Title: My Name is Jackaroo.
Description: My Name is Jackaroo. My Name is Jackaroo. The life and times of one awesome shelter dog. Pages Sunday, December 27, 2015 Meet Copper, if you must. What the f*ck? Abe and Elle are off their rockers. Li
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My Name is Jackaroo. My Name is Jackaroo. The life and times of one awesome shelter dog. Pages Sunday, December 27, 2015 Meet Copper, if you must. What the f*ck? Abe and Elle are off their rockers. Literally, they are off their chairs and on the floor playing with a puppy. Why have they done this to us? What did we do wrong, Inka? How low we have sunk. Like, floor level low. So low, in fact, that Abe and Elle are now picking up another dog’s feces. Literally. With their bare hands. OK, maybe not that, but they’re still hung up on this poop bag thing. You know, the other day when Abe said, “Maybe we can get a poopy,” I thought he meant he wanted to go pick up my poo again. I didn’t think he meant they were actually considering getting another dog, and a puppy at that. Who wants one of those anyway? All cute and snugly and soft. Abe and Elle got me because I was older and more mature. I didn’t poop on the carpet, and I certainly didn’t pee there either. OK… I did poop on the carpet that one time, but clearly it was their fault. They weren’t reading the signs. It’s like, you gotta show me where to go when I first get somewhere. You never know when something is going to happen. Sh*t happens, so they say. Well, it did the day I arrived. If they wanted another animal that poops and pees in the house, they should have been content with Inka. Because that’s what she does. But at least she does it in a box. Have you ever seen a dog go in a box? Me neither. Then this happened. Meet Copper. They named it Copper, but Abe keeps wanting to say Cooper, which again stresses Abe’s fixation on poop. Coop… Poop. See what I did there? I might as well put a bag over my head and scoop all of that puppy crap air into it and die right now. And this little bitzer's got the sharpest teeth on earth. His “kisses” turn into nips, which it’s no surprise his mother was tired of him. Man, I can’t wait until those fall out and all he’s got left is his gummy little face to look at. Yeah, I'll play with you to a point. Inka didn’t know what to make of him either at first. She kept hissing at him. Even when he was asleep in his crate. Hehe. But then she started playing with him. WTF, Inka? Traitor. I mean, what, I’m not good enough? I’m going to start getting a complex like Pearl used to have. Here’s to that confident dog you wanted. Abe keeps reassuring me that I’m the main man, though. That’s little comfort. Abe’s not the one having someone shove a snout in my butt all the time. Speaking of butts, who has a moon on his? Copper, apparently. A full moon on his ass. Classy. What is he, a plumber? Full mooned-Copper. So, fine. Copper is cute, and soft, and well… generally well behaved. And he gives kisses. But I don’t like him. Not yet. He’s got to do some serious work here. You don’t just get loved for being. Sorry children of the world. You’ve got to work for it. "Oh yeah, I'm cute." Posted by The Author at 9:19 AM 0 comments Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: copper, inka, puppies Tuesday, December 15, 2015 An Open Letter to Abe and Elle. Dear Abe and Elle, OMG! Am I not good enough? I mean, seriously. I’ve been hearing some grumbling about me having baggage. And the only baggy I can think of are those you use to pick up my poop. And honestly, who’s got the baggage if they PICK UP POO everyday. Therapy much? Anyway… You’ve been talking about how I could use to get a little more confidence. So I don’t like walking on wood floors. And sure it seems to have gotten worse in this house. What do you want from me? I was perfectly content to live in a carpeted world where I could look out windows and enjoy life. Here’s a photo just to drive home the point of how awesome it was. It’s on you, dudes. Swimming in a sea of carpet. OK, fine. I don’t like my paws to be touched either. Nail clipping is the worst. That sharp snap sound. The fact that you guys can’t aim for sh!t and are guaranteed to nick the quick… and on clear nails! See what I did there? Two words ending in “ck,” nick and quick. What other dog can do THAT? And don't get me started on the furnace! It turns out you’ve been talking about getting a puppy. Yes… Inka and I can hear you. Puppies are lame. Sure, they’re cute, but hell… that won’t last. They grow up. They poop in the house. (Where’s that “baggage” you’ve been carrying?) Yes, you’ll get an “Aww, would you look at this guy?” from random strangers. But who are you talking to here? Me. Do you remember that you HATE it when people ask “Oh, what breed is your dog? She’s pretty!” I’m a boy for God’s sake. Just because I’m rather feminine looking. Look at my man parts. Well, they’re gone. Fine. Whatever. You get the point. The Petition We, the undersigned, hereby petition the American Society of Orphaned and Forever Homed Pets to deny the application of Abe and Elle in their drive to adopt Finley, a mongrel dog somewhere birthed in Central Illinois. Finley, what a lame name. The name of a town in North Dakota. No one likes North Dakota. That's why no one lives there. North Dakota is lame therefore and or consequently, Finley is lame. We do not want nor would accept a puppy into our pack unless and until such time as in accordance with the universal laws of canine (butt sniff) and feline (face bump) greetings have taken place, and it, Finley (What an awful name!) is at once acceptable and not annoying. The undersigned. Jackaroo and Inka. Finley* PS. Fine. He’s cute, but that is no reason to adopt him. PSS. *A puppy that in no way represents Finley, his cuteness, lack there of, or temperament. Posted by The Author at 11:09 AM 0 comments Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: puppies Wednesday, September 16, 2015 Here comes fall. WTH happened to summer? I mean, it’s like we just got back to town and blam, the summer is over already? I mean, three months? That’s all we get? I know, I know… It’s been too long since last I posted, but I tell you, Abe has still been working from home. I thought the idea we moved back to Champaign was so that he’d get out of the house more often and go into the office. Instead, he camps out in front of the computer punching keys and moving paper around like he’s doing things. Inka swears he’s there just to get under my skin. How’m I supposed to write a post if he’s sitting right where I need to be? Anyway… it’s like September, and that means Inka and I are all up in arms. I mean, she’s got her eyes out for birds flying hither and thither, and I’m like, “You see that squirrel? He’s flicking his tail just to spite me. Munching on a damn nut, for goodness sake.” We’ve been keeping busy, Inka and I that is. There’s been lots of work done on the house, dudes banging sh*t around and painting crap. I mean walls. They’re not painting crap. Geesh. Of course, Inka heads for the hills, the basement, and hides whilst “the dudes” stomp around. I shiver in the corner. Nothing worse than a hammer sound. I’ve been staying trim. I gotta hand it to Abe. He keeps thinking that all I do is want to run when actually I’m the one who’s trying to make sure he’s not gaining any weight. I tell you. Humans sometimes. Anyway… here’s a cat in a tree picture for you. Posted by The Author at 6:00 PM 0 comments Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: dog days of summer, fall, inka, running Tuesday, April 28, 2015 So long, Evan's town. I guess it was bound to happen. No sooner did Abe and Elle move into yet another new place, they decide to move again. What is this, the third move this year? Inka? Yep, she confirms it. It's the third move in twelve months. I'm not sure what a month is, frankly. Abe and Elle talk about them like they're some tangible unit of time, but I can't really tell what they're talking about. It's like, they'll say, "Yeah, it's been twelve months since we left." And I'm like, nuh uh. Make that 84. You can see the math. Us dogs age seven times faster, at least that's what Inka says. What does she know, though? She's a cat. So while Abe and Elle are like, "It's only been a year," I've been stuck gazing at Lake Michigan and trying to avoid the flue (why are they calling Martha's runny nose a chimney part?) forever. I can't even remember what it felt like to move into this new place so we're already leaving? Where did we come from? We've moving back to Champaign. I know this mostly because I've been seeing familiar places and sniffed familiar dog butts when I went to the park. And I saw Bailey and Wiley the other day. I mean, what are the chances of that happening on a random day after being in the car for like two and a half hours, or is that 17.5 hours? OMG, I can't figure this shizzle out. Anyway, we're in a place we stayed at for a couple of days a few weeks ago, or was that a few weeks 21 weeks ago? Grr! Math! Sigh. None of our stuff is here though. So I'm kinda wondering when I'll get all my beds in each room and toys and stuff. Inka's been quieter at night though. What's that mean? IDK. Anyway... months are stupid. Posted by The Author at 9:10 AM 0 comments Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: bailey, eve, shin, wiley Older Posts Home Subscribe to: Posts (Atom) Jackaroo's Archive ▼ 2015 (4) ▼ December (2) Meet Copper, if you must. An Open Letter to Abe and Elle. ? September (1) ? 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