Critters Are Freaking Hilarious and I Love Them


With all apologies for the recent spate of dreadful photos, such as the above snap of the calm after the storm. My actual real camera is still MIA post relocation.

I sort of feel bad.

Most of my posts are about the puppies and I don’t want anyone to get the impression that this is a negative reflection on the entertainment value of kittens. Rest assured, our feline overlords are holding their own in the household’s pan-species race to induce a collective WTF face from all available humans, resident and guest alike. I think puppies get the edge, though, because they are larger and their ridiculousness is much more physical. Whereas the kittens’ funny is often brought via the catastrophic failure of their covert, ninja-based skill set, the pups are just sort of unwittingly entertaining.

Dogs are really just smallish, furry clowns.

Example: this morning.

Schmoop and I were awake, but lying in bed howling over clips from The Tonight Show (and no that isn’t a euphemism for anything; Bill Cosby is still almost as funny as my pups.) The puppies awoke to jocularity and, seizing the emotion of the moment, began bouncing around the perimeter of the bed, only the tips of their high wagging tails visible from our plushy perch. Even this little, teeny-tiny thing–bouncing tail tips of prancing puppies–is enough to get me laughing, because it’s so freaking relatable.“Oh hey! You’re awake, we’re awake, it’s a new day and everyone is laughing and happy so let’s get this day STARTED, humans!!” Who doesn’t want to start a day laughing?

So Schmoop and I laughed heartier still, because Bill Cosby AND happy morning dogs.

Pertinent fact: puppies have their own beds on the floor of our bedroom. They are not, nor have they ever been, allowed on the bed and, usually, neither of them seem to care a whit. I would get none sleeps with another human, two cats, and two dogs in the bed, and then I would be cranky and homicidal and I don’t know if you’re allowed to blog from lady jail. Also I don’t think they have hamburgers-on-demand there.

Karmann, sponging our humorous energy, then rested her chin on the bed (difficult, given the height of our pillowtop and the relative shortness of Karmann’s legs), glorious nose pointed ceilingward.

So we laughed yet more, because puppy lips.

Which is when Karmann, sensing a ripple in our bed defenses, decided to make her move: paws up on the bed and shiny happy smiling puppy face all up in mine. If “happy” or “joyful” or “ecstatic” are lacking dictionary illustrations, I volunteer my Karmie’s “I’m almost on the bed!!!” face. I, naturally, did what any responsible dog steward would do in the face of such a transgression: I cracked up and told her how pretty she was and scritched her nose while laughing. That is obviously tantamount to permission, so she started futilely trying to hurl her ass end up on to the bed, which yielded a bouncing happy smiling doggy face and more hilarity still.

We then straightened up and told her to get down and she returned herself to the floor to continue her prancing.

About 30 seconds elapsed, and Schmoop and I turned to face each other while laughing. Once Schmoop’s back was turned, his worshipful Beagle-ish decided that he could no longer refrain and, taking advantage of Schmoop’s back-of-the-head eyelessness, he made his move.

The thing about Calvin is he does very few things directly. He is sort of like a liqui-Beagle. He can be seated on the floor, accepting head scritches one minute, and the next thing you know he is curled up on your lap and you’re confused because how the hell did even get there? He got there by defying gravity and pouring his body up, one crazy millimeter at a time, so slowly you don’t notice until it’s too late and awwwwwww lookit how cozy he is!

So Cal’s move consisted of this same upward pouring mechanism: first a chin, then a leg, then he’s on his side as he brings the other leg up, and then presumably he is levitating because he is somehow sneaking the entire side of his body foreward as though he has no bones and is in that crazy anti-gravity shack in Muir Woods–just slowly oozing his way up and over to you, sideways.

That, alone, is funny. What took it to the next level was that he was forced to execute the pouring with a seriously perturbed Karmann dangling from his collar because, hey, if she ain’t allowed on the bed, ain’t NO PUPPY allowed on the bed. To save the morning’s glee, we issued a cease and desist to Calvin, and he receded from the bed in reverse pour order.

Only to come over to my side of the bed and try the whole thing all over again.

This broke Karmann, who attempted once again to haul him down from his upward slink. And when that didn’t work, she released his collar and gave the single, saddest, “but why aren’t you doing what I want???!?” high-pitched squeal-bark. To which Cal responded with increased dedication to the task at hand. Beagle was on a mission.

You know those dog vs. wolf experiments with a piece of meat in the locked crate, and the wolf tries to problem solve while the dog just looks at their human like, “I am just a poor widdle hungry puppy make this happen, human.”? I have basically seen that in person. Because when Cal refused to give up, and Schmoop and were too busy laughing derangedly at the beagle liquidity before us to deter him, Karmann sat herself down on the floor next to the climbing hound and just barked.

And barked (and we laughed.)

And barked some more (while we cackled.)

And kept barking (I believe I was actually guffawing.)

And barked still, in the most obvious, hilarious fit of self-righteous indignation I have ever witnessed outside of an internet forum.


I died. Because as relatable as their morning optimism was, this was even moreso. I mean, who hasn’t been so pissed off at inequitable treatment that they just wanted to sit down and yell? I think I experience that feeling almost hourly during an election year. And while I never wish to insult my doglets by implying that they are human, I have absolutely no doubt that they have similar emotions. Yet seeing those emotions played out with a limited vocabulary and lack of thumbs is–however uncharitably–freaking funny. 

I would never intentionally set up an unequal situation for the puppies (or the kittens, for that matter) but when it happens on it’s own I find it impossible to do anything but laugh and publicly humiliate them with a blog post.

Poor boogies. Such abuse.



2 responses

    • Have to admit I’m a little scared: I do not currently have a poodle, but I’m worried you’re possibly a voice from my near future obliquely informing me of an incoming critter and I just don’t know if I’m ready for my marriage to end.

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