Biggie has no sense of self-awareness

Here's a video of Biggie barking at a video of himself.

(See him at the end? He's all, "Where is that son of a bitch?!")

Here's a video of Biggie barking at a video of himself barking at a video of himself

What a maroon.

There's a new idiot in this house.

Biggie has competition for Biggest Weirdo in the family, now.

This is Minnie.

She — like Biggie — hates pigeons, has some breathing problem that makes her sound like a tiny piston, and loves having her armpits rubbed.

She took so long to get comfortable with us. She didn't do that cat thing where they squirrel away under a bed, thankfully. Minnie investigated each room and got right up in Biggie's ugly mug and said, "... the fuck?" She didn't sleep at all the first night.

Minnie immediately took a shine to Elliott which both enraged and annoyed me. My relationship with cats has always been of the loving-too-much variety. I'm Lenny and cats are that lady that Lenny squeezed to death.

Elliott being appropriately nice to the cat.

I launched a campaign to make her like me. I gave her a lump of yarn. She played with it with such gusto! Hope carved a little cavern in my heart to keep all the sweet memories Minnie and I were about to make.

Then the yarn got painfully tangled in her furry cat tail and she blamed me for it.

She didn't even stop playing with it! She was meowing because her tail was hurting but each time she twitched, the yarn moved which distracted her and she pulled on the yarn making the knot more impossible. Each time I went to help her she moved away from me and broke my heart into a million splinters. Elliott came and saved her and shit on my heart-shards.

Our relationship has positively grown exponentially since then. She's so picky re: the sort of attention she will allow me to give her. I'm not allowed to lie down next to her — she cheeses it and I won't see her for an hour.
She will, however, let me get away with this:

We also spend a lot of time bonding in the washroom. I hang out in the washroom a lot: watching movies, drinking water, clipping my toenails... The washroom is awesome and it brings me peace. I think this peace is what attracts Minnie to bathroom-Dana.

This is her drinking water/having it on her face.

 She gets up on the counter by hopping up on the toilet lid (we diligently keep it closed now after a close-call), onto the tank, and then to the counter. She used to leap right from the floor but her third or fourth time she leapt forehead-first into the bathroom cupboards. It was hilarious.

I tried to lock her out (because she sniffs our toothbrushes and it fills me with unjustified rage) and she poked her little red paws under the door and breathed heavily until I let her in.

"I heard you peeing."

Biggie mostly avoids her. Sometimes, usually after he gets back in from the great outdoors, he puts the run on her. She handles it amazingly well; she sort of bounds out of the way and but not out of sight. She gets her revenge by lying on a low piece of furniture and swatting Biggie as he obliviously meanders under her.

Anyways, Minnie's a ball. She's a shedding, wheezing, moody ball.

Here's an anti-climactic video of her determining the best way to systematically tear Christmas down:

Biggie kind of looks like... pt 3

Biggie...

... hates weather.

Even beautiful frosty mornings.

Biggie kind of looks like... pt 2

Biggie kind of looks like... part 1

... kind of looks like

Biggie...

... will leave the bed at his own leisure.

Biggie was being mischievous

   It may be apparent by these posts that I do not have complete control over Biggie.

   I have basic commands and outlines that he follows. He knows "No Licking" in the middle of the night means he has to stop licking his paws or risk being blanket-tossed onto the floor, "AAARGH" means "get away from me", and "c'mere" means "come be the little spoon."

   Everything else to him is apparently optional. He's constantly testing to see if the same rules still apply each day.

"Mmm. You say somethin', bitch?"

   So perhaps it's a bit foolish of me to walk him without a leash but I trust him to trust me and we've never had an incident. He knows "heel", "come", and "stay" but if he's sniffing something or feeling rascally he ignores me (pug translation: "fuck you") and it is infuriating.

  Here's a video of him blatantly disobeying the basic "heel" command:

  
   Sometimes, because pugs are a genetic abomination, his stunted body betrays him and he is served his comeuppance.

   Biggie was defiantly lingering around some overturned sod and ignoring my calls to him. I raised my voice and made a (totally flaccid)  threatening stomp in his direction. He went to spring away from the clump and me but tripped, sending all four legs away from each other and his jaw into the dirt. When he tried to right himself he tripped again and hit his chin off the ground. I laughed into his dumb face.
 

  See all that dirt? In his lip? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

  He still had the last laugh though because I had to take care of a hanging chad and he loved every disgusting second of it.

Biggie... What are you... I don't even...

   Biggie and I got up yesterday, had our walk, and I fed him his normal breakfast of half a cup of kibble and a splash of soy milk or olive oil.

   Later, while cleaning up the living room, Biggie was sulking by his empty food bowl looking extra-pathetic. I thought, "Meh, I'll give him a little scoop to tide him over until supper."

   That was a huge mistake.

   About two hours later, he targeted Elliott and received another little scoop.

   A couple hours after his regular supper time passed I fed him his regular meal. And then I didn't really hear from him.

"Psst. Look, Dane". Elliott had sneaked into the living room and was pointing at the couch over my shoulder.

I turned to this bloated and guilty piece of haggis:

Each time I checked on him he had rolled into a different position trying to compensate for his swollen belly. 

  So bloated that he can't balance on that horrible pillow.

Biggie kind of looks like...

... this 1982 E.T. doll.

  

There are very strict rules regarding the E.T. doll. Specifically, Biggie and I are not allowed to play with it.

  But Elliott can't be watching all the time...

delicious defiance

Biggie is...

... spoiled rotten.

   I bought this awesome contraption at our local pet store. It was a gift for Elliott because we were trudging back and forth from our house to his brother's and it was wearing out our tender prince. Elliott has never used it but I have twice. Also, once alone at home because... just because.

   You're supposed to wear it around the front of you because it's cruel not to (hippie nonsense). He's already not walking, though, so fuck him.

Biggie...

... claims everything as his own.

sigh.

Biggie...

... is the overlord of this manor.

When Elliott and I are working away (read: eating pasta with our fingers) in the office Biggie is incredibly uncomfortable at floor-level. He pesters us by prodding us with his paw, standing up on his hind legs and digging his talons into our knees, or just refusing to lie still.

The only, and the most humiliating, solution is to put his dog bed on the desk and work around him.

This is while Elliott still had pasta left. What a pest.

Even after all the people-food was gone he settled in and is still breathing heavily at me while I'm trying to type.

Yuck.

fresh after a traumatizing nail-clipping session (see jags)

We're just players in this asshole's life.

pug lovin' from around the world

This is Loca, a pug living in Ireland, and she comes with a very catchy song and adorable affliction.
Enjoy!

Walkin'

I looked up from my book while walking Biggie and I don't know if it was the right lighting or if my glasses just needed to be cleaned but the stretch of grass we were next to looked really pretty.
I tucked my book under my arm and dug into my pocket for the camera. I had powered it on and went to aim it when

do you see that? He's not beholding the beauty. This little jerk is pooping in my shot. Look at his lifting lady-leg. Blech.

We moved on and and came across this little guy

I was going to leave him there but when I sat down to read the dog started to get bored and was trying to rough house me so I sacrificed the stuffy.

Also, Biggie is really bad at playing

Biggie hates... UPDATED

... having his nails clipped.

   This dog is the absolute most irrational piece of shit when it comes to getting his nails done. It is never not a struggle and it always ends in carnage.
   This video is from earlier this year — listen carefully to hear him summoning dog demons from the depths of hell:

 Yes, we're laughing at him. It seems totally cruel but there's just no other way. He's been in our lives for eight (for Elliott) and five (for me) years and knows he has to get his nails clipped but still won't chill.
   We rarely hit his little dog-vein and if/when we do he totally deserves the accident by being a dick.
   We've tried more positions than a middle-aged couple rediscovering their sexuality; the only stress-free nail session Biggie has ever had was when some blonde woman from Orillia cinched him up on a metal table and had at him.

ah hah! the correlating picture of the one successful attempt

Never has it worked in any other environment.
   Here's a more recent video (from today). You can see that we've gotten so. much. better at this.

 

Check out the souvenir he left me : 

He's awful.

Biggie...

... sacrifices comfort for altitude.

   I have slept on that pillow and it's like sleeping on a burlap sack stuffed with under-ripe avocados.
   I don't know where this weird spirit of competitiveness comes from. Just because you're up there doesn't mean you're better than me, canine.
   Look at him... passive aggressively smelling his forearm. What a jerk.

also...
LOOK AT THESE CLAWS.

 

Stay tuned for video. It'll show exactly why his nails are so incredibly long (spoiler: it's because he completely runs this household).