It Is What It Is!

Maggie loves Dad more than anybody else in the world. She gets up in his lap and covers his face with licks. She licks his hands. And his toes. Maggie gives Dad so many kisses that Mom makes him wash his face with soap before he goes to bed.

When Dad lies down on the sofa to watch tv or to take a nap, Maggie lets him sleep for a liddle while then she goes running past him and throws her tongue over his face just so he’ll know she’s close by. Dad has a special pillow that he uses when he lies down on the sofa. Maggie loves that pillow, too.

Sometimes Dad has to go on trips oudda town and when he’s gone, Maggie really really misses him. She misses him so much that as soon as Mom’s back is turned, Mag sneaks into the tv room and stalks the sofa. When she’s absolutely pawsitively sure Mom isn’t looking, Maggie grabs Dad’s pillow and pulls it to the floor. That pillow is Maggie’s security blankey when Dad is away from home. Mom says she can’t bring herself to throw the sofa pillow away, but she can’t understand how Dad can bring himself to put his head back on it when he takes his naps, either. I know the answer.

It’s like I told ya before. We Hooligans Rule da House!

AAARRROOOOOOOO!

HOOLIGAN HOUSE RULES

EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE

BELONGS TO THE DOGS:

The couch belongs to the dogs.

The beds belong to the dogs.

The dishes in the dishwasher belong to the dogs.

The toys in the Christmas stash in Dad’s office closet belong to the dogs.

The stuff in Dad’s trashcan belongs to the dogs.

Everything that our nose can touch belongs to the dogs.

Mom’s purse belongs to the dogs.

The stuff in Mom’s purse belongs to the dogs.

The Grandkids belong to the dogs.

Mom and Dad belong to the dogs.

Dad’s paycheck belongs to the dogs.

Any Questions?

I didn’t think so.

AAARRROOOOOOOO!



And the Nominees are...

Would you consider nominating Duke's Blog as the Best Dog Blog for 2011? The top 4 nominees in each catagory will advance to the finals on June 29th. The winner will receive a monetary donation to their favorite animal shelter!

Just go to: http://dogtime.com/petties   and nominate http://howlinghooligan.blogspot.com/

How to Nominate The Howling Hooligan

for: WHY SHOULD THIS BLOG WIN?

(just tell them why in 100 characters or less)

Then, hit the ENTER button



YOUR INFORMATION

* Name  

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* Confirm Email  

NOMINEE INFORMATION

* Name  

* Nominee URL  

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for the “BEST IN” Category: check the box next to BEST DOG BLOG

Thanks!

AAARRROOOOOOOO!

Pretty Is As Pretty DOES!

Mom says Airedale Terriers are better known as contrarians. For instance, Maggie's nickname around here is "Princess". Because she's one of those grrrls who thinks everything in the House belongs to her and she goes to extreme leaps and bounds and boo-boos to make sure everyone else knows it too. It’s certainly not because she is graceful or kind or generous or gentle or all the luverly things princesses are sposed to be. Now, don't get me wrong: she can be dainty when she wants to be. With Maggie, though, being dainty and being stealthy go paw in paw.

Oh, you want an example? OKAY! Last night Mom and Dad and Second Daughter and the Grandkids had pizza for supper. They ate every piece except for some bits that stuck to the top of the pizza boxes. Then they settled down to watch a Bigfoot program Dad had recorded on the magic box that sits on top of the big window-thing that shows flat pictures. It was while they were watching the latest and greatest Bigfoot hunt that Maggie went into Airedale Terrier stealth mode.

Now, if that had been me sneaking that pizza box off the table, what do you think would have happened? Someone woulda bonked me on the haid with that pizza box, that’s what. But guess what happened instead?

Second Daughter rolled her eyes. The Grandkids giggled. Dad shook his head.

AND: Mom let Maggie keep the box!

I am not AAARROOOING.

TO THE RESCUE!

Tigger is an Airedale Terrier who was surrendered to ADT Rescue a couple of weeks ago. He's only eleven months old, still a pup, and has had a confoozled growing up time. Through no fault of his own, Tigger needed a foster home. You remember reading Grady's story here awhile back? Grady's Mom & Dad went to Birmingham to pick Tigger up and bring him to Mobile. They are going to foster him until he gets a forever home. 


My Mom went over to meet Tigger today and evaluate him. ADTs can be kinda difficult for lotsa people to handle and Mom needs to know if Tigger has any anxieties or aggressions or possessive or hard headed bits to him. Actually, if he's not hard headed, he probly isn't a pure bred Airedale but this isn't the time for that discussion, according to Mom.

Here are pictures of Tigger and the Bakers today. Mom said he doesn't have any of those problems we mentioned earlier. She needs to find out how he is around kids, though. So she's gonna take the grandkids over to meet him this week. She always uses them for this part of the evaluation and they really really know how to act all jumpy and loud and silly around dogs. If Tigger passes that test, he's A-Okay.

I'm betting on Tigger. According to his pedigree, he has several ancestors from the same breeder's kennel I do. And I am, after all, a Superior Airedale Terrier.

AAARRROOOOOOOO!

How To Beat The Heat

Dad went to Hot ‘Lanta this week on business. Except that it wasn’t hot. While we were sweating a heat index of 110 degrees, he was lolling around (is that the right word, Mom? The one you told Ruthie?) in 67 degree rainy weather. We had a few minutes of rain earlier this week (just enough  for Maggie to get muddy) and then the drought came back.

It was so hot here at Hooligan House that our little crooked creek went dry.

It was so hot that Buddy dug a hole about 3 feet deep under Great Great Aunt Sarah’s rosebush. She was related to Jesse James and Dad’s rose grew from a cutting off her original rosebush up in Gilbertown. Buddy doesn’t know that Dad gets really mad when we mess with that rose, but he’s gonna find out tomorrow when Dad goes out there to cut grass. Me and Maggie know better.

Mom says I’m getting off the subject.

It was so hot here that the butterflies wouldn’t come to the butterfly bush. And Maggie didn’t even raise an ear at the squirrel who stole food from the outside bowl. Instead, Maggie went under the deck and dug her own hole. If Dad ever goes under the deck again, he’s gonna be really really mad because there are more Airedale bunkers than I can count under there.

I didn’t go under the deck. I stayed in front of the door and put on my best “I am pitiful” expression until Mom relented and let me back inside the house. If Maggie and Buddy would rather pant outside in that 110 – breathing alert – ozone alert air, let ‘em have at it. I stayed out just long enough to lift my leg and make Mom feel sorry for me.

Who could resist this face?

AAARRROOOOOOOO!

Muddy Maggie Maneuvers

We had a bit of rain last night. Just enough to make the Hooligans happy. Maggie was happiest of all. She should have named "Pig Pen" after the kid in the Peanuts comic strip. Everywhere she goes, she leaves a trail of dirt.

Maggie howling her joy at being muddy.

Her happy dance begins!

and continues...

Notice the subtle differences in the dance steps...

Then she hustle-steps her way into the kitchen for a reward...

A special treat is required for a special girl...

And she ends up right back where she started, howling for joy! Ah, the delights of living with Airedales!

House Manners

"Save me, Daddy!"

We all have the same headache and it’s because SOMEdog forgot that being in the house calls for house manners.

What happened was this: us hooligans had been outside for about four hours and it was really really hot yesterday afternoon. Mom opened the door and me and Maggie and Buddy hauled tail into the den and rocketed toward the kitchen where the water bowl is.

Maggie and Buddy always always try to beat each other through doorways. They are shorter and faster than me, so I usually just stop and let them bash it out between them. Well, this time it did turn into a bash.

Somedog stepped on somedog and somedog got mad and snapped and somedog growled and before we knew what was what they were both rolling and tumbling and snarling and growling ---

And then Mom picked up the air horn and pressed the button. Maggie screamed and jumped into Dad’s lap. Buddy got up, shook himself and meandered over to the water bowl. I lay down and waited for everyone to get calm.  Then I got some water. Then Mom grabbed Maggie by the collar and took her to the water bowl.

We all went into our crates without being told to and we settled down and took a long nap. Today we are staying in the house all day and we are happy except for one problem.

 Our ears are still ringing.

AAARRROOOOOOOO!

All's Well That Ends Well

Jack stayed on the rug in Dad's office most of yesterday because his left front leg was hurtin' sumpen terrible. He only really has two good legs now. His back right leg has a blown ACL and he has bad arthritis in the right front let. Most of the time he hops around pretty good for a 13 yr old guy but yesterday was a 3 Rimadyl day. He couldn't put any weight at all on his front leg. Mom was sad and she cried a little bit.

But when Dad got home from work, he coaxed the Jackman into the den and they lay down together while Dad watched "Jeopardy" and told Jack the answers before the contestants hit their buzzers.

By the time "Jeopardy" was over, Mom had finished plating up supper (pepper steak with rice) and Dad and Jack ate everything she gave them. (The rest of us were outside and didn't know what was going on or else we would have been demanding our fair share).

When they finished supper, Dad and Mom helped Jack get in the car and they took him for a ride. He sat in the front seat with Dad and hung his head out the window. He got to see some cows and a llama that live on



the farm down the road from us. SO --- Jack's day started out bad but ended up good. Mom isn't crying any more and Dad feels like a hero. Everyone at Hooligan House is smiling, and we hope you are, too!

AAARRROOOOOOOO!

Changing Rooms – er, Crates

Bungee Cord Security, Inc.

Before the Summer of 2005, storms did not bother me. Thunder, lightning, hail? No problem. Then Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast where we live. The internet is full pictures of the damage from Katrina. That’s just the stuff you can see.

There’s alot of damage you can’t see. Lotta hoomans and animals have that post stress thingy that Mom says me and Jack have. Whenever we feel the barrow metrick pressure change, we get nervous. Jack gets into the bathtub and I try to get under the bed. I am too big to fit everything under the bed so sometimes, just my head goes under it.

When our parents are at home and know that a storm is coming, they give us all something to calm us down before the thunder comes. But sometimes in Summer, thunderstorms just pop up without warning.

That’s what happened yesterday afternoon.

Mom heard a crack! of thunder and she ran to put Sissy and Jack in the bedroom. Then she herded the rest of us into our crates. She gave me THREE of those pills to calm me. Jack got two. But it was too late. The lightning had already made our addrennalynn kick in and the melatonin cuddnt overcome that.

A big ole thunder crash shook the house and Mom said she heard a sound like sumpen popping and then she heard me AAARROOOOing. She opened the door to the dog den and I had busted out of my crate. The wire door was in the middle of the floor and I was at the door, panting so hard my body was shaking.

No, I’m not embarrassed about it. If you were here during that hurricane, you’d understand.

But now the crate door is broken and Dad couldn’t fix it last night. So he switched out crates for us. Maggie got Buddy’s crate, because it was already wobbly and held together by plastic twist ties which makes it not very secure but Maggie doesn’t try to escape because she doesn’t see the twist ties from inside the crate, all she sees is the door in place like it’s supposed to be, so it won’t be a problem with her. Buddy got my crate with a bungee cord to hold the door in place because Buddy is such a good boy. Buddy nevah tries to escape from his crate. What a Good Dog.  (patooey)

Maggie was real confoozled this morning because she knew that wasn’t the crate she usually stays in. Mom had to explain the situation to Maggie plus give her a cookie to make Maggie feel better about things. Good Old Buddy went right into my old crate with the door hanging crazily to one side on the bungee cord.

And I got the last crate that is in one piece with a door that hasn’t been breached. Today’s forecast is for scattered thunderstorms. I ain’t making no promises.

AAARRROOOOOOOO!



Don't Count On It!

There are times when I don’t mind being around Buddy. When we dig for moles or chase possums, he is okay. We have a great time barking at the neighbor’s cat that comes into Dad’s garden and sits in the middle of it. He’s a smart aleck cat, teasing us and grooming himself as though our barking doesn’t matter to him.Someday that cat is gonna get cocky and come a little too close to us.

Anyways, sometimes it’s okay to be around Buddy. The problems come up when he decides to just follow me everywhere I go and nip at my legs and try to rush me like a bowling ball. And I mean, he does follow me everywhere I go! Inside or outside, it doesn’t matter. I get really tired of having him dog my every step (Mom said this is a great place to use that expression). Buddy is still a teenager, Mom and Dad say, and teenage dogs can get real obnoxious real fast.

I always enjoy being with Mom and Dad, in fact I want to be with them all the time. But the other dogs make me feel mighty crowded sometimes. When I get tired of being around Buddy, I usually give him a warning stare. If he doesn’t listen, I give him a growl. Sometimes I turn my back to him or go into another room to lie down. All those things work pretty good.

The only time I can’t get away from him is when Mom and Dad put us in our crates. Maggie’s crate is off to one side of the room but my crate is right beside Buddy’s crate. That’s a long time to be next to him, sometimes 6 hours or more!

So yesterday, Mom and Dad were getting ready for church and they told Maggie and Buddy to “crate up!” I ran down the hall to the bedroom and crated myself in the crate at the foot of the bed. I did not want to be next to Buddy all day long. Mom asked me to come out but I said “No.” Dad barked at me but I just turned my head. Mom said, “Sissy is going to need this crate today, Duke.”

Why can’t Sissy go get in my crate in the dog den? Oh, wait, she and Maggie don’t like each other. I just sighed and closed my eyes. Dad asked Mom, “What do we do?”

Mom said, “We are going to think like Duke thinks.” 

She turned out the light in the bedroom and she and Dad went down the hall. I heard her call out, “Goodbye sweet doggies!” and then the front door opened and closed. I jumped to my feet and ran down the hall and...

And there were Mom and Dad waiting for me. Dad slid his fingers under my collar and escorted me to my own crate in the dog den. It was humiliating.  Then they called Jack and Sissy to come in from the front yard and put them in the bedroom.

As Mom and Dad went out to get in the car to drive to church, I heard Mom say, “That won’t work again for a long time. We’ll have to give him time to forget.”

Heh heh heh.

AAARRROOOOOOOO!

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!!!!!

diēs caniculārēs

Guess y’all have noticed it’s hot in Alabama. And there’s been no rain. NO RAIN. It was 101 degrees in our back yard the other day and the grass is super dry and brittle.

The other day Mom heard someone say these are Dog Days. She always thought Dog Days were in August. So she looked it up on something called “wikipedia” even though she said that’s an unreelieable source. Then she went to the Farmers Almanac. It said the Dog Days begin around the first of July and go to mid-August, so Mom guesses she was partially right. But then she read some more and she found out some really scawwry stuff that gave me bad dreams.

Before I tell you the scawwry story, here’s some other stuff about Dog Days. Did you know there’s a Dog Star? For real! WOOF!!! In the summer, the Dog Star shows up for breakfast. I don’t know what a Dog Star eats for breakfast but Mom said it probably whines for something besides dry dog food. (Didja catch yesterday’s blog?)

There isn’t usually much rain during Dog Days,  which makes people and four-leggeds feel real tired and heavy. Hoomans sweat alot but we dogs pant to cool off and sometimes our panting is real noisy. But here was Mom’s question: if the Dog Days aren’t supposed to show up until July, why are we feeling them now?

As usual, Dad had the answer. He told her that Spring came about four weeks early this year. He said that he can tell because historeckly the blueberries out back aren’t ripe until August. But this year, they are ripe NOW! Plus, Mom is having to water her flowers every single day because of no rain. Dad said that since Spring came early, that means that Summer came early too, which means so did the Dog Days. Makes sense to me.

Now here’s the scawwry part I mentioned earlier. When Mom was reading the Old Farmer’s Almanac about Dog Days, she found a story that said some hoomans named The Romans used to get so worried about the heat and dryness of Dog Days that they would sacrifice a brown dog at the beginning of the season. They thought if they did that, the Dog Star would be happy.

No wonder that empire fell.

AAARRROOOOOOOO!

 not THIS brown dog!

A Bunch of Hooey from Da Hooligans

MaGGIe wAnts a sTEak!

Me and Maggie and Buddy and Jack and Sissy are not happy. You can tell by da way Maggie’s ears are folded back in her picture. See?

You know dat a dog’s most favorite thing in da world to do is to wait in da kitchen while a two-legged cooks their supper. Because da smells are luscious and mouth-watering and because we know dat a scrap of sumpen is bound to find its way to da floor.

So yesterday morning, Dad gets a huge thick piece of meat from da cold box and puts it in a skillet and does what he calls ‘searing’. O O O bet you can imagine how good dat smelled!!! Den he cut up onions and tossed dem in wit da meat…. and he put some garlic in (dogs love garlic, too, sniffy sniffy wonderful smell) and den… and den…

He put all dat perfectly good smelly food in da crockpot.

Crockpot. Where it cooked all day and we 4 paws didn’t get even a teeny tiny taste of it.

AND THIS MORNING --- MOM did da same thing wit some chicken to make chicken an’ rice in da crockpot.

And den she put dry dog food in our bowls.

Tomorrow will be da same routine cause she told Dad she’s gonna make pepper steak for the crockpot. She says it’s too hot to cook when she gets home from work but da crockpot can cook slow all day and she and Dad have a hot meal as soon as they get home.

But where does dat leave us??? We can’t find any tiny meat morsels on da floor. We aren’t even getting any left over au jus on our dry dog food. What a bunch of hooey.

It just isn’t fair. Look at dat photo of Maggie again. See how sad she looks?? Please write to Mom and tell her we cannot survive on dry dog food. Our noses can’t take da smell from da crockpot all day while we are crated while Mom and Dad are at work. If your letters don’t work, we gonna organize a rebellion. We will turn away from the dry dog food and refuse to eat until we get sumpen juicy. Mom seems to have forgotten that hooligans never surrender. Hey Mom! Remember dose dead possums in da yard? Remember da yummy squirrel Maggie brought in da house dat day? Remember when me and Buddy went after the neighbors’chickens?????

Fair warning.

AAARRROOOOOOOO!