*Please note I said “my mom’s dog” and not “my” dog. Even though we no longer live together, I still consider Chauncey to be “my” dog when he’s cute or does something cool like show off how he knows the names of all 4,396 toys he has. But when he does something like fall over when peeing because he lifted his leg too high or exhibits characteristics of a serial killer, he becomes my mom’s dog.
This is the text my mom sent me the other night:
Chauncey just flung Bumble and his little arm flew off. Bumble’s arm, not Chauncey’s. He still has all his arms and legs.
Apparently Chauncey got a wee bit wild with Bumble and with a vicious shake of his head, sent Bumble one way and his little arm across the room in the opposite direction.
Bumble was immediately prepped for surgery, and I’m happy to report that he pulled through like a champ. Despite the fact that his right appendage is now a little bit shorter than his left, he’s back to business as usual.
But if you will recall, this is not the first time that a certain member of the toy family has lost a limb at the jaws of this 13-pound beast.
Monka was once a thriving member of pet toy society with rope arms and legs for casual play. Unfortunately, Monka became “Bob-a-Monka” when ALL FOUR OF HIS LIMBS were ripped off his body and unable to be reattached, due to the fact they were ropes and not solid limbs.
Because of patient privacy issues I didn’t take pictures of the other victims—Hippo, Stinkin’ Squirrel, Tiger—but my mom does have a cupboard in which she keeps the animals who are currently awaiting their transplants.
Where did we go wrong?
Perhaps he learned this behavior from Wendell, the one-toothed wonder cat with a crooked crotch (may she RIP,) as she used to bat flies around on the window sill and then leave them there, bored when they gave up the fight.
Or maybe these rages are being fueled in an effort compensate for the fact that certain parts of his own manhood have been ripped off, if you know what I mean.
But despite the disturbing rate at which his toy’s limbs are falling off, I suppose I won’t worry until he starts cutting out letters from old magazines and sending ransom notes. Considering he also finds delight in eating rabbit poop and can be distracted by the jingle of his leash, I think we’re pretty safe.
And if you feel so compelled, feel free to send Bumble’s get well cards and cash donations directly to me.
I’ll make sure that he gets them, of course.
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Abby Has Issues 
Oh gosh, it’s even funnier that your mom sent you that in a text and that’s how you discovered this tragedy.
It seems like your dog and my new friend Quack the Ripper would get along nicely.
Bob-a-monka – love it! And I so love Bumble. Luckily, I love dogs more, so I’m going to give him a pass on that.
I’ll give Gordon a pass for his floor laps under the bed. He’s just extra motivated to slim down for summer.
hahah what a twisted pup!
Love this! We’ve had quite a few injuries sustained amongst Wendy’s group of toys. And yes, I also have a trunk full of those waiting for surgery. Only one fatality so far – a toy with a rope middle that could not be saved.
What is it with the ropes? Sigh…poor little guys. They did their job well 😉
So true. Forgot to mention we also have a Bumble. So far he’s survived – limbs intact. She also has a Rudolph who has received minor flesh wounds. He’s currently in hiding.
Aww, this post made me smile. But be on the lookout for little composition books with doggy scratch talking about how someone threw up on him on the bus and all he could do was laugh. Then you KNOW he’s a serial killer. (I have watched the movie Se7en about 100 times. I must apologize.)
Cooper gets increasingly large stuffed toys for various and sundry gifts/guilt trips, and every.single.one. is disemboweled (depolyfilled?) within hours. The “carcasses”, however, hang around for MONTHS. We’re still working on a monkey from Christmas. It no longer has *features*, let alone limbs, and is just sort of a big long rag SLASH challenge in just how torn apart a stuffy carcass can get while remaining in (mostly) one piece, but good lord.
I’ve tried just throwing them all away and being done with it all, but without a “lovey”, he pouts. and Pouts. and POUTS. Really, it’s best for everyone that at least one carcass be in rotation.
PS, I LOVE that he’s “your” dog when he’s cute/normal, and your mom’s dog when he’s gross/creepy/dense. Around my house, it’s just either “Cooper” or “Nasty Little Dog”, depending. (On my mom’s part, I mean.)
Are there dog penitentaries? I think a bit of time in the bad dog big house would straighten this violent streak out. In the meantime, tell your mom to sleep with one eye open.
I had a similar traumatic experience with a Marvin the Martian I got, and then had to give to my bff’s dog because she (dog) gave me those doe eyes. A few days later, I came home from work to find one of my favorite childhood characters dismembered and scattered about the living room. How could she? She seemed so sweet!
I’m not a dog person, as you know, and so I don’t have any similar tales to tell.
My cat, however, likes to ‘hunt’ things in the house, such as bottle tops and hair-ties. In fact, the other day, she ‘hunted’ a hair-tie all damn day, and then promptly ate it (I think). She spent that same evening wretching and making strange guttural noises. She’s ok now (I think).
Your mother’s text about “her dog” was freakin’ priceless! And I loved the story about the cat swatting the flies. It reminds me of a cat friend of mine who kept dunking a poor mouse in a bucket of ice cold water (long, convoluted tale of how the mouse got into the bucket to begin with)–LOL.
Oh no, a serial chewer of limbs. Beware!
One of my dogs, Ed, I’m pretty sure had to provide his own meals in the wilds of rural Georgia state. Now that he’s spoiled in a home, when he plays with squeaky toys, he pins them to the ground and slowly squeezes them between his jaws and they let out a slow, miserable squeak. It’s quite disturbing.
I loved this. I certainly believe the rights of toys to a dignified and safe home life should be enshrined in some kind of law. Your mothers dog sounds like a riot, even when he isn’t causing one
I have two candy asses for pets. Buddy the golden retriever and Monki the tabby cat are so soft they can even break their toys.
Im thinking Chauncey just doesn’t like arms. I mean the toys can “live” w/out arms. If he starts ripping heads off THEN we’re talking about giving Chauncey a middle name and addressing him in media reports as Chauncey Lee Smith or whatever.
HAHAHAHA. Hilarious post. I have the asshole cat and the indifferent fish. I’m fairly certain the asshole cat is plotting my death as we speak. And I’ve long suspected the indifferent fish is searching for a sea-hag so he can make a wish to walk on land and leave me forever.
This is why we can’t leave stuffed toys out for the dogs. Inevitably, a limb will be off in no time. So, I have a stack of toys sitting on top of the armoire in the office that never get play time. It requires too much supervision on my part. Plus, I still have a dog bed cover that needs to be patched from last year sitting in my sewing room. And, I have a sewing room!
Omigosh, I love the names of your pets. Chauncey is cute, but Wendall is awesome, as is Uncle June. I know he’s not a pet, but…he’s close enough. I laughed out loud at the thought of your dog falling over because he lifted his leg too high to pee. Ha!
OH! Thanks for linking up with us over at #findingthefunny this week!
Wendell was actually a girl, but because we found her in the ghetto, we named her after the bum in the “Mr Wendell” song from 20 years ago. I know, I know…it was popular-ish at the time and it fit 😉