Killian is a beautiful Irish lass whose red hair gleams in the sunlight. She was born in rural Ohio, the daughter of a hunting dog, Griffie, and his glamourous bitch, Jackie O. Life in rural Ohio didn't suit Jackie, so after her pups were born she left causing Griffie to seek new homes for his children. Killian was fortunate to be adopted by a family who lived on a beautiful Virginia farm which suited Killian's fine tastes. She spends her days chasing sparkles in her home and lounging gracefully on her couch, fooling her father into thinking she isn't bright. Thankfully, her mother knows that she is quite intelligent and tells her this frequently.
Scooby the was the youngest (and only) pug to graduate from Le Cordon Bleu. Graduating at the top of his class, Scooby was soon scouted and employed as a sous chef to Anthony Bourdain at Brasserie Les Halles. While perfecting his foie gras and escargot, Scooby also developed an unfortunate love for pommes frites which did not agree with his digestive system. This unfortunate development led to a lack of oxygen in the kitchen as well as turning Bourdain's demeanor from congenial to curmudgeon. Feeling responsible for such a drastic change in his boss (as well as the drastic increase in the potato budget), Scooby felt he had no choice but to punish himself in the worst way possible - he moved to NJ.
While in NJ, Scooby reached the lowest of lows. No longer surrounded by Michelin stars and stylish bistros, he was now relegated to working his way down the Parkway exits eating what was best referred to as “fast casual”. He missed his pomme frites & had a sneaking suspicion that in NJ his odor may have gone unnoticed.
One day while scarfing McDonald's fries off the sidewalk next to a garbage receptacle, he was discovered by a kind family who took him home. Upon entering the house, Scooby took note on the vast cookbook collection and perked up. As he was inspecting the titles, somethiing dropped on his head. Looking up, he discovered a young child now eating in a high chair where much of the delicious food fell to the ground. As Scooby ate the morsels, he once again passed a fart so noxious and noisy that the entire family jumped. After the sound died down (and everyone could breathe again), the wife yelled at the husband accusing him of the putrid puff. Aghast, the husband pointed at Scooby and to the wife's horror, claimed that the dog did it. Unfortunately for the husband, the wife had been experimenting with high fiber dishes so his claims were not received as a legitimate argument. This began a long pattern of accusations and denial that would continue throughout the years and always end in Scooby's favor.
Juniper came from a family with a history of serving the very best families, as Lady's maids, Butlers, Valet and Nannies. It was decided that Juniper would become a Nanny to a very upper crust family.
On Juniper 's very first day the Lady of the house, a very cold faced woman decided that Juniper was a much too frivolous name for a Nanny and dubbed her Penny right on the spot.
Juniper nka Penny was loving and kind to her charges but she was also strict. She watched over them with ears pricked and paws daintily crossed, frilly Nanny's cap above her brow firmly in place. None of that Peter Pan nonsense for the children she was responsible for.
But alas when Penny had her one night off per fort-nite she became Juniper again, tail up with a wild and free grin on her face.and that is when her story went off the rails.
Gertie was born on an Indiana farm but was promised to a grieving widow in Chicago. She booked the pup reservation at 3AM after her terminally ill husband asked her to “go ahead and get a dog, so you won’t be alone” in one of their middle of the night talks when he was in home hospice. They had continually put off getting another dog, as they had never completely reckoned with the loss of their first dogs. The widow would not have done this, had she not then “heard” the little toenails tapping across the floor, in the apartment she had not yet found, as she was planning to move to Chicago to be near her son and daughter in law.
Gertie and her human are now a fully committed couple. It was a match made in heaven. The diva dog of Lake Shore drive, and her loyal two footed lackey can be found, at home in Chicago…looking out at the lake and wondering how they could be so lucky to have found each other.
This is about my black lab Stella. I hope you all will forgive me--this actually isn't invented. It's the true backstory for her! But true stories can be good ones, so here goes. I will try to keep it brief.
So Stella is a "rescue dog." She was found wandering the streets of Mesquite, TX. She was very thin. She wound up in the dog pound. Her number came up--if no one claimed her, she'd have to be put down. But an animal rescue group got her out just in time. She went to a nice foster family briefly (who named her--after a character in a fantasy novel!), and then we found her on Facebook and adopted her.
Well...but no. That's not quite right. She adopted us. She was a bigger dog than we expected. But she seemed to know I needed to walk every day. She happily accompanied me, first thing every morning. She knew right away this was home. One afternoon she was in the backyard. The gate somehow was left open. I went out there--no Stella. Yikes--I prepared to jump in the car and look for her. First though I went in the front. There she was--calmly laying on our front porch, guarding the house (I suspect). Soon she slept with all of us, was with wherever we were in the house, our companion.
Soon though I (though I didn't know it fully at the time) I began to get sick. I thought it was a really bad cold. Turned out later it was heart trouble. So on our morning walks, I would sometimes struggle--I would have to sit down once or twice, my breathing would be a bit labored. Stella would walk with me, willingly sit with me while my breathing recovered, look at me anxiously during the walk if I seemed to be struggling. It was when I realized I was too weak to walk her one morning...that I knew we had to go to the hospital.
I eventually had to have surgery. But I'm good now, we're good! Stella and I now walk at least twice a day. She still looks at me anxiously (kind of) if I sneeze or something. But I tell her--all good, girl. My pastor says--in a lot of ways, Stella helped save my life. True I think. True story, too. : +)
I'm at excited!!! A wacky writing prompt! Thank you!!!! Here goes...
Senior Edvard Munch was the descendent of Norwegian traveling artists who immigrated to the United States, eventually settling in a migrant farming community in Minnesota. Possibly doomed from the start (Munch’s namesake was, afterall, known to have suffered severe anxiety and feelings of persecution), this cool cat's preferred past times included bullying fearful guests into submission with a low growl and an ice cold stare and begging for scratches then, once successful, turning the tables and scratching back. Munch's signature move, the pièce de résistance, would come at the end of a guest's visit, when he would quite literally chase visitors out the house while screaming at them. We've often wondered, did we choose his name or did his name choose him?
Other facts: Munch loved beer, most especially a Mexican lager. Munch was a one-partner kinda guy; he and his love Dill (a stuffed armadillo almost exactly his size) were together his whole life. When no guests or cameras were in sight, Munch could be a real sweet guy. I can only tell you this now because he's been dead for years.
Killian is a beautiful Irish lass whose red hair gleams in the sunlight. She was born in rural Ohio, the daughter of a hunting dog, Griffie, and his glamourous bitch, Jackie O. Life in rural Ohio didn't suit Jackie, so after her pups were born she left causing Griffie to seek new homes for his children. Killian was fortunate to be adopted by a family who lived on a beautiful Virginia farm which suited Killian's fine tastes. She spends her days chasing sparkles in her home and lounging gracefully on her couch, fooling her father into thinking she isn't bright. Thankfully, her mother knows that she is quite intelligent and tells her this frequently.
Scooby the was the youngest (and only) pug to graduate from Le Cordon Bleu. Graduating at the top of his class, Scooby was soon scouted and employed as a sous chef to Anthony Bourdain at Brasserie Les Halles. While perfecting his foie gras and escargot, Scooby also developed an unfortunate love for pommes frites which did not agree with his digestive system. This unfortunate development led to a lack of oxygen in the kitchen as well as turning Bourdain's demeanor from congenial to curmudgeon. Feeling responsible for such a drastic change in his boss (as well as the drastic increase in the potato budget), Scooby felt he had no choice but to punish himself in the worst way possible - he moved to NJ.
While in NJ, Scooby reached the lowest of lows. No longer surrounded by Michelin stars and stylish bistros, he was now relegated to working his way down the Parkway exits eating what was best referred to as “fast casual”. He missed his pomme frites & had a sneaking suspicion that in NJ his odor may have gone unnoticed.
One day while scarfing McDonald's fries off the sidewalk next to a garbage receptacle, he was discovered by a kind family who took him home. Upon entering the house, Scooby took note on the vast cookbook collection and perked up. As he was inspecting the titles, somethiing dropped on his head. Looking up, he discovered a young child now eating in a high chair where much of the delicious food fell to the ground. As Scooby ate the morsels, he once again passed a fart so noxious and noisy that the entire family jumped. After the sound died down (and everyone could breathe again), the wife yelled at the husband accusing him of the putrid puff. Aghast, the husband pointed at Scooby and to the wife's horror, claimed that the dog did it. Unfortunately for the husband, the wife had been experimenting with high fiber dishes so his claims were not received as a legitimate argument. This began a long pattern of accusations and denial that would continue throughout the years and always end in Scooby's favor.
Juniper came from a family with a history of serving the very best families, as Lady's maids, Butlers, Valet and Nannies. It was decided that Juniper would become a Nanny to a very upper crust family.
On Juniper 's very first day the Lady of the house, a very cold faced woman decided that Juniper was a much too frivolous name for a Nanny and dubbed her Penny right on the spot.
Juniper nka Penny was loving and kind to her charges but she was also strict. She watched over them with ears pricked and paws daintily crossed, frilly Nanny's cap above her brow firmly in place. None of that Peter Pan nonsense for the children she was responsible for.
But alas when Penny had her one night off per fort-nite she became Juniper again, tail up with a wild and free grin on her face.and that is when her story went off the rails.
Gertie was born on an Indiana farm but was promised to a grieving widow in Chicago. She booked the pup reservation at 3AM after her terminally ill husband asked her to “go ahead and get a dog, so you won’t be alone” in one of their middle of the night talks when he was in home hospice. They had continually put off getting another dog, as they had never completely reckoned with the loss of their first dogs. The widow would not have done this, had she not then “heard” the little toenails tapping across the floor, in the apartment she had not yet found, as she was planning to move to Chicago to be near her son and daughter in law.
Gertie and her human are now a fully committed couple. It was a match made in heaven. The diva dog of Lake Shore drive, and her loyal two footed lackey can be found, at home in Chicago…looking out at the lake and wondering how they could be so lucky to have found each other.
This is about my black lab Stella. I hope you all will forgive me--this actually isn't invented. It's the true backstory for her! But true stories can be good ones, so here goes. I will try to keep it brief.
So Stella is a "rescue dog." She was found wandering the streets of Mesquite, TX. She was very thin. She wound up in the dog pound. Her number came up--if no one claimed her, she'd have to be put down. But an animal rescue group got her out just in time. She went to a nice foster family briefly (who named her--after a character in a fantasy novel!), and then we found her on Facebook and adopted her.
Well...but no. That's not quite right. She adopted us. She was a bigger dog than we expected. But she seemed to know I needed to walk every day. She happily accompanied me, first thing every morning. She knew right away this was home. One afternoon she was in the backyard. The gate somehow was left open. I went out there--no Stella. Yikes--I prepared to jump in the car and look for her. First though I went in the front. There she was--calmly laying on our front porch, guarding the house (I suspect). Soon she slept with all of us, was with wherever we were in the house, our companion.
Soon though I (though I didn't know it fully at the time) I began to get sick. I thought it was a really bad cold. Turned out later it was heart trouble. So on our morning walks, I would sometimes struggle--I would have to sit down once or twice, my breathing would be a bit labored. Stella would walk with me, willingly sit with me while my breathing recovered, look at me anxiously during the walk if I seemed to be struggling. It was when I realized I was too weak to walk her one morning...that I knew we had to go to the hospital.
I eventually had to have surgery. But I'm good now, we're good! Stella and I now walk at least twice a day. She still looks at me anxiously (kind of) if I sneeze or something. But I tell her--all good, girl. My pastor says--in a lot of ways, Stella helped save my life. True I think. True story, too. : +)
I'm at excited!!! A wacky writing prompt! Thank you!!!! Here goes...
Senior Edvard Munch was the descendent of Norwegian traveling artists who immigrated to the United States, eventually settling in a migrant farming community in Minnesota. Possibly doomed from the start (Munch’s namesake was, afterall, known to have suffered severe anxiety and feelings of persecution), this cool cat's preferred past times included bullying fearful guests into submission with a low growl and an ice cold stare and begging for scratches then, once successful, turning the tables and scratching back. Munch's signature move, the pièce de résistance, would come at the end of a guest's visit, when he would quite literally chase visitors out the house while screaming at them. We've often wondered, did we choose his name or did his name choose him?
Other facts: Munch loved beer, most especially a Mexican lager. Munch was a one-partner kinda guy; he and his love Dill (a stuffed armadillo almost exactly his size) were together his whole life. When no guests or cameras were in sight, Munch could be a real sweet guy. I can only tell you this now because he's been dead for years.