I also have an 88-pound labradoodle.
This has been going on all day. All day.
Seriously. I pull Lil' Frank off Big Doodle, roll him on his back to show that I'm the alpha, then let him go once he looks appropriately contrite. Then, Frank hops back up on Big Doodle all over again.
At first, they were under a table and I thought they were cuddling. Then I discovered that it was a very special kind of cuddling. Big Doodle is so chill that he doesn't even care. That, and given Lil' Frank's size, the doodle probably thinks it's just a piece of paper, or maybe a fly.
I would feel sorry for Big Doodle, except that he keeps walking over, getting right in my face, and burping. Burping the juicy burps that only come when one has been dining in the yard.
Phrases I've uttered multiple times today:
- Put your penis away!
- Get off your brother! Get off!
- You're bigger than him - you can make him get off you.
- I said, put your penis away!
- I can tell you ate poop from your poopy breath!
Big Doodle feels the same way about eating poo. I guess I've raised strong-willed kids. Umm? Yay me?
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I might be tempted to guess that Big Doodle is trying to commit suicide in the only way he think of, lacking the ability to open the child-proof cap on the rat poison bottle.
Can you cram the sex machine into a crate to give everyone a little respite from the canine porn channel?
Okay, this is seriously the part where dogs are worse than kids. I've never had to deal with that kind of issue before. What a dick! (hahaha)
Ha! "Canine sex machine" makes me think Frank's new theme song could be courtesy of James Brown.
Snort! Yes, what a dick, indeed!
The happiest day my household has experienced since we got a dog was the day I got a cat box designed to keep said dog out. No more poop breath. No more poisonous clumping litter ingested by the dog. Happy sigh.
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