Please Just Fu*king Pee: A Poem to My Dog

Not long ago I gifted a friend a copy of Adam Mansbach’s book, Go the Fuck to Sleep – a satirical children’s bedtime story that follows an exhausted dad who is trying to get his kid to go to bed. It’s hilarious and a must-read for parents.

The only thing with which I take issue is that it doesn’t land for those of us who have chosen to have dogs rather than kids. So for you fellow dog parents, especially those in urban areas with no yards, I submit my poem:

please just fucking pee

Please Just Fucking Pee

A love poem for my dog

By The Wiseass Wife:

I just got out of bed, and I’d like my morning tea,
It’s also kind of cold my darling, and I know you have to wee.

The clouds are looking grey, and all you’ve done is sniff that bee,
I didn’t put on my rain jacket, please just kindly pee.

The rain drops have started coming down, and you’re just licking them up with glee,
My hair is getting wet you dog, please just fucking pee.

I can hear the thunder booming, and you’re blatantly ignoring my plea,
How is it not scaring you? PLEASE, just fucking PEE!

We are both sopping wet now, and you’re just in a state of bliss,
My socks go “squish” with every step we take, PLEASE! Just take a piss!

Well now I see the lightning, and you refuse to cop a squat,
For the love of DOG, just take a pee, you stubborn little…pup.

My shoes that are now ruined, were more than your adoption fee,
You think the shelter will reimburse me? NO! Please just FUCKING pee!

It is now a torrential downpour, to the house I want to flee,
But no, Miss Take-Her-Sweet-Ass-Time, still refuses to pee.

We are going back to the house, you better follow me,
If it pleases the princess, on the way, maybe you’ll fucking pee.

Oh thank DOG, you’re circling around, this must mean you’ll go,
Sigh, forget it, false alarm, you’re rolling in dead crow.

Here’s our front door, it’s your last chance, I’m begging on bended knee,
Think of waterfalls and gushing fountains, and please just fucking pee.

Oh my DOG it’s finally happening, I see that yellow stream!
It’s a glorious golden puddle, surrounded by clouds of steam.

You are my darling dog, I want to let out a “WHOOP!”
Now let’s go back in the hou- crap. You still have to poop.


The Ferber Method: Letting Your Dog Bark it Out

I did something terrible to Olive the Renegade the other day, and I think sharing it will somehow make it seem less horrible than if I keep it to myself.

I yelled at her. Specifically, I screamed “Shut your whore mouth, Olive!”

I know – screaming at a 5 pound dog to shut her whore mouth is probably the equivalent of stealing candy from a baby and then slapping that baby. Although, your baby should not have had candy in the first place, she’s just a baby and you’re a terrible parent. I probably just saved your baby from a lifelong struggle with sugar addiction.

Back to Olive.

Olive has become increasingly more demanding. I blame myself for coddling her. I let her get away with terrible behavior that I would never let the bigger dogs get away with. She’s become an entitled, spoiled…..I’m just going to say it, asshole. She’s become an entitled little asshole. And I take 100% responsibility for this.

One of the ways she has been acting out recently is by barking non-stop if she is not getting attention. Like if we are in a different room and she can’t come in with us, she will bark. For a fucking hour straight, if she has to.

The Bad Seed

The Bad Seed

I remembered back to the research I had done when I decided to apply parenting techniques to deal with Violet the Screaming Dog’s issues with eating random crap off of the ground. I read about this Dr. Ferber guy who is a genius because he managed to turn being lazy into an official parenting method.

Basically, Dr. Ferber didn’t feel like getting up every single time his kid screamed, so he decided to ignore it until it stopped. He realized that this was a winning idea and was like, “Hey, I can just name this idea after myself and people will totally buy it because I’m a doctor and I will make a shit-ton of money” (not a direct quote).

So this guy essentially trademarked laziness and is hailed as a parenting genius because it is now an official parenting method that parents can point to when they don’t feel like changing their kids’ diapers every time it cries. He calls letting a baby cry it out until it goes hoarse and dehydrates itself, “self-soothing.”  All of these lazy  Ferby parents practice “Ferberizing” their kids, which means they let the baby scream its head off while they enjoy a glass of wine in front of the TV, as they fucking should. Parenting is hard work and they deserve a break. Screw that dramatic baby and all its screaming. Call its bluff.

Since learning about this guy, I am a devoted Ferby, and have been Ferberizing everything. When my husband asks me if I can help out by doing some laundry, I just ignore him until he gets angry, then I scream “SELF SOOTHE!!!”. When I go to yoga class and just sit on my yoga mat drinking wine out of my sippy cup, I ignore my instructor’s repeated requests for me to participate, and then when she orders me to leave class, I just whisper, “shhh shhh….self soothe”. This method works in virtually any situation. I encourage you to try it at work. Don’t do any work and ignore your manager’s requests to finish any projects that are due and, if he or she threatens to write you up, just calmly ask them to self-soothe.

Namaste Juice

Namaste Juice

I decided to Ferberize Olive when she started this new “barking for attention” act of hers, which has been surprisingly difficult. Adult dogs have WAY more stamina and staying power than newborn infants. I’m not a parent, but I would have to imagine that, at some point, the baby eventually stops screaming out of fear of popping a blood vessel in its eye, or at least loses its will to live and love, and just gives up and retreats into itself. Not a dog, no way. They are not gifted with any sort of rationale and, as it turns out, will bark for hours on end. Which makes Ferberizing them very difficult. But I’ve hung in there….until Sharon came.

Sharon is the back injury that I incurred earlier this week, and that bitch has had me on bed rest ever since. I named my back injury “Sharon” because it gives me a more tangible thing at which to be annoyed. But Sharon has also cost me my patience. The day after I first got Sharon, I was exhausted because I got virtually no sleep the night before, from all of the pain. So I was laying on the couch, in terrible pain, totally tired, and trying to sleep. I had just finally started to doze off, when Olive started one of her barking marathons.

“No…not this time…I can’t take it,” I pleaded with her. But she just kept on barking away, without a care in the world. After about 20 minutes, with her still barking strong, I said more firmly, “Olive! Today is NOT the day to do this, knock it off!”. She still kept going. 30 seconds later, it happened:


Olive stopped barking. I’m sure because my screaming startled her, but I was convinced it was because I had just damaged her psyche by calling her a whore. I felt so terrible that I hobbled out of bed and over to her, then picked her up and brought her on the couch with me. I was sure that letting her sleep with me would somehow rectify the terrible emotional abuse I had just inflicted upon her. Of course, on her end, it just looked like her incessant barking paid off. And so the cycle continues.

So there it is, my moment of weakness and terrible dog ownership. I’m still not sure if my harsh words will have any lasting effect on Olive. I don’t know if she will have a bright future as planned, or if she will end up on the pole. But I will forge ahead and try to control my hateful words in the future.

For the record, this Dr. Ferber has written nothing that I can find about how to recover after calling your baby a whore.

Taking Dogs Seriously: How to Apply Popular Parenting Techniques to Your Dog

My dog Violet the Screaming Dog has a game she likes to play on our walks. It’s called, “Oh God, What’s in My Hand!?”

It works like this:

We go for a walk, and I eventually look down to find that she is chewing on something. I shove my hand in her mouth to pull it out, and immediately think, “Oh God, what’s in my hand??”

I usually give her a firm “No!” when I see that she is about to eat some random item off of the ground, but it is clearly not dissuading her. I remembered back to my mom once telling me about this parenting style called “Taking Children Seriously,” (TCS) which believes that you shouldn’t make children do anything against their will, and asserts that most interactions with kids and parents are based on coercion.

Apparently there are online TCS parenting forums and they are full of parents who don’t believe in saying “no” to their kids. They post questions about how to “inspire” their kids to not do things, like play with knives or color on the walls (those are 100% true examples), without saying “the n-word.” (yes, to them, “No” is as bad as the real n-word)

So I thought maybe that is my problem, I am bullying Violet by saying “no,” and I have made her terrified of me. So much so that she is stress-eating random crap off of the ground. I need to just inspire her to make the right decisions.

So on our walk today I looked down and, as per usual, Violet was chewing on something. I pulled it out of her mouth and it was a freaking animal bone of some sort!!! I disgustedly threw it on the sidewalk and knelt down to Violet’s eye-level.

“Violet, honey, I’d like to encourage you to not eat random stuff that you find on the sidewalk. I would like for you to strive to be a lady, and to keep the values consistent with which we are teaching you. When you eat stuff off of the sidewalk, it reflects poorly on the family.”

Then I told her that I love her and gave her a hug because I’ve watched a lot of Super Nanny and that is what she says to do after a scolding, so I figured that it could not hurt.

Unidentifiable animal bone.

Unidentifiable animal bone.

After we got back to the house and were walking up the driveway, I noticed that she was chewing on something AGAIN! I stuck my hand in her mouth, yet again, and pulled out the same damn animal bone! We must have passed it on our way back and she sucked it right back up. I concluded that, while I was encouraging the first time, I was not inspirational enough.

I again got down on her level:

“Violet, honey, when you force mommy to stick her hand in your mouth and touch dead animal bones, you are exposing her to things like salmonella, e. coli, or worse, AIDS. I would love for you to be inspired to not give mommy AIDS”

Note: I know that I cannot get AIDS from a dead animal bone, but Violet doesn’t know that and I just didn’t feel that she was grasping the severity of the situation. I don’t think that lying to your dog technically counts as bullying so long as the lie is said in a loving and supportive manner.

We got back to the house and, like Super Nanny says to do, I put Violet in the Naughty Chair. But we don’t have a designated Naughty Chair, per se, so I just stuck her on the couch and reaffirmed that she was naughty.

Violet in timeout on the Naughty Couch

Violet in timeout on the Naughty Couch

I wasn’t sure how else to get the message across so I did some searching online and came across this Dr. Sears person who seems to be some sort of parenting expert. Dr. Sears gave an anecdote of his own kid misbehaving in the house, and when he noticed the poster on her bedroom wall that featured a kitten hanging from a branch with the saying, “Lord protect me from myself,” it reminded him that his kid just needed a change of environment.

I figured that bringing Violet inside from the walk was a change in environment, but I couldn’t be so sure since she doesn’t tend to eat things she is not supposed to once in the house anyway. I tested her by placing a bunch of shoes in a circle around her to see if she felt the urge to eat them, but she just stared at me kind of terrified like I was performing some kind of ritual. I finally just gave up, grabbed the cat and held him in the air screaming, “LORD PROTECT ME FROM MYSELF!!!” and flipped on the TV to watch Ellen.

And to her credit, Violet hasn’t eaten anything bad all day. She also hasn’t left the shoe circle.

Why You DON’T Want a Husband Who Does Dishes: Just Call My Husband Bambi

Calm-ass Husband is like a deer. I really should just start calling him “dear,” because it is far more accurate. Although those things are spelled two different ways, I suspect he won’t notice when I’m saying it.

Growing up in Western New York, you become quickly familiar with the fact that deer are everywhere and love nothing more than for you to hit them with your car.

Ok that is not true, but when deer get hit by a car it is because they often either ran right in front of it, or sometimes even right into it. It is the most annoying thing ever because you don’t WANT to hit the deer, but they often leave you with little choice. They get blinded and confused by your headlights or something, I don’t know. I just always assumed they were suicidal.

I liken CAH to a deer because, whenever I go into our rather small kitchen to make food, he immediately runs in to do dishes. So then we get stuck in this pattern of bumping into one another and completely being in each other’s way. I’ve pointed this out to him on numerous occasions, but much like a deer drawn to the headlights of a car, CAH is still drawn to dirty dishes only when I’m about to cook.

Sidebar: I am in no way perfect and I know that CAH has his annoyances. For example, I am terrible at recycling and he has tried to drill it into my head over and over, but he still ends up having to root through the trash for recyclables, and vice versa. It got worse when we started having to keep our trash in the garage because one of our dogs developed a trash-diving habit. I just started throwing everything into the recycling can, which was still in our kitchen. Then I decided to actually try to recycle, and that didn’t go well:

CAH: Did you put a pine cone in recycling??
WAW: Yeah, that’s not recyclable?
CAH: What makes you think a pine cone is recyclable??
WAW: Because it’s like wood? And paper is made out of wood and paper is recyclable!
CAH: Where did you even find a pine cone in the house??
WAW: Under a chair, it must have rolled there when we were taking down the Christmas decorations.
CAH: And why would you not just toss it over the side of the balcony, to the wooded area below where there are other pine cones??
WAW: Because recycling was closer and I’m trying to recycle more!


And just so you don’t think I am a terrible wife for calling him out here publicly with his whole “Deer in the Headlights” act, he totally called out my pine cone recycling on Facebook:

wiseass wife

I know what you are thinking, “But your husband DOES DISHES – why are you complaining??”. I guess I am not complaining about the fact that he does dishes so much as his poor timing. I mean, if you know I’m going to be in the kitchen, do the dishes before or after, for the love of PETE!

But recently I drew the line!

I have a weekend morning ritual that is important to me. I wake up and take “my dogs” (AKA Violet the Screaming Dog, and Olive the Renegade) upstairs with me to have coffee and waste a few hours on Pinterest, while CAH gets to have some extra cuddle time with “his” dog, Dexter the Doberman.


This ritual is especially exciting now that I have my big-ass coffee cup that I found at Ikea:

Olive the Renegade terrified that she's going to be taken out by a huge cup of coffee

Olive the Renegade terrified that she’s going to be taken out by a huge cup of coffee

But I was OUT OF COFFEE! There was a tiny little bit left, which I was able to make with a little french press coffee cup that CAH bought me, but it was nowhere near the half-gallon of coffee my Ikea cup could hold.

I managed to talk CAH into running to the store to buy me some more coffee (I didn’t want to put on pants) and I impatiently waited for him to get back. Then when he did, I excitedly ran into the kitchen to make my coffee – at which point CAH decided it was the perfect time to unload the fucking dishwasher.

Dejected, I sighed and returned to the couch and waited for him to finish. He also apparently felt it a good time to wipe down the counters. I swear he does this shit on purpose. Probably to get me back for the pine cone incident.

So he finally leaves the kitchen and I make my coffee and pour it into my big-ass mug and walk back to the couch. Only, in my attempt to find space on the coffee table for the big-ass mug, I knocked over the little french press mug and got coffee grounds all over the rug. CAH immediately let out a grumble and went to go get the rug cleaner. Upon his return to clean the carpet, I decided it was the perfect time to light the new oil that I bought during my Dollar Tree Haul, which put me squarely in the way of CAH cleaning up the spilled coffee grounds.

“I just want you to smell this new oil I bought, it’s so pretty,” I said, flashing my best, “sorry I spilled coffee on the rug” smile.

He just slowly nodded at me, staying quiet, like he was questioning some of his life decisions. I don’t think he even got the irony that I was now the deer in his headlights.

Sorry My Dog is Screaming At You, But Did You Notice Her Crap Smells Like Flowers?

My dog Violet is pretty ladylike. After all, her full name is Violet Josephine Rose – which is a pretty tall order for a dog, but she totally lives up to it. She even watches Downton Abbey. I’m not even lying, look:

Her Dogship is a proud supporter of PBS

Her Dogship is a proud supporter of PBS

I’m not sure why she is so into the show, but she seriously sits there and watches it. I even took to calling her “Your Dogship,” like how Lord Crawley calls Lady Crawley “Your Ladyship,” but I stopped because I was worried she’d misunderstand me and think I was saying “you’re dog shit” and get a complex. Or she’d just think I’m totally dumb because saying “you’re dog shit” to a dog is a little redundant. All I’d really have to say is, “you’re shit” and she’d get it.

There are exactly two circumstances in this world that make my dog stop being a lady:

1) When she sees other dogs from far away
2) When she craps

Some may remember that I mentioned how I got her a bunch of pink poop bags at the Dollar Tree. What I may not have mentioned is that those pink poop bags are flower-scented. Which, of course they are? Why not? If you are going to wrap dog crap in pink, it may as well be floral-scented pink.

For the refined dog, nothing but pink will do

For the refined dog, nothing but pink will do

It is actually quite nice because Violet loves to crap. A LOT. Like – an abnormal amount. It doesn’t matter how much, or what, we feed her. The foster home who had her before we adopted her warned us, and was like, “She poops a lot.” And we were like, “Huh? That’s weird, dogs just poop.”

Not Violet. She poops recreationally.

the wiseass wife

Some dogs like agility, some dogs like to herd, and Violet likes to poop. She’ll poop only once if she HAS to, but if we are on extended walk, she will cheerfully poop two or three times, all over everything: bark, flowers, rosemary bushes. I’m not even lying, I once saw her back up and take aim for a bee. I swear she was trying to shit on that bee! I don’t know what bees have ever done to her, but she hates them as a whole and has launched some sort of mass bee extermination campaign by launching crap-bombs squarely at them.

the wiseass wife

And she doesn’t just hunker down and crap, like she’s getting down to business. She hunches over to poop, and then will take time to sniff the breeze as it passes by her nostrils. Or if it’s raining, she will briefly stick out her tongue to taste a raindrop or two.

Look, it’s just her thing. Don’t judge her for it, don’t make her feel weird. Like your dog’s sooooo perfect.

I <3 Violet, Violet <3's shitting on bees

I ❤ Violet, Violet <3’s shitting on bees

Violet also screams a piercing, horrifying scream if she sees another dog and can’t immediately greet it. Like if the dog is far away, but not coming near her, she emits this sound that is halfway between a drowning gurgle and a rape whistle. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure how a sound like that is physically possible. And others, who do not know her so don’t understand that she is normally a very sweet and loving dog, understandably look on in complete terror when they witness it.

And when we call out to them, “It’s just because she can’t greet your dog, if you’d only come a little closer and let her sniff your dog, she’ll stop screaming,” they look at us like we are bat-shit insane and are secretly plotting to make their dog fall victim to our weird dog and her gurgly battle cry. It probably doesn’t help that we are laughing the whole time. To us, it’s a nervous sort of, “Sorry, we know a screaming dog is unsettling” kind of laugh. To them, it probably just makes us look maniacal. So then we just kind of shrug our shoulders at them like, “Eh, screaming dogs – whaddya gonna do?” and they look at us like, “Please don’t ever come back to this neighborhood with your crazy screaming dog.”

One of these days I’m just going to scream back at them, “Oh yeah? Well MY dog sits down and watches Downton Abbey, like a fucking lady, so WHO’S CRAZY NOW?!?!”

heart to heart

heart to heart