(Mostly Mommy, but that's TMI.)
Rocket's Occasional Grrrowl
- a puppy dog's blog by Rocket Hart -
People Displaying Excellent Taste Have Visited The Grrrowl!
(Mostly Mommy, but that's TMI.)
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- BLOGGER'S BIO - Rocket is a 3 ½ pound black Malti-Poo with a
hip and trendy white bad-girl stripe running down her forehead, nose,
neck, and chest. She has sass and adventurous attitude, and you are invited into her
free-wheeling Fight Club life. ***Puppy High Life Magazine rates Rocket
*5 pounds of nuclear blast
Cutest little evil thing I've ever seen. - Grandmom
Write me @:
rocket@michelehart.com
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Rocket's FAQs *
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Famous Star Secret Revealed!
She's all girl!
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Day One @ New Home - June 24, 2009 I spotted an easy mark in the dog shop today and netted myself a fairly useful human and a new home. I knew she would be putty in my paws the moment I saw her. Sucker…. A little cute bouncing and excited eye contact did the trick. I landed that girl like a 747, quite an accomplishment since my roommate, that rotten little Chihuahua named Jimmy, was constantly jumping all over me and nipping my ear. I used that to my advantage and feigned oppression. Thanks for the help, Jimmy. Here’s the kicker: During the in-shop negotiations with my new human, I netted full body massages from her every day. Sweeeeeeeet. My human is tall, somewhat two-dimensional, and insists I call her Mommy. What the heck. What would it hurt if it pays the rent? Mommy and I have negotiated our partnership down to our daily duties. I am to play raucously and be a super-cute puppydog, and Mommy must feed and groom me, take me out to play, pay the vet bills, and feed me treats. She’s named me Rocket, which is not so bad a name. I prefer Falcon, so I can be referred to as the Maltese Falcon, but I’ve not yet established good communication with her. It’s only Day One so I’m not putting her under pressure to learn everything she needs to know to live with me, my idiosyncrasies, requirements, and demands. Roomy home, better than that 4-foot square room I was stuck in with Jimmy at the dog shop. Unlimited food, that rocks. Nice selection of doggy toys, big yard. I’m figuring I scored heavily with this move of residence. The humans brought home another pup the same day, so I’m not the only dog in the house. She’s bigger than me and they call her Star. She has her own human, so we’ll both be properly served. Honestly, it’s a good thing. These humans tend to be boring. I like to compete for attention anyway, so this should be fun. Only one negative so far. The humans squawk a tremendous noise for indecipherable reasons. And they always seem to time these outbursts with my bathroom time on the livingroom carpet. I don’t get it. Day Two @ New Home - June 25, 2009 Rock-n-roll. Mommy has a laptop computer on the coffee table level with the couch. I can write my blog while she sleeps. No more waiting in line during primetime sleep hours, like we had to do at the puppy shop after closing. Hard times, hard times…. Started a Fight Club with Star today, and that’s pretty much what we do with our time when not crashing on the couch or pooping on the carpet. Day Four @ New Home - June 27, 2009 I’ve noticed these humans don’t pay a lot of attention all of the time, and being a high-maintenance girl, I’ve taken it upon myself to develop various techniques for changing their priorities. I’m a good communicator like that. When I wish to go outside, all I have to do is wet the floor and I am ushered to the grass. When I want my chew toy, the quickest method is to chew on Mommy’s things, and my chew toy is delivered toot-sweet! When I want fresh water, I simply slap out all the stale water currently in my water bowl. These humans are easily trained. But don’t think living with them comes without a price. These humans are loud when they want to be. Every time I make these requests, Mommy often squawks at me in a high-pitched song. Who knows what she’s shrilling about. But shredding newspaper is a blast. If she didn’t want it shredded, why else would she place it on the floor? Then she acts like I’m doing her no favor. Geez. Saw myself today in what Mommy called a mirror. Damn, I’m cute. I stared at myself for an hour. I’ll probably do it again for some time tomorrow. And every time I pass the mirror. I have fabulous hair. Mommy’s been forgetting my name, referring to me
as Monster from time to time, a bit disconcerting but I’m living with
it. Going with the flow, so to speak. Grandmom’s livingroom chair is delicious. Week One @ New Home - July 1, 2009 I am slowly learning the language of the humans, and am only a little POed the humans have made no effort to learn mine. So far I know goodgirl, treat, wannagooutside?, arentyoucute?, and itsbeautyday. I often hear the word “Badgirl!” shouted at me but have yet to work out a good meaning for that. These things take time. I am happy and well here, but despise a weekly ritual called Beauty Day, upon such day I am forced under a shower of water, sudsed up with soap, then thrust again under the waterfall. (I’m proud to say, I screamed all the way through my first bath.) Then Mommy pulls the hair out of my ears, checks my nails, and trims my rear-end, more processes I’m not enthused for. Makes for a humiliating day. Mommy’s explained that beautyispain for all us girls, but I don’t understand these dopey humans and their half-witted logic. I never go anywhere, and Beauty Day always seems to show up just after I’ve finally got a good layer of dirt caked into my hair. I like my human a lot and reward her with my cuteness, generously offering her my belly to rub quite often. She adores me. But, I swear, if she dresses me up in sparkly clothes, I’m outa here. Mommy makes fun of how I walk. What is a hippo? Mommy’s all around a pretty good pet human, but a few days ago, she brought home a harness. That’s right, thinking I would wear her slave collar. Of all the nerve! I made my preference clear with shrieks and maniacal wiggling. She’ll never try that again. If I have to wear a slave collar, so must she! Barbarians.... Week Two @ New Home - July 8, 2009 You’ll never believe this…but from time to time, on the odd occasion, my humans seem intelligent. I know, I know, unlikely. It’s the way they cock their heads when I land a hot steamer right before their eyes. Have I mentioned our big yard? I love all the room. Sometimes Star and I run and run and run for hours before Mommy lets us back in the house so we can wet the carpets. My adopted sister Star is, on the whole, mind you, not bad company. She’s bigger than me and I can walk right under her. She uses her size against me in puppy fights, and I must unleash a good butt-wuppin’ on her from time to time, just to remind her I let her win. Don’t want her getting cocky on me. Who needs to deal with all that ego? Enough said. I’ve been to the vet twice so far, and that’s not the party the other dogs at the doggy shop described with excessive alliteration, Disney-style. First of all, the woman, a so-called “doctor”, has needles. Secondly, I don’t know why I have to go and be prodded in uncomfortable places. And Mommy keeps calling me "wormybutt" since the last visit. I’m considering shooting out a few e-mails to that vet’s clinic with written concerns. To the "doctor's" credit, she did send home some yummy butterscotch-flavored stuff I have to take every day for two weeks. I never imagined the power that came along with my cuteness. In as little time as hours, I’ve established rule in this home and over all who live here. The wielding of my soft white belly makes them all halt their endeavors, coo, and submit to my needs. I am queen of all I survey. The next person who pulls on my adorable curly tail will meet the flash of my savage puppy jaws and the chewing upon of several expensive items that do not belong to me. Having worms bites. When I express that to Mommy, she always sympathizes, "Don't I know it." Week Three @ the New Home - July 15, 2009 Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. I can understand a lot now, or am at least able to detect these cavepeople's moods. Mommy keeps explaining how, in exchange for the food and care she provides, she is entitled to some love and affection from me. …I didn’t see that in the contract... I fear the dog shop cashier-slash-translator sold me down the river there. Not that I give Mommy no love, but frankly, the woman just keeps wanting more, flashing those smiles and cooing, cuddling me excitedly. There is such a thing as too much. So I’ve worked out a system. I allow her to go all-out gang-busters loving on me for a full and entire five seconds. On the sixth second, I’ve had my fill and I’m bustin’ a move. I’m gaslighting Mommy. I go sit on the rug in the doorway in just a way that makes her think I’m wetting the floor. She comes screaming and lifts me up to find nothing. Psyche! Who’s the Doggy.… I’m running this kennel now. OUTSIDE! Of all the issues in this house, of all the things I’ve learned of these humans, this repeating mystery baffles me the most. I hear the word OUTSIDE! Outside, outside! just way too often. Perhaps some sort of loud and primitive religious thing. Outside must be the name of their deity. They start chanting it out of nowhere, seemingly without prompt and in some relation to my bowel movements, for a secret reason. I’m beginning to believe they are worshipping my poop. They do seem to quickly scoop it up and hide it after their scream ritual. These humans are deep. Time to kick Star’s butt. You’ll excuse me.… Week Four @ the New Home - August 9, 2009 I decided to sabotage Mommy's strange obsession with newspapers on the floor, and it's backfired on me. When she wasn't looking, I wet the papers. Diametrically opposed to my presumption, she was thrilled, and she's declared me "trained". I resent that word choice. I taught Mommy a new trick! When I roll over, Mommy squeals and gives me a doggy treat. Score! These humans often surprise me with their smarts. Sometimes they surprise me with their dumbness. The oddest things made Mommy happy. And some of them I just can’t figure out. Like the newspaper. When I tear it up, Mommy fusses like she’s upset. On the other hand, when I wee-wee on the paper, the woman is thrilled. How do you fight that kind of logic?
Names Rocket Would Have Dug Falcon (so she can be called The Maltese Falcon) * Fatty (sister's
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