Dog Behind the Blog: If Tigger Could Talk

I have two of the most naughty boxers in the world, Ginger and Tigger. If Tigger were a human he would be like Dave Chappele. If you don't know who that is google that shit right now. Tigger has swag. He may not have brains, but he's got a certain something about him (usually the smell of poo). Anyways, this is what I think he would be saying if he could talk.

He has so much swag he uses a purple leash. In yo face. 

"What? Doesn't everyone pee on the kitchen floor? No? Just me? My bad, I had no idea. You shoulda told me."

"It's that dirty beaver faced Ginger who did it. Why do I always get blamed? This is discrimination." Why yes, we do always blame you Tig. Not because of the color of your fur, but because you always do bad shit!

I sometimes think that if Tigger could sing to me, it would be all Brian MckNight style. Anyone remember "Back at One"? Best. Song. Ever. And Tig-Tig Lamar would sing it to you. 

 

I mean do the comparison, TT has soul. Like get in your panties soul. 

Do your fur babies have distinct personalities? Tell me about it!

The Dog Behind the Dog

I told you guys about how I ended up with the love of my life, Tigger, here. Now, I thought I'd give you some insight into the first few months of living with my man. When I got Tig, I was living in a duplex with a sorority sister. We used the garage for our light up palm tree and a beer pong table. We also attempted to keep Tig there. That didn't work out so well. He ate through a panel in the garage door, ate the extension cord on the palm tree, and chewed on the wooden table legs of the beer pong table.

This is the picture of Tigger in the garage with his momma. He hated being in that garage unless we were all out there with him. So, I started crating Tigger. We soon found out that you can't put anything with Tigger. He is a dumbshit that eats everything.

Then, as graduation neared. I sent to Tig to live with his grandparents while I packed up the duplex and took my finals. The plan was that Tig and I would live with my parents while I took off a semester before starting grad school (I graduated in Dec and school started in Aug). 

Then, the unthinkable happened. When crated one day, Tig was given some towels to sleep on and a tennis ball to play with. When Tigger was let out of his crate, the only thing that was left was bits and pieces of a towel and rubber. He seemed fine. 

After almost two weeks of Tigger acting tired, not eating, and barfing up water we knew something was wrong. We took Tig to the emergency vet who did x-rays. Let me tell you, the emergency vet is NOT CHEAP. The x-rays showed that his stomach was so bloated they couldn't see any other organs. We were referred to an emergency surgical vet. 

In the end, part of the tennis ball had gotten stuck at the top of his intestine and created a blockage. There, pieces of towel were stuck. Thank goodness, they were able to "milk" the nastiness out and didn't have to remove any of his intestine. Instead, they cut open his tummy and removed the rubber and thread. YAY! Little baby T would live! 

 This part is not a sponsored part--- GET PET INSURANCE. That shit is worth it. I got a pound puppy for $160 (that included getting his balls chopped) and spent more than 3 grand on surgeries roughly three months later. He was a bargain.

Have you guys ever had a pet emergency? What happened?

The Dog Behind the Blog

Seeing as others put The Boy Behind the Blog posts up on a regular basis, I thought I would grace everyone with a  Dog Behind the Blog post.  Truthfully, Gabriel knows I blog, but I don't know that I would want his crazy ass writing anything for public consumption. Shit would be cray, so instead you will get to know my roll dog, Tigger.

Tigger came into my life... my last semester of college. By came to me, I mean I really, really wanted a striped dog so my bff from college Jessie and I hunted one down. We searched all over the Lawrence/Kansas City area for the perfect striped dog. I couldn't have a pitt bull because of all the stupid bans on them around here, so I went with a boxer. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. After weeks of searching, Jess and I were at an animal shelter in Ottawa, Ks looking at the dogs and there he was! It was like the heavens parted and a shining light was beaming upon us. Naw, for real though. He was a little bundle of love. He looked crazy and was tiny (for a boxer), with spots of fur missing from being malnourished and getting in fights. I got his balls chopped off and took him home to the duplex on Washington Street.

Tigger and I at the animal shelter

 The date on that picture is a lie. I got Tigger in the fall of 2007. My duplex had a big backyard, but no fence so his ass would get hooked to the leg of our raised patio. He would sit and cry and cry unless we would let him run free. I should have known that would be indicative of the rest of our life together. I tried to name him something super cool-- like Maximillion. Jessie called his stupid self Tigger because of his stripes and love of bouncing 6 feet in the air. Obviously, Tigger won that battle. He would only answer to this name, no matter what bribery I tried.

A lot happened in the first six months that I had Tigger. He played many a game of beer pong, ate many inedible items, destroyed a duplex, and had major surgery. Instead of telling you this all now, I will leave you with a few pictures of the start of our life together.

Tigger and my dad, Big T. can you tell it was love at first sight?

Tigger beign cray cray with his best friend, Butch

Tigger being mean to Butch and making him sleep with his face in his butt #alwaysclassy