Nobody Expects the Stannis Inquisition

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This is Stannis Mattise Voltaire.

Pretentious name, I know but wtf, it took us two weeks and we couldn’t decide on only one pretentious name, so we picked them all. We call him “Stannie” and he seems to like it.

That’s Talus’ butt there next to the pool. We got Stannis just before putting Talus on transport to be reunited with Ehpa, Eric, Xanax and HulkSmash!.

Any reasonable person might ask: “why would some already overwhelmed people decide to bring home 70 lbs of more work?”

Well, we were desperate and lonely and sad about losing our friends and so the only way we could get any sort of piece of them back into our daily lives was to get a dog just like theirs.

We specifically asked GPA Mass for a dog just like Talus, and they had one, so we went and picked him up.

Turns out, he’s not exactly like Talus.

Temperament wise, yes. Exact same dog, but Stannis has a particular list of talents that far exceeds those of our beloved Talus.

Here, let me list the talents for you (in no particular order of importance):

  • He plays fetch. Greyhounds do not play fetch. They are racing dogs. How this sonofabitch learned how to play fetch is beyond me. Maybe he had a fun trainer or whatever,  but he played fetch for hours for the first two weeks we had him. And then, he quit. We throw his favorite ball and he just looks at us like, “wtf? Like, you expect me to like, bring it back or some shit?  Fuck that noise. Immma go lay down now.” He thinks he’s been cute and fun for long enough. The end.
  • He likes to hang out in the little green kiddie pool we bought just for him because we brought him to the beach and he loved wading in the water. We ran right out that very day and got the last pool they had at Toys ‘R Us. Strapped it to the roof of the car and everything. He used it twice and then he quit that too for same reason as above. Unless! We’re at the dog park and there’s a muddy puddle. He’ll lay down in there no problem because: fuck your new car.
  • He sheds worse than a cat. Greyhounds are non-shedding dogs.  Nobody told him.
  • So far he has eaten: a beanie baby that he ripped open and then dragged all over the house (the vacuum cleaner just pushes the beans around, so you have to and suck them up individually with the hose for approximately three hours solid), multiple Calico Critters which are Homeslice’s fave and mega expensive, a pair of flip flops, a Lalaloopsie and a stuffed squirrel as well as multiple sandwiches and other stuff the kids leave around.
  • He can turn two cups of dog food into ten cups of dog shit.
  • He pissed on Mister’s camera bag and forced mommy to play the “hurry up and steam mop/unpack/wash camera bag/replace everything before daddy gets home so we don’t have an animal abuse case on our hands” game.  I LOVE that game!

Vivi and Alice like just fine, Big Pussy is dead now so he doesn’t give two fucks about Stannis Matisse Voltaire.  He’s way too busy rotting in the ground to be concerned with such things.

Stannie is a pretty ok guy and super sweet and calm, so despite all of his foibles, we love him anyway.

Dogs: they wreck shit and piss on stuff.  If you don’t like broken shit and urine everywhere, don’t get a dog.

This is why (among soooo many other reasons) we can’t have nice things.

Done.

What are your dog’s special talents?

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19 comments

  1. Never been a big fan of dogs and even less so of dog shit. I don’t dislike dogs and I’m super sad when they are abused and all that stuff and I would NEVER hurt one but no. Not happening. I have a cat (who also plays fetch) and he better not pee on anything or he’s history.

  2. Our dogs’ special talent is Nighttime Sequential Peeing. At 3 a.m., one will insist that she needs to go out. No matter how hard I try to convince the others that now would be an excellent time to join her, they are patently not interested. I will let the first one back in, turn off the lights, get back into bed, and…another one will insist that she needs to go out. Repeat until we have cycled through all dogs and I am regretting my decision to have any pets more needy than goldfish. I suspect they’re trying to break me through sleep deprivation.

    1. That happens at our house too, Cobwebs! They wake up at about 4:45 and decide it’s time for breakfast. They start pacing around and jumping on our bed and shoving cold noses in our mouths. If that doesn’t work, they bust in and wake up the kids who then try to get into bed with us and demand a cup of coco.
      They have it figured out completely and it’s a group effort. Who says dogs are stupid? They know EVERYTHING.
      Sorry you’re getting tortured.

  3. Epha is preoccupied dealing with family drama and asked that I fill in with that one time Talus pissed on the hardwood floors. The ones that I had just seconds ago finished sanding down to the bare wood to refinish. I’m not sure what was more impressive, the sheer volume of piss that came out of Talus, or the woods ability to soak it up almost instantly. Lucky for him my reflexes were dulled by the hard work of stripping the floors of their moisture repelling barrier, and Epha was able to get him out of the house before I could bludgeon him to death with the orbital sander.

  4. Last year I was , um, lucky, enough to have had my parents move in with me, Hubby, our two daughter and our three (although now down to two as my old man is chasing Big Pussy around) dogs. They brought their dog.
    Let me explain. We have a 60 pound, 2.5 year old Bulldog that is the biggest damn wuss ever born, and we have an 75 pound supposedly Saint Bernard but looks like a German Shepherd hybrid. Parent’s dog is the Saint Bernard’s littermate but with a golder retreiver daddy instead of shepherd. All three snore, shed half their body weight in hair on a daily basis, and oh, my poor yard, the poop. Collectively, 8 cups of food in means 40 cups of shit out. A day.
    PLUS, parent’s dog talks. Their damn mannerless dog barks. A LOT! And she taught my formerly quiet dogs to talk too. The love nothing more than putting on a concert for the sleeping neighbors at 11pm and 6 am. The bulldog flips out and starts barking at something stupid like a spider in the yard and the other two think it is a shouting match and boy do they want to win!
    No food is safe on a counter, or in the garbage can.
    By bed is eternally covered in dog hair. I haven’t gotten a good night sleep in 2.5 years, as the bull dog has adopted the bed. In our king size bed, between Hubby and the Bulldog, I get about three square feet to sleep. I think I’m turning into a hunchback from sleeping curled into a ball.

    There, feel better about your dogs now? Pass the vodka sodas.

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