The Russians Interfered With My Dog’s Mayoral Campaign (and I couldn’t even make this up if I tried)

To say I have had a weird summer so far is a gross understatement of the situation at hand. My summer has been so strange, with odd events, weird injuries, and zany outcomes, I’m sort of just hanging on to anything not moving to ride this out for the last couple of weeks.

One such absurdity was that my town had a campaign for dog mayor.

And then it didn’t, because the Russians interfered.

It started innocently, one day in June. My husband was reading the local paper before heading out to work, and he saw that the city was having a campaign for Dog Mayor as a fundraiser for the local dog parks. Sounded like a good idea, and it seemed like a good opportunity to get my kids to take the dogs out more.

It was $25 to file, and you needed to run a normal campaign with flyers and appearances at designated candidate events (located, conveniently, at the dog park down the street from our house).

At the first candidate event, not many dogs had entered yet; so we were surprised when the voting opened and there were over 10 dogs on the roster. Some were cute, many were former shelter dogs (like mine), but one stood out as unique, in the sense that she looked exactly like my dog, and the owner was willing to match dollar-for-dollar any donations people made to the SPCA through the course of the campaign. It seemed a pretty extreme commitment from our middle class community, but I quickly forgot about it and focused my efforts on my own dog’s campaign.

We made a website, and started getting flyers going. She started making appearances in a red-white-and-blue bandana. And I started to solicit votes from people we knew.

Quickly the unique one, the one that stood out to me when the voting kicked off, took the lead with almost 800 votes. 800. EIGHT HUNDRED. Despondent, with only about 60 votes, I told my kids we needed to start preparing for the worst, but hoping for a good appearance at the next candidate event this coming weekend.

Then, yesterday, I saw a comment on the Facebook voting event that struck my attention for the fact that it was typed in all caps. The gist of the comment was that the family that owned the top dog was from Russia, and as such had solicited votes from their own social network, many of whom resided in Russia. I responded to the comment and asked if this was for real, and the man replied “YOU WILL SEE!”

I immediately dismissed it as crazy.

Today we were on our way home from running errands, and my phone rang from a number I didn’t recognize. Naturally, I didn’t answer; and I’m glad I didn’t. The message was the coordinator of the mayoral dog race, and she was letting me know that in my email was a letter to be read immediately regarding the cancelation of the election.

In short: the crazy, all caps contention that the Russians were hacking the dog mayor election was true.

Not only had votes been solicited from outside of the region, which was entirely against the rules, but the back-and-forth online arguing between the top dog and the crazy commenter had apparently continued to the point that the city decided to pull the plug on the whole thing.

It’s so bizarre to think that the Russians interfered in a race for dog mayor in a two bit hillbilly city such as my own, and yet – if we are going to be honest about what technically happened, here – they did.

Which doesn’t make much of a difference to me, because even if they had just disqualified that dog, mine was still all the way down in 4th place. There was no way she was going to win, which was probably a blessing in disguise because at the prior candidate events, she wasn’t exactly polite to the other dogs.

I can’t help but wonder if this is actually what the bigger Russian hacking conspiracy was all about. Infiltrating all these tiny little things to create a bigger, societal problem and certain level of unrest.

Whatever the case may be, it was the weird turn of events I could have never imagined happening in my local-yocal suburb.

Summer, amiright?

My Name Is Heather, and I’m Addicted To My Dog

Dog

My dog and I have a disturbing relationship.

We have best friends necklaces. Like real…best…friends…necklaces. Her half is on her collar. Mine is on a chain I wear around my neck. Both have the “in case I’ve been found” number on the back.

I routinely and out of nowhere break out into serenades to my dog. None of them really make much sense, but they’re often to the melody of either Moon River or Lady In Red.

When my dog climbs onto my lap, the first thing I always do is put my face in front of hers and ask “can you make sure my nose is wet?” Because you know, I sort of think I’m of the canine variety too. Well at least I started thinking that when we adopted our dog (two years ago).

For Christmas I gave my dog a heated pad to lay on and an expensive fountain. For her birthday (February 1st) I got her no less than seven toys. And I wrapped them. In a gift bag. Covered in dogs.

Then I apologized to her for making a mockery of her kind out of gift wrap.

For Valentine’s Day, my dog got me a card and a new paper towel holder. The card said she woofed me. I spent the next three days shouting “YOU ARE MY VALENTINE” every time she came into the room.

I’ve written about my dog on this very blog at least three times. I’ve never painted or drawn my dog, but that’s just because I see these drawings and paintings all the time of dogs in pajamas and I’m afraid mine would turn out like that.

That being said, I have photographed my dog 283 times. This year.

When I get a glass of water for myself, I share it with my dog. Actually, we’ve gotten to the point where she just leans over and helps herself without even having been offered any. Same goes for my food. The other day I was about to eat some cheese and crackers. I got up to get a glass of water for us to share. When I came back she had eaten exactly her half of the cheese and crackers off the plate. Exactly. No more, no less. I mean it was originally just for me, but she and I both knew I’d be sharing in the end.

My husband and children are absolutely disgusted by my relationship with my dog. Like grossed out. Like “GOOD GOD WHY NOT JUST RUN AWAY WITH HER” horrified with our love.

So I have two kids: 12, and 8. My husband and I don’t go out on date nights, but were we to we wouldn’t be missed by the children. And to be fair, we probably wouldn’t miss them much either. But the reason why we don’t go on date nights is because when we leave the house I whine about how much I miss the dog within five minutes.

I have Skyped her while out.

I could go on, but I think you guys get the point. I’m addicted to my dog. Obsessed with her to a level that is probably unhealthy.

But you know they keep saying in the news that such and such a study says dogs are good for people, and prolongs the owners’ lives and shit, so I’m sticking with that as enabling my addiction.

I think it all boils down to the simple fact that my dog tolerates me. She doesn’t talk back. She likes to cuddle and watch Netflix, rather than do things like chores and run endless errands to Home Depot. When I get home she’s happy to see me, which I can’t say the same for the rest of these people. And she accepts me for who I am, or at least I think she does.

It probably would have been more appropriate to just refer to this as my dog update, because the crux of all my other posts about my sweet Amelia have been along the same vein. She is a drug I cannot kick. A drug of wet noses, sloppy kisses, long days of napping and playing with a ball. I figure that as long as I allow myself to be addicted and officially obsessed with her, I can live the fanciful life of a dog too. Because really, who doesn’t accept that a dog’s life is the best of all possible lives?

 

 

I Have Another Baby, and This One Is My Favorite

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If you are a close and personal friend, or you follow me on any number of my social media outlets (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest – I’m a bit of an Internet whore), then you know I got a dog roughly two months ago. You would know this because my dog is basically all I’ve talked and posted about since bringing her home from the shelter.

I’m like a new parent. You know them, maybe you are one of them. Constant talking about your new baby. Every discussion leads back to your philosophies as a parent. Suddenly you are an expert at everything related to babies and kids, and by the way you are also the first person on the planet – apparently – to have one. At least thirty Instagram photos of the precious, new baby daily.

Only with me (this time), all this stuff is happening over a dog.

Today when the worm head from her tape worm finally came out as she shat in the living room, because she’s a puppy and completely un-potty trained; as I inspected the worm head in both horror and intrigue, I even considered posting a photo of it to Facebook. You know, to get back at all my friends that share photographs of dirty baby diapers, and exploding baby butts. Or because I was proud. Also because I wanted to discuss the efficacy of our deworming pill of choice.

You see what I mean?

1797629_743115439093_1755179033319100415_nWhen I say I have a new dog, and by that we’re talking about a puppy; I mean I feel like I have a new baby, as I said as though I’m a new parent. This creature; this new entity; my newest little-bitty baby is my favorite of all the people in our house that I am responsible for. This includes, but is not limited to, my husband.

You know kids always ask their parents “who is your favorite,” and you’re supposed to say “I love you equally,” or “you’re all my favorite?” None of that bullshit here. My favorite is the dog.

Everyone’s just going to have to wrap their heads around it, because that shit is not going to change.

Here are some details to help you understand how I came to this conclusion:

She’s about one. She’s a shelter dog – because really, who buys bred dogs anymore? – and she was likely attacked before being brought to the shelter, as evidenced by her utter fear and terror of other dogs. So basically she’s a new baby. A needy, new baby.

I’m a big needer of others in need.

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We named her Melia. It’s short for Amelia Earhart, the pilot. I am the only one allowed to refer to her as Amelia.

When she came home from the shelter, she basically sat on my lap and slept the entire first two days. Shelters can be pretty exhausting, and she seemed to be really overwhelmed; so for two days she slept on my lap. I even considered buying a baby carrier so I could get some shit done.

Maybe this was a ploy to wrap me around her little paw. If so, it worked.

When we take her out, she always comes in smelling like oregano and rosemary. There are no oregano or rosemary plants outside, and the bushes don’t smell like anything particular. But somehow, it happens every time.

Those happen to be my two, favorite seasonings.

I bought her a bed for every room in the house. That way she’d have a place wherever she was comfortable – I mean, our house is pretty big, and I didn’t want her to feel as though she was left alone. So she got three beds.

And yet she sleeps in my bed. Either under the covers at the foot, or on my husband’s stomach. It’s something he’s learned to deal with.

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Melia is a Norfolk Terrier, so she’s pretty tiny. She weighs about 8 pounds, and I say “about” because she’s filled out since we first brought her home. So she may be more. This might be a good time to mention that I make her dog food from scratch. Every two or three weeks, a big batch goes in the crockpot and is frozen in separate baggies.

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I am that pet parent.

Above everything, though, she is a very good dog. She listens and is obedient. She comes with me just about everywhere, and is polite and quiet. She rarely barks. She never bites, unless she’s trying to play which is a nip and she’s just about beyond that.

In fact, the only nipping she does anymore is when she bites me in the ass to try and get me to play with her. Literally. In my ass. She might be trying to tell me something, though…

So basically: besides the biting my in my ass thing, she’s much nicer to me than everyone else in this family.

10473115_750085740553_243068384676887694_nWhy Amelia is my favorite of all these people around here, though, is that she – as is the case with many other dogs  – seems to be more in touch with human emotions than even some humans are. When I am happy, she plays. When I am sad, she sits on my lap and doesn’t leave my side. If I am in need of snuggles because I had a bad day, she just so happens to nuzzle her wet nose in my neck, falling asleep like an actual, little baby.

My husband never nuzzles his wet nose in my neck when I’ve had a bad day.

Perhaps it is just a coincidence, or – again – nothing more than a dog manipulation device. Inside her tiny, quiet, little head she’s calculating just how far she needs to go to get exactly what she wants. How to get me in the palm of her paw, permanently. Some people would argue that. I, on the other hand, can’t fathom such a thought.

 

Things I Would Rather Do Than See Another Buddies Movie #SuperBuddies #SuperBuddiesParty #KillMeNow

Last night I was just sitting on the couch, minding my own goddamned business. I seriously wasn’t doing anything but sitting. I don’t often do this, but we just moved and we have a lot of stressful things going on in life right now; so I thought a moment to just sit and relax would do me well.

Just to breath.

Then my husband came home and was all hyper and crazy, like he usually is. He can’t sit still without acting mopey – he always wants to “get stuff done,” which I have come to the conclusion is a rouse to avoid me. So he came home and was all antsy, and he was on the verge of killing my relaxation buzz when suddenly a huge vortex opened in the middle of his face and spewed forth the beginning of the destruction of all mankind:

“Hey, did you hear there’s a new Buddies movie coming out? Super Buddies, or something like that.”

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Is that franchise ever going to stop? Did they not learn their lesson with the flop that was DocBrownTreasure Buddies? Have they not stretched the limits enough with the outlandish and completely unrealistic story lines? Did they not kill history in that space episode, when the dogs decide to take a fucking detour to the moon and then moonwalk and then make that comment about ‘a giant leap for dogkind’? HAVE THEY NOT PERVERTED SOCIETY ENOUGH BY FOREVER TARNISHING OUR IMAGE OF DOCTOR EMMETT BROWN?

You can all see I feel quite passionate about this issue. Well if you had seen all of the direct-to-video Buddies movies so many times that you have nightmares in which the script of each movie plays out word-for-word because it is so deeply imbedded in your subconscious – you would feel passionate about it too.

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#1

Have An Affair With A Vegan Hipster

There is nothing more unattractive than a vegan hipster. A vegan hipster male that is so unshaven that he has a full coat of hair on his shoulders and back. A vegan hipster that believes in using all natural soaps and deodorants, so much so that he smells like a cross between baking soda, patchouli, your grandmother’s crotch rot, and cut-renching body odor. A vegan hipster that does nothing but talk ad nauseum about his veganism and what that means for his bowel movements. A vegan hipster that works at the local Urban Outfitters, where he sells fashionable muscle shirts, spends his day grooming his foo manchu mustache, listening to Pitchfork, and pretending like living in his parent’s basement is a personal choice.

I would rather have an affair with that man than see another Buddies movie.

#2

Immerse Myself In Hillbilly Society

1175607_196414167198187_1631395930_nYou all know my feelings about hillbillies, but really there isn’t much wrong with them when they are kept at a distance. Being in their element is another thing.

I would rather immerse myself in hillbilly society than see another Buddies movie.

I would rather BBQ on a grill made out of an old toilet. I would rather marry my cousin and wear overalls and flannel shirts and have nineteen children. My children’s names would be Bobby Jo, Billy Jean, Tommy Steve, Jack, Randy, Ron, Phyllis, Baby Sue, Lura, Tracy, Tracy Mae (because we forgot we already had a kid named Tracy), Nancine, Tammy Rae, Sally Bo, Cletis, Kimmy Dean, Donald Dick, Baby, and Maximillian T Stone. Because we wanted to give our youngest a classy-like name.

#3

I Would Rather Lick My Husband’s Rotting Feet

Sorry if this offends anyone. Especially Poor Nick.

But I would rather lick my husband’s rotting feet than see another Buddies movie.

My husband’s feet are so gross. He always gets offended when I say that, which is crazy because I don’t mean it as an insult. I just mean to be honest. The problem is that he has an emotional attachment to literally everything that he owns, including his rotting, old socks and his rotten, stinking shoes. He has these flip flops that are over 10 years old and falling apart. He comes home from work and there are pieces of sweaty, black rubber all over this feet.

This all leads to foot fungus, which makes the smell. The smell that seems to permeate everywhere. Sometimes it smells like vinegar, other times it smells like a sweaty locker room. A sweaty locker room that hasn’t been cleaned in over a decade.

I would rather lick those.

#4

I Would Rather Go Hunting With Dick Cheney

Do you guys remember when our evil leader and overlord “accidentally” shot another human being while on a hunting trip? Yeah. I would rather go hunting with him and risk it than see another Buddies movie.

#5

I Would Rather Do A Video Blog Nude

I would rather that video blog go viral, unlike any of the other video blogs I have ever done.

#6

I Would Rather All Of My Remaining Meals On This Earth Consist Of Only The Following:

Filet O Fish. McFish. Fish sticks. And Long John Silver’s Cajun Classic.

By the way, I hate fish and am allergic to 75% of them.

At some point, I have to ask just what the fuck is the deal with the talking dog movies? I get it that kids learn and thrive from the maximum amount of imagination. I understand that they identify with these fantastical experiences and expectations, that movies with talking animals help facilitate. But in all seriousness: at some point it’s gone too far. When The Dog That Saved Christmas has very little to do with dogs, or Cinnamon is really just a Lifetime movie about a divorcee and widow falling in love, told through the eyes of a dog, I think we’re starting to maybe go too far. And the Buddies going into fucking outer space, or obtaining super powers and interacting with aliens. Well, that’s just absurd.

Now before we all activate our emergency cyanide tablets before being forced to view another one of the terribly boring, horrifically unrealistic Buddies franchise films, click on this fabulous photo of the Super Buddies-induced Armageddon to watch a hilarious synopsis of the film.

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