when good guard dogs go bad . . .

Here is Porter looking angelic on Sunday afternoon. Sunday night, he snuck downstairs in the wee hours of morning - he has figured out how to use his MOUTH on the doorknob and open the door to the bedroom - (looking for a snack? needing to potty and forgetting there's no dog door? wanting to catch a few star trek reruns?) and somehow shut himself in the spare room. I woke up to the sounds of urgent scratching and whining, woke B up, and we both spent a crazed next few minutes convinced that there was someone in the house who had kidnapped the dog, was holding him prisoner, and was coming for us next. So thanks for that, Portah.

Cupcakes and Head Injuries

Porter has been immortalized in frosting, thanks to the artistic stylings of my (not-normally-caught-dead-decorating-cupcakes) boyfriend:


Meanwhile, while attempting to master the elusive "roll over," Porter and I "butted heads" rather literally. His head definitely won. This is me seeking solace in frozen cranberries. Upon discovering my injury, B immediately ran from the room and returned with . . . the camera. What a guy. :)


If this knot gets much bigger, I'm going to have to name it Doug.

Baroops!

This just in:

This morning's romp in the park was tragically cut short when, in a stunning display of poor judgment and bad aim, Porter managed to poop on his frisbee.

And now, back to the studio.

Iz Innocent

The Slammer

It's back to basics for a while until the little man stops thieving things from counter-tops and scratching up mommy's 100-year-old doors. (No, Porter, we're not just hiding in the bedroom all day.)

Rock Bottom

Although I feel like I have been pretty sympathetic about Porter's depression regarding the dog racing and how much he has been missing Kt while she has been gone (though not as much as I have), I had a long day at work yesterday and was more than a bit upset when I came home to find Porter reading a girlie mag instead of cooking dinner or cleaning up the yard like I had asked.


I know he is becoming a little teenager of a Lab, but I just hate to think that the tiny pup we picked up in January is maturing so quickly. Time, it does fly by.




Yes, it gets worse. I woke up in the middle of the night to some noises down in the kitchen. I stumbled downstairs and this is what I was confronted with. At first he tried to act all calm and claim it was the Great Dane down the block that drank the beer. He was sitting as still and as straight as he could in order to convince me that he wasn't the one drinking the Colorado Kool-Aid.

He was barely able to sit up, much less keep his "the Great Dane drank the beer" story straight when I pressed him on details.

Loyal readers, if you have any suggestions for what to do with him to get him back on track before Kt gets home, please let me know.

It got worse - Labs Gone Wild!

Porter has gotten bigger and faster in the past few weeks and has taken to showing off a bit at the park. Here he is racing three other dogs, two of whom were on leashes and belonged to this gentleman, on laps around the old timer's legs. Porter won once the other dogs had completely tied themselves up.

Despite my telling Porter that he didn't have the ability to be a professional racer, he hopped a plane to Sarasota this weekend for the Saturday evening race at this fine establishment.

Wearing a disguise, Porter entered the third race. He is Number 2. If you could see the face, you would know it is Porter despite the disguise.

He didn't do well at all (no photos available due to some silly "No flashbulbs at the dogtrack" rule). Nonetheless, he has now gone on the Atkins Diet in order to get thinner and is eating nothing but bacon in an effort to get down to his racing weight.

While Momma is away, the Lab will play

Hello, ladies and gentleman. Long time reader, first time poster here. With Kt gone to Italia, Porter and I have been having a lot of Dad - Lab guy time. Been very fun and he has generally behaved as well as he did when Kt was here. However, as the days have passed, he has gotten a little more rambunctious.

Porter knows well the rule of "No Labs on the bed," but he decided to give me the middle paw on this one.

He also knows not to play with the soccer ball in the house. Yet here he is, gettin' all Bend it like Beckham on me in the kitchen.

Similarly, Porter knows that he is not supposed to do any cooking on the stove. Dry kibble is the current diet. He was apparently feeling his oats a bit and decided to cook up some jambalaya (Dad's favorite dish) in the hopes of staying up late to watch some NBA Finals past bedtime.

His plan worked and we stayed up late to watch LeBron.

Things started to take a turn for the worse when I found him eating his breakfast at the table the next morning. I hope this is as bad as it gets in terms of his acting out with Kt gone.

Porter Grows a Conscience

This morning while I was in the shower, Porter inexplicably EL DESTRUCTO-d B's down-alternative comforter. It looked like someone murdered the Stay Puft Marshmallow man in the bedroom.

Here he is, feeling considerable shame, which was, until this morning, a totally foreign emotion for the little man:


He can't even bear to look at me. I forgave him about five seconds after the initial rush of, "Oh, you awful, awful dog," (which I may or may not have said out loud, in a disgusted tone of voice, while stomping around acting stormy) faded.


I mean, have you EVER? It's just not fair.