But before we do anything, we’re taking the week off for some fun.  We’ll be back next week with plenty of  adventures and mastication tales.

Bonne Année!

I’m not much of a holiday person. In fact, it wouldn’t be a stretch to call me Scrooge or Grinch on the holidays.  

I roll my eyes every time I see ridiculously overly decorated homes. I don’t put up a tree, but I’ll decorate the house a bit with lights, holiday colors and candles. 

Rather than run around rushing to get things decorated, cards sent and gifts piled and wrapped, I keep things pretty simple and try to stay grounded rather than rushed and exasperated.

Instead of a tree, I’ll find some fun flowers and fill our rooms with a few bouquets of holiday inspired flowers. Not to mention they are a heck of a lot easier to take down and toss away over any tree.

While I don’t fuss over a lot of decorations, I do like gifts. Who wouldn’t? Even Buddha gets on his holiday cheer as a stocking holder.

 ”Hm. I detect a fat guy was here. He smells like a bottle of Cote de Rhone.” 

It seems Santa runs his operation on a 3-strike policy. Juno had two strikes going into Christmas week: another trashcan mishap and stealing and consuming a whole frozen 500 gram meat sausage. It seems she made it by the hair of her chinny-chin-chin.

“Well Santa certainly has good taste in gifts and nommys. This is a whole basted ham bone!”

“I got one too Princess!”
I guess Santa wasn’t too pissed off at Loki’s recent holiday indignities: peeing on Frosty and barking at Pere Noel.

“That was so not Pere Noel Mom.  I had to make sure he wasn’t impersonating the real dude like that Grinch fella in the horror movie!”

“Besides I think Pere Noel likes to keep my chompers in tip top shape so I can watch his back. That’s why he gives me this delicious nommy bone.”

“Dude, you are so delusional. Pere Noel gave both bones to meeeee! I’m just feeling generous today and letting you have one.”

“Liar! Liar! Jodhpurs on fire, Juno! This bone has my name on it!”

“Santa can you bring him a muzzle next time?”

After gift giving, we went for a walk on the Trout Trail.

Mr. Wild Dingo and the dogs pose at NitNot Bridge.

After the walk, I decided to tackle my very first challenging recipe, Boeuf Borguignon. I’ve never been much of a foodie, and until recently, I haven’t really had time to learn how to cook interesting meals. Now that I am cooking, I’m actually eating so much healthier and snacking less. So by the time the first bite hits my mouth after hours of preparing and not eating junk, it feels like heaven.

Braising is my new sport. Anything braised is better. These are miniature onions going into the Boeuf Borguignon and they were amazing.

After five challenging hours, here is the final dish.  Sadly it took only 20 minutes to eat. But Mr. Wild Dingo said I outdid myself. Which is a big deal since he’s also not a foodie. Not to mention he’s bit stingy on compliments.

Of course the dogs partake in the holiday celebration as well and supervise Mr. Wild Dingo preparing their bowls.

Patience… “You are a cruel man Pop for making us wait.”

Juno, the ever competitive husky, always checks out Loki’s dish to make sure she wasn’t gyped.
“Pop gave me more boeuf than you Big Boy. He likes me way better than you.”  
“I’m not looking Cupcake! Nom. Nom. Nom…”

I also had a birthday this week. And after swearing we’d never get another one, this is what Mr. Wild Dingo got me for my birthday:

Happy Birthday to me! A Mini Cooper Clubman, S-model baby!  Because why would you get anything but an S?

Before we found out we were moving here, I wanted to turn in my Mini convertible for a Clubman because the convertible was horrible for dogs. But Mr. Wild Dingo adamantly said no. Then when we found out we were coming here, he said no again because this is Switzerland and everything is more expensive here. Then he tried to use the excuse that expat wives here didn’t have cars. Can you believe that Internet? Finally he gave in to letting me get a car but told me to look for a car in the $8K range.  Do you see what I have to live with Internet?

Then something occured to us. There wasn’t a whole lot of options for the size of our garage. We needed a car for the dogs, but anything that would be good for the dogs would NOT fit length-wise or height-wise into the garage. The station wagon (they call them “breaks” here) that we were driving wouldn’t fit into the garage at all. And shorter SUV type cars were too tall to clear the garage door.

 The dogs fit in nicely with a bit of room to spare.  Loki is a bit unsure of the new car so he moves next to Juno for some emotional support.   ”Move over Big Boy, you’re crowdin’ my jodhpurs!” 

So when Mr. Wild Dingo saw some Mini Clubman’s for sale we went and looked and bought one the same day. He told me it was my birthday gift. Can you believe that Internet? He tried to get out of giving me a proper Birthday gift. So I reminded him that I was forced to sell my other beloved Mini because he dragged me kicking and screaming to Switzerland and I would have not needed a car if it wasn’t for that. And that it should be a replacement car, not a birthday gift. Then he reminded me that he also had bought me my Mini convertible. The rat. So for Christmas I gave him a gift card.

I know what you’re thinking. Feel free to send him an email letting him know how lucky he is to have such a generous wife.

Despite our Grinchy-spirit, everyone at Wild Dingo wishes all of our readers a relaxing and enjoyable holiday season!
Joyeux Noel!

Now I know why that rediculously tall guy in the back holding onto the beam asked me if I dusted up there. For the record, I do. Luckily he doesn’t hang on to my chandeliers or his fingers would be gray!

Oh the deadly Hurricanes. We had 2, 3-gallon tanks filled and they were emptied at the end of the party. Hurricanes go down easy but hit pretty hard!

The parlor was the dressing room staging area. Everyone was having a good time until:

These two crashed the party. A very generous guest brought them a very generously sized bone.
“Hey mom, what’s the big idea with leaving us outside when the party is in here?”

That bone must have been intoxicating because my bad-ass GS/FMD suddenly became giddy.
“Does this boa make my ears look big?”

 Some guests actually couldn’t keep their hands off his ears. It was a bit freaky. 

Even in his boa he looks like he kick some ass.

I wasn’t watching Juno very closely, but the next thing I knew, she was sporting a whole bunch of beads.
“No, I did not flash my jodhpurs to get these beads!”

“Lady, go earn your own beads and keep your paws off mine!”

Ahhh! So this is how she earned her beads. She participated in the famous Wild Dingo Siberian Sandwich ™!  Mr. Wild Dingo and I like our meat well-marbled and find a Siberian Sandwich to be quite tastey.   We think it should go on the Mardi Gras menu right next to moon pies and cajun shrimp. Her misery is the secret sauce and makes it so much more delicious!

Especially since this is what I came home to on Friday afternoon:

For the record, the shreds in front of the shoe with all the Siberian fur entangled in them is all that was found next to the shoes. The rest of the shoes are in the Siberian’s tummy, causing great tummy pains for Mr. Wild Dingo and I all weekend long! That Sibe always seems to find an extra special way to crash my parties.

Happy Fat Tuesday Everyone!

“Ok, quit holdin’ out on us. We know Santa Paws brought us delicious treats. Bring them to me.”
“Did you say ‘delicious treats?’ WTF? And I’ve been eating these stupid stuffies all morning?”

“Nom. Nom. Nom. That’s more like it. Nom. Nom. Never underestimate this sibe’s snooter for food. K?”

“Hey Mango, do I make you proud with my neat and orderly slime line?”

“You took my stuffie? Inconceivable! You mock my pain.”

“This here santa hat? It’s gotta go. I’ll make this green stuffie go from hat to hatless in 3.5 seconds.”

“Hey Retardo, that there red and green stuffie looks like it belongs to me.”
“Nom, nom, nom…Really princess? I don’t see your name on it.”

“That’s because you can’t read Big Boy. Now hand it over.”

Then “plop!” went the sibe with her super secret Siberian tug strategy: The Plop and Hold.

 ”Lets see how far you can drag 53 lbs of gorgeous Siberian across the living room rug.”

“You’re worthless and weak big boy. Why don’t you just quit?”

“Because I don’t got nowhere else to go.”

“Oh my Dog! What happened to my ridiculously large ears?”

“What did you say? I can’t hear you. My ears seemed to have stopped working.”

“I’ve sunk to new lows.”

“I’m so bored. When do we get those Salmon Paws?”
“Princess, stop talking. You’re breaking my soldier-like concentration. Do soldiers wear bells?”
The stockings marked “naughty” do not belong to Mr. or Mrs. Wild Dingo. I’m just sayin’.

“This is more like it. A walk at the Christmas tree farm.”
“Princess, do these bells make my butt look big?”

“Hey Princess, where did all the people go that we saw here last week? This place is deader than Studio 54.”
“Dude, it’s like 85 degrees here. Christmas is OVER!”

“Tell us again why it can’t be Dogmas every day?”

More holidog pictures coming soon! Thanks for the Happy Holiday wishes Internet! We’ll be by soon!

Loki and Juno couldn’t resist Sugar’s fabulous idea to have a little fun and torch … err … torture a poor turkey, and probably a few vegetarians in the audience. 

(No turkeys were injured or killed in the production of the above photo. The views expressed above are not necessarily, yet could very well be, the views of Wild Dingo.)

Everyone at Wild Dingo is thankful for all our new found cyber-pals that make us smile every single day. There are some days we want to reach right through the screen and cuddle, wrestle, run, tug and even swim with you all. It warms us to have found bi-peds who are as silly as us and their amusing canine (and, gasp! feline) characters.

Thank you all for joining our challenging, yet entertaining (we hope) journey of life with dogs.

Happy Thanksgiving! Fluff your couch pillows and enjoy that trypto-faint!

Scott: A hawk flew over our property today.
I’m perplexed at the significance of the conversation.
Me: So?
Scott: It’s a bird of prey.
Me (still perplexed): Was he praying for us?

Unfortunately, conversations like this are not rare at Wild Dingo. I’m beginning to realize that it doesn’t take a high IQ to be funny. It’s just as easy when you’re daft.