In an effort to explain where the heck I've been and why the heck I've been denying the interwebs my voice, I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of the CrazyVirgo Family:
His name will be kept secret, as mine as Gentleman Lovers are, to protect his cuteness. We'll just call him The Throat Rippa, because he does have a sordid past, and while he looks like the sweetest, most perfect dog ever, it's just his cover. He will most certainly rip a muthafuckas throat if they test him.
We got this old man - 8 dog years = 56 human years - about a month ago from an animal "sanctuary" in SE Colorado. I use the word "sanctuary" loosely because TTR had a raging case of mange and nails that curled like FloJo. I'm sure the woman who ran the place had the best intentions in mind, saving the dogs from the gas chamber, but this place was no Motel 6. GL and I had been looking for the perfect dog for quite some time, and waddyaknow, we found him. The Throat Rippa has the greatest personality, instantly loved us, and was dying to escape his questionable life at the sanctuary. Basically, Gentleman Lover and I are The Drummonds and The Throat Rippa's life is DIfferen't Strokes. After a bath, a nail clip, a trip to the vet,a wad of cash, two weeks wearing a lampshade and taking antibiotics and Benadryll, he's finally a (semi)normal dog.
He'll hate me for this, but here's a pic of him in the lampshade:
To make a long story short and spare you the dirty details, The Throat Rippa was rippin' throats in Hutchison, Kansas, when the Po Po picked him up. Because he was determined to be nearly 8 years old, they figured no one would adopted him. Do they throw out old humans when they get too old?? I think not. Anyway, the TR was forced to live among common criminal dogs in a low-grade Kansas pound where he contracted mange - I'm guessing from either a one-nighter with a slutty poodle, or from gang bang with some pit bulls. He nearly gnawed off his paws, he was so itchy, so we had to keep this lampshade on him, much to his dismay.
Still, cutest dog on Earth.
I swear, I'm like a new mother with a camera. I have no less that 5 new pictures a day, A DAY people, of this adorable dog. The poor guy can barely take a #2 without me following him around with a camera. He doesn't have
much room to complain though. He's got it pretty good.
So far, we've learned that TTR's favorite hobby is sleeping, followed closely by eating. Much to our dismay, he's not really a fetcher. He has momentary spurts of energy where he'll chase a knotted rope, but really, he just likes sticking his nose under a pillow and getting in a few good, 6 or 7 hours of a nap. (see evidence to the right - on GL's lap & a vacation condo in Vail.)
Even though we didn't know TTR for the majority of his life, we can tell he was a good hunting beagle. On many a walk, GL and I have witnessed his hound skills. This Mofo will pick up a sent and let out a blood curdling howl to alert the hunter's - me or GL - that he's found.... a large tuft of grass. We have to assure the other dog guardians that he's not in any major pain, and that in fact, he's just exerting his reason for being. His howl is not your normal beagle howl, but rather, more like an old beagle with emphysema...very much a smoker's howl. He weezes from time to time, which sounds, as one onlooker so vividly put it, like he's hacking up a pine cone. Well, I didn't say he was normal, did I? It would be unlike GL and I to get a "normal" dog. And speaking of not normal, just like us, he has a very finicky palate. He won't eat just any old treat out of a bucket. He prefers carob chip and peanut butter dog bars or chicken and rice dog jerky, or crunchy vegetable and rice bites. Yes, our dog, though a previous vagrant, is no garbage hound.
So, devoted reader, this is what CV has been up to for the last month - mothering an old dog. I'm sure there will be much more to come TTR aka Cutest Beagle ever. Here's one for the road:
