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Archive for April, 2010

Toys That Squeak and Toys That Do Not Squeak!


Attention All Big Dawgs: How to tell the difference between what IS a squeak toy and what is NOT a squeak toy.

This short, yet highly informative, tutorial will help shed light on the frequently overlooked, subtle differences between the two:


  • Squeak Toy:

this is a squeak toy

  • Not a Squeak Toy:

this is not a squeak toy

Your attention in this important matter is greatly appreciated.

Thank you,
– mojo


True Story (or One More Reason I Like Dogs)…


Yesterday, I was talking to a guy I had just met.

He tells Mojo, “Sit.”

Mojo ignores the guy and licks himself.

The guy looks at me and says, “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time for training – he’s still young.”

— mojo-daddy

Mojo’s Birthday and I’m Losing It…


Mojo will be 2 at the end of this month.

Yawn. No big deal, and hardly even worth posting…


Disclaimer: Some things are better left unsaid. This is one of those things. As much as I’d really Really REALLY *REALLY* like to just end the story here, close the browser, log off, and “Move Awaaaaay From The Computer” – I feel oddly compelled to share.

Suffice it to say, Mojo’s my child (well, according to the so-called “Court” anyway, but I demand a DNA test – oops, sorry, that’s another story).

So yesterday, in the 1 minute and 43 seconds of “me time” I got last night while Mojo was eating, I started thinking about having a birthday party. For Mojo.

To be clear, A Birthday Party For Mojo. The. Dog.

Note: This “weirdens” the story a bit, but still prolly’ not too big a deal. In fact, I know more than a few people who have had Doggy Birthday Bashes – names and pictures available upon request, for a small, uhh, donation.

Anyway, I should have just stopped at A Birthday Party For Mojo.

But I didn’t.

Energized by the 1 minute and 43 seconds of sheer “I can do whatever I want” freedom, I allowed myself to wander further down The one-way, not-even-close-to-the-beaten Path. The “Uh, you’re starting to scare me, bro” Path…

Ok, so I mused about having a party with about 400-500 of his Closest Dog (“We’ve sniffed each other and have the T-Shirt to prove it”) Buddies – maybe even some cats (with signed waivers) and a certain dwarf horse (don’t ask). Perhaps even turn it into a Meetup.

I really really really should have stopped there.

But I didn’t…

While planning the details of The Second Birthday Party for Mojo, it transformed into The “Surprise” Second Birthday Party for Mojo.

Ruh Roh.

Or, like the poop-bag signs say, “GULP!” (side note: I don’t know if it’s just me, but I kind of do a silent-internal-dry-heave and make a vow-to-drink-bottled-water-from-now-on every time I read one of those signs – GROSS. But I digress…).

I had clearly day-dreamt myself over The Line.

What started as just another Happy And Cute Doggy Event had become some twisted, bizarre, anthropomorphic, psychology case study.

Before I realized what was happening, it was too late. What was now a logistically-complex plan, had eerily taken detailed form…

  • I would first take Mojo out for a Birthday Dinner, nonchalantly pretending that this was a routine night on the town like any other… At Los Patios, natch, where the kind waitstaff would gather ’round and sing “Happy Birthday to Mojo” while holding a free raw hotdog topped off with an ‘Ol Roy Snack Candle on a souvenir paper plate.
  • Mojo would act surprised, roll on/in the hotdog, grab the plate in his mouth and shake it violently, eat some of the remaining plate, proceed to shmooze with the crowd, scarf some digits, make a few “let’s sniff sometime, I’ll call ya” playdates, and then we would eventually leave.
  • We would then go through our usual get-in-the-car ritual where I open the passenger-side car door for him, let him in, give him a peck on the cheek, and then go around to let myself in.
  • I would ever-so-ho-humly chauffeur him back to a dark house full of quiet dog friends, humans, and assorted anonymous party crashers (with a rental Very Strong Fan blowing all scents toward the back of the house).
  • We would then go through our getting-out-of-the-car ritual. I would get out first, go around to his side, open the door, give him a kiss on his cold-wet-dog-nose, and then escort him up the walkway (on a loose-leash, of course – heck, this is my daydream, after all).
  • Approaching the front door, I would chuckle to myself, proceed to open the door, and everyone would shout “Surprise” (or “woof” or “meow,” whatever), when we entered.
  • The lights would come on, bright flash photos would accompany party horns, whistles, clickers, bells, live music (Three Dog Night), rolling wheelchairs and shaking sacks of aluminum cans and assorted rocks (thanks, Jimmy), and pots and pans dropped on the tile floor (thanks, Isai), and confetti – to fully ensure Mojo would never, ever, ever forget this very special moment.

Sweet, I thought. Mojo would have an awesome second birthday party.

Then it hit me. Big Time.

I must be crazy.

What was I thinking?

A Surprise Party? He’s a Dog!

Holy Cow!

I mean, really – there’s absolutely no way that a fan (even an industrial rental fan) could possibly keep him from smelling everyone before we came in.

Anyway, I need help. Serious. Help.

– mojo-daddy

Important Side Note: Denny’s “Free Birthday Grand Slam” for “Kids 10 and Under” does not include dogs (yes, I asked). They really should mention that in their advertising, it could mislead other people besides me – right?