters, and had the ability to disappear a family’s entire dinner within seconds. One day, around the holidays, they forgot (probably drunk) to secure the scene, and that ridiculous animal ate two whole pies, and half a cake. Another time, when it was still a pup, it got into a bag of raw potatoes (WTF??) and devoured most of it. Its gut was distended for the rest of the day, and I think that retarded mongrel experienced a bit of regret.
Finally, a friend of Toney’s has two enormous white dogs. I don’t know what breed they are, but they’re the size of ponies, and that’s not an exaggeration. The family was going away for the day, and wanted to cook a roast in the Crockpot. They couldn’t trust those outsized dogs around cooking meat, so they put the Crockpot inside a bathroom, and behind two closed doors. Well… they got through both doors somehow, yanked the Crockpot off the counter, ate the whole roast, and tracked gravy throughout the house. This just happened a couple of days ago… it’s a fresh tale.
Now I’m hoping you guys have something to add on this subject. I don’t think we’ve done this one before, which is a shock. It feels like a good one.
I’ll be back tomorrow.
Have a great day!
Now playing in the bunker
Use the Surf Report’s webhost: HostGator!
Luckily I don’t have any experiences like the ones you listed to share, but my little girl Princi (long-haired Chihuahua, 12 lbs.) likes to pee on any new rugs we get. We don’t know why she favors rugs (we have hardwood floors), but if we bring in a rug, it’s her toilet. She pees, poops, the works, until the thing is dragged out and placed in the trash. We scrub the rugs, spray with that take-away-urine-smells junk from pet stores and she still pees all over it. Drives us crazy and around here you will hear us say “We just can’t have nice things, Princi!” and she’ll stare up at us with a victory grin.
That is a dog that needs a beatin
When my beagle was a puppy, we kept him in the part of the house that had our reading room and laundry room.
there wasn’t much he could mess up. He chewed some wooden chair feet to little round nubs. He mostly like to chew on the plastic cloths hangars. One day I came home and he must have gotten in a fight with the laundry basket. He had a plastic hanger around his neck and another one around his waist.
he stopped chewing hangars after that. He did still chew on the chair feet though.
We still have one of the hangars he chewed on, and that was about 7 years ago.
Oh, also, I have a new album out.
It’s a metal head’s take on Jazz.
http://heavyrecord.com/musicians_and_artists/npftd_-_jazz
“Since jazz is generally pretty boring and soulless”…
That is one of most ASS-IN-NINE statements I’ve ever read from you. You know now nothing. Fuck you and your sophomoric album! You play the bass right? I won’t call you a bass player or a musician for that matter. Really man?????!!! Goddammit man you disappoint me. Bill Evans…boring??? Soulless?? Miles, Trane, Clifford Brown. Boring and soulless???? Check out Don Ellis and all the different time signatures he wrote in for his big band, since you like math. 7/8, 13/6, 15/12…let me know If I talking over your head dude. Play some of that stuff on your next album if you like math so much. Metal head with ears to match.
Monk. World Saxophone Quartet. Pharoah Sanders. Jack DeJohnette. Abdullah Ibrahim aka Dollar Brand*. Arthur Blythe. Hell, Weather Report, speaking of bass. Better yet, Mingus**. In the time signature department I’d happily settle for Brubeck, not that that’s settling.
* I’m particularly thinking of the ASTONISHING piano+alto sax cover of “Don’t Blame Me” on the album Zimbabwe.
** One word: “Cumbia and Jazz Fusion”. The song is a history of jazz in one album side.
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“Don’t Blame Me” is here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vtydn6fvNG0
Although the “video” is a slide show, the music is the opposite of soulless. The sax acts like the best singer you ever heard.
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Saxophone is an instant turn off. I hate the saxophone. My mother-in-law is jazz sax player and teacher; she is always trying to convince of the majesty of saxophone. It’s fucking terrible.
As far as soulless goes, there’s not a person in the world that will say King Crimson is full of soul. And that’s the same thing with anybody who uses unnatural meters and time signatures. It’s unnatural, the opposite of soulful and organic.
I have heard lots of jazz; although I can’t provide you with the ticket stubs and receipts for every show I’ve been to. Everyone on my wife’s side of the family plays in various groups in and around the New Orleans and Baton Rouge area. One’s a drummer, one’s a sax and piano player, one’s a bassist. Every time I talk to them, or go to the area, they have me go watch on one of their shows, or one of their friends’ shows, or make sure there is some old jazz playing in the background at the house. They constantly try to convince me that jazz is entertaining. Jazz entertains me about as much as a Ziggy comic entertains a door hinge.
Every time this discussion comes up people try to introduce me to more jazz, or better jazz, or the “right” jazz, or educate me on how great jazz is in some other fashion. Over and over again, like the 15 year old who thinks he is the first person to ever discover Frank Zappa and tries to convince you that Zappa is the greatest musician of all time past and time to come.
Here’s why I don’t like jazz:
Horns: I hate horns. I have never heard a solo horn player perform at a reasonable volume for the situation they are in. Although acceptable in supportive groups of three or more, any of the hundreds of different solo horn players I’ve listened to seem to feel the need to seek vengeance on the ears of everyone around for being the only guy having to regulate their breathing patterns. The horn players give the entire jazz community a bad name. If I see a marquee for a jazz band that features the sultry dynamic sounds of John Tromboner, I cringe and keep walking; instead of not cringing.
Accessibility: Other than the rare instance where a jazz crew employs the labor of a hype man, or just has exceptional stage presence, jazz is boring. That is why people want it as a background sound to what is going on; jazz by itself holds people’s attention for a shorter time than a gold fish you’ve never met remembers what you’ve named it. The band playing jazz could be just as happy playing to a crowded coliseum as they could playing on the back porch, the audience doesn’t matter. It is not for an audience, it is for the musicians. Unless the audience is made up of musicians and they are actively studying the musical event unfolding before them. It is a practice of study. If you aren’t watching a jazz team and studying what it is that they, or any individual playing, as a musician, then you are probably more worried about how large your bar tab is than the music.
And my point of being soulless: Someone once said that jazz is like watching a bunch of dudes solve math problems. That is a great way to state the lack of spirit, and also ties into my argument for accessibility. The music is great for the performers, but to sit there and watch a guy noodle around until he finds the “one” again and call it “avant guard talent” is crap. Listening to a drummer, a bass player, and either a pianist or guitar player all playing together; then having another one or two guys go off on their own thing is annoying. It always reminds me of when you are at band practice and trying to work out a part with the new guy, while one of the other guys not paying attention to what is going on starts wailing away on his tool of destruction and distracting the entire room from the task at hand.
I like all jazz….
I am jazz
(jazz hands)
Oh, jazz man. Take my blues away.
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It is a drizzly, damp morning in the Great Pacific Northwest. The migratory birds have left for California and Mexico, and the remainder are splashing in pothole bathtubs. The breeze looks cold through the old window. The cats lay in a pig pile in the living room, saving heat for when they will need to tiptoe across the wet yard to piss. Mose Allison is playing and singing on the turntable. Nothin’ but jazz is gonna capture the essence of the day.
John
..and by the way, “In the Court of the Crimson King” is not devoid of soul. Compared to mainline metal, it’s James Fuckin’ Brown. I’m just saying.
jtb
James Brown is too jazzy
I really do like it when the boxes get smaller like this!!!
Me too.
The music James Brown (and his Famous Flames) played was, for lack of a better descriptor, funk. He was, however, widely known as “The Godfather of Soul” and “Soul Brother #1”, which is why I used him as an example of soul. He had so much soul, he occasionally became overcome and needed to be helped from the microphone draped in a cape. Sometimes he returned.
jtb
I seem to recall him using a horn section now and then. I could be mistaken.
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I should probably tell the story about a pet parakeet I once had that like to carry around a shotgun. Boy did he ever get me into some trouble. I can’t tell you all about it, though. Goddam gag order!
My sister had parakeets once.
There was a fat one and a normal one. The fat one pecked the normal one to death. My mom got another one because my sister wanted two birds. The fat one then killed the second one.
The fat parakeet was alone from then on.
My 135lb Swissy is perfect (I shit you not) and has never been yelled at in his life unless it’s to keep him from harm. My Blue Fronted Amazon, however, was a one bird wrecking crew.
It took me 10 years to find a cage he couldn’t break out of and the damage that sticks out most in my mind was coming back from work while he had been at liberty for gawd-knows-how long. There was a giant bite taken out of every one of my book on the book shelf (all the way to the ceiling). He hated when I read because I wasn’t playing with him. I had an antique wooden rocking chair and he had chewed the ENTIRE BACK into matchsticks. He completely obliterated two window sills and ate an entire stick of butter I had left out on the kitchen counter to soften to make cookies that evening. Unsurprisingly, he died of liver failure when he was 30 years old. That little dude could put away the fatty foods. He once ate the toppings off almost half a pizza before I caught him. I miss him. I got him when I was 19 and he died when I was 48, just before I moved here. This is the only house I’ve lived in in my adult life without him. Little bastard.
Young Golden retriever plus sprinkler on the end of garden hose plus doggie door= a mess I thought I could hide from the wife….Wrong!!!!
I don’t have any pets, but I use to feed the neighborhood cats. It worked pretty good for a while. I even got one or two of them to come inside my place. But – then some raccoons began showing up and leaving some sort of stain on my old rickety porch.
I moved the dished down to street level. And one giant alpha cat started hanging around and beating up the other cats who showed for the free food. And sometimes the cats would mix in a mouse with their food. Both of these things led to blood stains. Finally, a bunch of ravens began raiding the food bowls during the day. This led to bird crap all over the place. That was the end of feeding the cats.
My mom used to feed every stay cat that came to the door. My dad’s famous line was, “Don’t feed the son-of-a-bitch….he’ll never leave!!”
More than a grain of truth to that. Cats – and every other critter – seem to have a pretty good idea which side their bread is buttered on.
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Summer of 2012, my hubby wanted a dog. I fought tooth and nail not to get a dog. I did not want to deal with training it, feeding, walking etc. I said over and over I do not want a dog. Well, June 2012 we got Louie a beagle dachshund mix for $50. He is seriously the best dog ever. He was easy to house train, so gentle and loving. Doesn’t chew up anything in the house. Doesn’t steal food. So yeah he became my baby and I love him to pieces!!
Mmmmm, Bathroom Beef.
Mmmmm, Gravy
My sister brought home a kitten that turned out to be Satan’s mistress. At first, we thought he/she (can’t remember the gender but I’m pretty sure female) was going through the typical kitten stage. Lurking, exploring, pouncing. But every morning, like clockwork, that friggin beast would attack my feet. And I’m not talking swat, pat, cute. No, it would be teeth sinking, claw clinging, skin ripping torture.
For added fun, just for spite, she’d take a huge steaming dump right outside her litter box. Another favorite spot was under a coffee table in the den. My parents were trying to sell that house and this cat would dump right before any perspective buyers would pull up the driveway.
We’ve always had cats but this one definitely had some wires crossed. We finally brought it to a no kill shelter after my sister moved to the city and claimed she couldn’t take it with her. It was the only pet I never mourned.
I had a dog, half lab, half retriever, I ended up leaving her with my parents when I moved out. She was a chewer…of anything. My mom comes home one day after work to wood chips and splinters all over the floor in the kitchen and dining room. She couldn’t find where it was coming from. Then one day she was cleaning out her huge china cabinet. It kept “rocking” like an annoying table leg. She looks down to find the two front legs were chewed to resemble an apple core. Boy, was Bab’s pissed off.
while at college, we acquired a dog, a retriever mix of sorts. there were times when my wife would take care of her family dog, an Airedale/terrier mix.
One morning we went out and left a chicken cooking in water for soup. We come home and the pot is on the floor, so clean we could have put it away. The dogs got a scolding, and that was that.
Later that night, at bedtime, we pull back the covers and find what looked like a few chocolate shakes poured on the bed. One, or both, of the dogs had crapped in our bed and pulled up the covers. Great fun doing laundry at some crazy dark hour.
I like dogs. A little Korean BBQ sauce, a little garlic and you’re good to go.
My lovely Shepard mix once ate a brand new, full, Costco sized tub of Snausages and in some kind of fake meat frenzy, destroyed the container along with 2 remote controls. Not fun to clean up the resulting fecal fiesta that ensued. A few years later the same dog, Zeb, had a wonderful time at a pig roast when I was living in Maine. I had been working a 12 hour shift in the ER, so showed up late to the ‘pig pickin’, driving straight from work. I was a bit surprised to not find him with my ex, as if I wasn’t around to be followed EVERYWHERE, he would stick with the Dude until I showed. A little investigation led me to the discovery of the happiest GD dog on the planet. He was standing below the sagging sheet of plywood that the roasted pig was laid out on, pig grease dripping all over his head, biggest dog smile on his face, COVERED in gross-ass saturated fat. I really miss that fur worm. This isn’t an anecdote of destruction, but my boss’s dog which she brings to work at the Pike Place Market, a wheezy old little Boston terrier with HUGE balls gimped up to a baby’s pram a couple weeks ago and pissed on it’s inhabitant. Parents not amused.
When I was in high school my parents somehow acquired a Standard Poodle. This is a good-sized dog, maybe 75 pounds, and big enough to eat things off a table with no trouble. During that time my mom was in the habit of home-baking all the bread for the house. With four teenagers, that was six or so loaves every weekend. One morning after the Big Bread Bake, we found that a) all the bread had vanished without a trace and b) the dog was far less hungry than usual. Eventually we found a nub of one of the loaves under the couch.
I also had a cat who would eat houseplants, then yak it all up on the couch.
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My cat comes in from being outside all day, eats like she’s going to the river in a sack, then proceeds to barf up everything on the carpet. Couldn’t be on the wood floor because it leaves a big orange stain on the carpet. And not the pretty orange either. I keep Resolve Carpet Cleaner in business.
The best thing I found was this stuff called Spot Shot. It smells like dry cleaning fluid in a spray can, but it’s very effective at getting cat puke (and other) stains out of carpet.
Eventually I ripped out the carpet and stopped needing carpet cleaners.
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Best way to eliminate the cat vomit on carpets cleaning problem is to feed them foods with no artificial dyes. Then when they vomit it wipes off with no staining.
I was astounded to learn how effective baking soda and vinegar are at cleaning up carpet spots and the associated odor. We had two years of cancerous dogs and their attendant “etiquette failures” and nothing worked as well as that combination.
So we had this poor cat who had some urinary issues, which we thought we had resolved. A while after, my former boss and friend asked me to store/use and enjoy this huge white leather sectional in lieu of having to store it herself. We moved the thing in, and the cat one day came up to me and pissed right on the seat and me. This event spiraled into a long, drawn out affair where in the end, the cat basically used this huge, beautiful, expensive sofa as its litter box. It was beyond horrifying, and beyond our control. We did everything you can possibly imagine to rid this cat of his problem. Eventually, we sent him to live at my dad’s property in the country. The couch was ruined, and I had to tell my then boss this. It was a bloody piss and shit covered nightmare of extraordinary proportions, and it was a time of hell. Sometimes, when the air is humid and the attic fan is on, you can still smell a faint cat piss odor, despite this being years ago after an intense cleaning with ammonia, and covered with a nice carpet. NIGHT. MARE.
Sorry for the rant Icey (Jeff & folks). Undeserved.
I’ve cleaned out my desk and my resignation is effective immediately. I’ve become what I despise.
I think it’s going to be OK. You didn’t get ‘political’.
(jazz hands)
Fuck it. Music is passion. You have to let yourself go once in a while.
jtb
JTB is exactly right.
I was about 10 and it was sell some shit time at my elementary school, big giant chocolate bars. My awesome stray Roscoe looked like a Rodeshian Ridge Back mix. A true mut that truly appreciated his goid firtune and always behaved accordingly. But, i had just received my giant box of giant choc bars, threw em on my bed and went off to my babysitting job after school. Yes, you guessed it, he devoured every single slolitary bar! My parents had never seen anything like it. Must have been around 20 lbs of chocolate. No nuts, carmel, peanut butter, no filling. He lived. Never even puked. Also had a 3 pound female chihuahua that ate roughly a man- size chunk of dry wall, tiny bite after tiny bite…
When I was a teenager my dog tp’d the house (the inside, that is; if she had done the outside I would have been more impressed).
My cat newman would piss on everything. The stove, any kind of plastic bag, cd’s, etc.
I couldn’t have guests over because he would piss on their stuff once their back was turned.
He became an outdoor cat back in April when he took a big ol’ diarrhea shit on a rug while looking me dead in the eye.
Our dog Lola recently ate an entire homemade apple pie. I thought the girl had put the pie in the fridge and didn’t think anything of the empty pie pan on the counter. She came home and gave me the “What the fuck did you eat the whole pie for” look and I responded that I thought she put it away. But it did explain the 6 square ft of dog puke I had to clean up earlier. I actually felt bad for the dog.
The kid got in trouble too because he knew about the puke but didn’t tell me.
Same dog yesterday ate a bag of ginger chews (imagine ginger tootsie rolls). The girl made her puke because it was wrappers and all but then we are pretty sure the dog ate the puke. The dog now lives in the crate when we aren’t home.
Fucking dog.