I hate it when people who are faced with a stinky situation say, “Just breathe through your mouth!”
Um. No thanks. I’d rather smell the foul stench than taste it if it’s all the same to you.
If you know Tim and me at all, you know we couldn’t let Ben’s 21st (in dog years) birthday pass without the obligatory pictures of Ben and Booze.
(And before you go all OMG UR PRESHUS DOG HOW COULD U KILL HIM WITH ALCOHOL?!?! let me assure you that Ben consumed no more than 5 licks of actual alcohol. He is a 20-pound dog — there’s no way we’d actually allow him to get shit-faced drunk. I mean, come on people. We clean up enough of his puke already — there’s no way we’re going to do something that will require us to clean up even more dog vomit.)
Here’s the one picture we got of Ben looking happy about having a beer. Our theory is that he didn’t realize how close he was to an actual Beer Bottle of Doom.
Because, in real life, Ben is deathly afraid of beer bottles. Absolutely terrified.
See how he very cautiously backs away in an attempt to escape the Beer Bottle of Doom and the tiny dish of beer without turning his back and allowing an opportunity for a sneak attack?
Yeah, we definitely don’t need to worry about our little boy developing a drinking problem. Beer, as you can see, is Icky.
The (miniscule) remnants of Aleisha’s (watered-down with melted ice) Tequila Rose, on the other hand …
Holy cow that stuff is yummy! Aleisha put her all-but empty glass on the floor when she finished her drink, and we put it out of puppy-reach immediately after we caught Ben sneaking a taste.
(Well, okay, not immediately. We did actually encourage him to have another taste while I whipped out the camera. But then we definitely took it away. For real this time.)
Ben was just as excited to celebrate the morning today (You Guys! It’s Morning! I’m So Happy!Isn’t It Exciting?! I Love Morning!) as he has been every other day of his life, so it’s safe to assume he is the only being in recorded history to have woken up hangover-free after partying it up on his 21st.
Happy birthday, buddy boy! I hope you enjoyed that Tequila Rose while you could, because we are Good Dog Parents who will never give their dog even the tiniest taste of alcohol ever again. (Unless, you know, it could create a good photo-op for your Mom’s blog. Then we totally will.)
This week’s Wednesday-Bensday! was pushed back to today because…
Today is Ben’s birthday!!!
Our little boy is 3 today. THREE!!! Can you believe it? He’s growing up so fast! But not so fast that he’s above giving lots of kisses.
I don’t think he’ll ever grow out of the kisses. Ben is a dog who loves to give kisses. In fact, sometimes we even have to say “enough with the kisses already, Ben!” And then a few minutes later he’ll be giving more kisses to make sure we know how much he loves us.
Of course, you know what this means, don’t you? He’s three. Which, in dog years, means he’s 21. If he’s so eager to hand out kisses sober, I shudder to think what a lip slut he’ll be after a few drinks!
So get your butts on over there and vote for her already!
IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: This week’s edition of Wednesday-Bensday! will appear on Thursday. Please set your browsers accordingly.
Since we don’t have Ben pictures for today, how about a story that’s kind of related to Ben?
Last night, while reading a story my dad wrote, I found myself reflecting on what great talent my dad has always had for keeping us laughing. He is a wonderful storyteller — he’s creative, he’s witty, and his voice, as it comes through both his written and verbal anecdotes, is superb.
He’s always thinking on his feet. You can be having just about any conversation with my dad, and, without fail, he’ll interject with some clever comment — a funny acronym that he’s just made up or some witty one-liner that you never would have thought of — that ties in perfectly with the topic at hand. And before you know it, you’ll be struggling to swallow your wine before it comes spraying out your nose.
In my family, we have learned to time our
wine drinking carefully when my dad is around.
Several weeks ago, I was on the phone with my parents telling them about a recent hike we had taken that had left the three of us — Tim, Ben, and myself — covered in mud. When I mentioned that as soon as we’d arrived home we’d thrown our shoes and the dog in the washing machine and tub respectively, my dad quickly shot back with what, to this day, Tim holds in high regard as my dad’s best joke of the year.
“Oh, you didn’t just throw Ben in the washing machine, too?” My dad asked. Then, a moment later: “That’s probably for the best; I bet Ben gets less agitated in the bath tub.”