The Smiler

If you have met Komrade Kirbamov in person, but not in the dog park or in the Old Folks' back yard, and you don't actually live Chez Nous, then you've probably never seen this before:


That's right, folks. He's a smiler and now I can finally prove it.

Isn't he handsome? Sometimes I think he's too handsome. We're not worthy. Maybe he needs to live with a family that is more handsome than us.

See the respectful way he averts his gaze so as not to challenge my dominance? The Old Woman says we have one good dog and one nice dog. Guess which one this is?

P.S. This is apparently post number 69. Snerk.

On the sofa

So I like to sit on the sofa and knit. And when it gets cold, I sit under my green blankie. On a really good day, Kirby helps me knit:


Yarn Bandit's idea of a good time on the sofa involves getting a belly rub:

Mmmmmm. That's nice. Here--let me lift my leg so you can reach that spot.

Oooooh yeah, that's it.


Thanks, The Man. You're the best.

And now you feel just a little dirty, don't you? I don't know how he does that. I'll sign off with a nice cleansing image to take the porny one out of your head:

Eight and Holding

Kirby has forgotten that he remembers how to jump. He tried once yesterday, but failed. Poor baby.

Kirby Learns

Folks, he has remembered that he can jump onto the sofa all by himself. He did it once on Friday, and THREE TIMES yesterday, for a total of 8 jumps lifetime. If he keeps this up, we'll lose count of how many jumps he's made.

Silly boy. When he wants up, he doesn't go directly for the jump. Instead, he does his little "give me a boost" dance for a while before it occurs to him to give it a try.

Send them Back

I am exhausted and my back is killing me. I was tired yesterday, so I went to bed early, listening to the patter of rain on the skylight. MMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Peaceful.



And them, WHUMP! Delivered unto me by one The Man is a K-Hole dumped unceremoniously on the bed. I shift a little, I feel Kirby settle into me, and I drift off to sleep.



Slowly, gradually, I become aware that all is not right. Yarn Bandit is also on the bed. And then I realize: THUNDERSTORM. I usually sleep through these on account of the hearing impairment. The Boys, however, hate HATE HATE thunderstorms. It turns out that Kirby was awakened by the thunder and tried to hide from it by scrabbling around under the bed, which woke up The Man. We know from experience that Kirby is not going to settle down during a storm unless he can seek refuge in Dirtbunny’s protection, so on the bed he went, and he settled down.
Tiki, I think, is worse about storms. He does not settle down. He climbed up on the bed and slowly, inch by inch, wormed his way between Kirby and Bunny. He did not lie down and curl up. He did not relax. He could not get close enough. I put him under the covers (but not the face! He doesn’t like the face under the covers.) and I put my arms around him, but he would not settle down. He just sat there and shook and trembled and drooled a little (Yum! That’s what you want dribbling on you when you are trying to sleep.) and kept trying to get closer to me by climbing on me by poking his claws and his little forearms into my flesh (arms, boobs, whatever happened to be there). Um, ouch. Tiki has no respect for boobs. Testicles, either, reports The Man.
After about three hours of this, the worst of the thunder passed over us and Tiki went back to his dog bed and went to sleep. Kirby, however, proceeded to hog the bed. I woke up a half dozen times with my body contorted uncomfortably around his lump of a body. And now my back is killing me.