Category: Bulldog

Normally this dog sleeps through just about everything. Fireworks, thunder, the garbage man—you name it, he snores right through it.

But this week we discovered one thing Mojo will NOT sleep through; something so vile, so treacherous, so dangerous to his family’s safety that the bulldog must rise up from his repose and meet it head on:

---

NEIGHBOR ACROSS THE STREET: Ah-CHOO!!

MOJO: … Zzzzzzzz… Snort! Ruh ruh ruh RUFF! RUFF! Ruh ruh ruh RUFF! RUFF!

---

Yes, this is cul-de-sac living at its finest: when you can hear your neighbor sneeze at 1 am.

And apparently there was something about this sneeze I wasn’t getting, because Mojo was all fired up about it in a desperate sort of way—as if there was a hulking ax murderer with hay fever at our front door and we were acting like we could care less.

Hubby and I kept shushing him and he kept growling and grunting, until he finally gave up and went back to sleep. And so did we.

And then …

NEIGHBOR: Ah-CHOO!! Ah-CHOO!!

MOJO: Ruh ruh ruh RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! Ruh ruh ruh RUFF! RUFF! Ruh ruh ruh RUFF! RUFF! (etc.)

I don’t know about you, but I’m not the most charitable woman in the wee hours. I dragged Mojo downstairs and aimed him at his crate.

Now, usually he loves to sleep in his crate. If I say, “Go crate!” He runs right to it. But he fought me this time. He ran in every direction except toward the crate, so I dragged him over and pushed half of him inside. He wriggled loose and almost escaped, and surprisingly enough, wrestling with a bulldog in the pitch black isn’t as much fun as one might think.

I’d almost worked all of him into the crate when…

NEIGHBOR: Ah-CHOO!! Ah-CHOO!!

MOJO: RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF!

Mojo took off running for the front door and I hightailed it after him. The living room was dark, which meant I didn’t see the piano bench until I plowed into it.

BONNIE: (unprintable)

I cornered our bulldog by the front door and then herded him back to his crate. We were halfway there, Mojo grumbling and growling all the way, when…

---

NEIGHBOR: Ah-CHOO!! Ah-CHOO!! Ah-CHOO!!

MOJO: RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF!

---

Let’s just say that wasn’t one of our better nights.

And next time, Hubby, it’s your turn to put Mojo in his crate.

Meet Loki, Mojo’s buddy.

Our next-door neighbors adopted Loki from the Helen Woodward Animal Center a few months ago. He was pretty shy at first but he’s warmed up nicely since then. In fact, just to show everybody how comfortable he’s become, he ate an entire upholstered chair in his family’s living room.

That’s nothing, though, in comparison to Clara Dog across the street. Clara Dog chews up carpeting, dry wall and vinyl sheet flooring—but only if it’s attached to a house.

(Mojo’s looking pretty tidy in comparison now, isn’t he?)

Loki and Mojo have dug several holes under the fence in order to spend more time together—but honestly? Mojo just TELLS Loki he’s digging. Really, he doesn’t even PRETEND to dig. He just supervises while Loki does all the work.

When Loki finally busts through, the doggie games begin. The two of them party in a big way until 1) Loki gets tired and squeezes back under the fence, or 2) one of Loki’s humans comes looking for him.

Mojo always tries to squeeze through the holes, too, but can never fit all the way—his head makes it but his shoulders form a nice little fence plug.

You might think, well, that’s one hole-in-the-fence problem solved, except you’d probably be forgetting the Bulldog Butt that’s left hanging out on our side of the fence. Not very feng shui, if you know what I mean.

And as much as our neighbors like Mojo, apparently his head sticking out on their side of the fence is a bit disconcerting—kind of like one of those wildlife trophies you mount on the wall, only lower and still licking.

Now all the holes are blocked off with cinder blocks and chicken wire (only on their side—who needs all that stuff when you’ve got your very own Bulldog Fence Plug?) and we just schedule doggie play dates like the one we had today.

Remember this picture?

As I deduced in June, Mojo was slowly dismantling his bulldog bed as part of a sneaky plot to take over our couch.

Now I have more proof. See below:

Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky. There are three new holes in this bed, not to mention a whole lot of bulldog hair on my couch. I told Hubby this would happen, but nobody ever listens to me.

I couldn’t come down too hard on Mojo, though, especially after Friday night, when I could barely get out of the van because I was so stiff and sore from the day’s work. As I crept to my front door, I knew I had two full days of Snack Bar Insanity ahead of me, starting at 5:30 am the next morning.

On the other side of our front door was Mojo. The boys and Hubby and a sink full of dirty dishes waited for me in the kitchen… but Mojo—he sat by the front door. He followed me around all evening, as if he missed me so much he had to make up for it somehow.

The next two days doing Snack Bar/Hospitality were hard, sure, but that stinky little bulldog was always ready to greet me when I came home, and while I was gone he never left dirty dishes in the sink. That kind of loyalty goes a long way in overlooking bulldog hair on the couch.

If he chews up his bed the rest of the way, though, all bets are off.

Hullo all, this is Mojo, filling in for that big gal over there—the one who’s out cold on my couch.

She’s been unconscious like that for about an hour, sawing logs and grinding her teeth. Every now and then she snorts and mumbles stuff, like “I didn’t order enough eggs!” or “nobody showed up for the lunch shift!”

The heat’s been giving me nightmares, too. Last night I dreamed that nobody remembered to feed me, and then I got chased by a giant chicken wing that kept telling me to get off the couch.

Next thing I know, they’re shaking me and telling me to go sleep downstairs… but I wouldn’t budge. I mean, it was in the middle of the night! Who knows how many giant chicken wings were hiding in the dark down there?

The worst part about all this heat is what it does to my motivation. Lately, all I’ve been doing is spending my days snoozing on the couch—or at least, snoozing on the couch until she comes along and pushes me off. She smells okay and all, but dang, is she selfish.

So it’s hard enough finding cool places to snooze in, much less find cool stuff to chew up. Maybe next week, okay?

This is our intrepid bulldog at the Wren Family Party. You may notice his intent expression; it is the look he wears while in Stealth Bulldog Mode.

You see, people tend to be a little careless at parties, especially with their food. They’ll get up to get a can of soda, stop to chat with a relative on the way, and generally forget they left their plate of party chow unattended.

By the time they return, sure… they might notice stuff is missing, but it’s a party, for crying out loud! If you run out of food at a party, you just go and get more!

And since Mojo is a Stealth Bulldog, nobody ever guessed who was making off with all the Wisconsin cheddar and roast beef—not until the middle of the karaoke contest, that is.

My sisters-in-law were doing a rousing interpretation of “Doo Wah Diddy” when Mojo steathily let loose with an emanation that instantly emptied the front row. The singers fled, gasping—one on her knees—and there was a short intermission.

Strangely enough, I felt an odd sort of satisfaction, as if nobody had ever listened to me when I told them bulldogs are really, really stinky.

Finally, they KNOW.

We’ve almost got everybody trained not to leave anything on the floor. Yay for us! It only took, what… a year?

Unfortunately, there are still SOME PEOPLE who Continue reading “Monday Morning Mojo No. 37”

Okay, so Mojo won the first skirmish in our little war. Not only did he land on the couch while I was working out, but he grabbed Continue reading “Monday Morning Mojo No. 36: The Couch Wars”

Since Mojo is down to his last bed, you’d think Continue reading “Monday Morning Mojo No. 35”

WHAT: The last foam dog bed we will ever buy.

I mean it. We’re through. The end, ZIP, Fini.

Continue reading “Monday Morning Mojo No. 34”