Day 29.


Yes, Iggy?

“Can I ask you something?”

Sure, Iggy, go ahead.

“Do you suppose dung beetles feel pride?”


“You know, like, do they get a huge bit of dung, roll it to wherever they bring it, and go, ‘Look at this killer hunk of dung I found all by myself, damn, I’m a kick-ass dung beetle’?”

I’ve never thought about–

“And what if they find a really huge hunk of dung, how do they get it back to wherever they bring it?  Do they climb up and walk backwards on top of it to roll it, like a circus act?”


“Do they even have dung beetles in the circus?”

Iggy, I have no idea.  

“I mean, are there little kids at the circus going, ‘Ooh, Mommy, look, dung beetles’?  Are they waving flags with dung beetles on them?  Wearing little hats they bought at the souvenir stand that have antennae sticking out the top and and dung beetle eyes on the front?  ‘Look, Mommy, I’m a dung beetle’?”

I have no clue, Iggy.

“Neither do I.  I’ve never been to the circus.”

How does this even occur to you?

“I’m going mad.  Lemme out.”

Not yet.  

“Now please?”

 No.  Sorry.  

“Okay.  How about now?”

No.  Sorry, Iggy, you still can’t come out.

“Okay, what about now?”

No, Iggy.  One more day.


Good boy.



“You suck.”


Day 27.

You know, Iggy, I wish we knew exactly how you got heartworms.

“Bad luck, I guess.”

You’ve been on heartworm prevention since we adopted you. Something went wrong. It’s not just bad luck.

“It floats around. It’s got to land on somebody.”

But it makes no sense that–

“It was my turn, that’s all. I was in the path of the tornado. I just didn’t expect the storm would last as long as it has.”

Well, just a couple more days and your confinement is over.



“Forty years I been asking permission to piss.”

Relax. It’s only 30 days of confinement, not forty years. Besides, you’re only two years old.

“I can’t squeeze a drop without say-so.”

Damn right you can’t. No peeing in the house.


You’ll live.



“I understand you’re a woman who knows how to get things.”


“I need a—“

Not happening. So don’t get your hopes up.

“Hope is a good thing—“

Not this time, it isn’t.

“–maybe the best of things—“


“—and no good thing ever dies.”

Give up.

“I will be hoping for a poodle.”

Could we put on something other than The Shawshank Redemption now? It’s doing things to you.

“I hear the bite reflex is so strong they have to pry the victim’s jaws open with a crowbar.”

Right, that’s it. Gimme the remote.

Iggy copes with loss.

“Hey, what did I win?”


“The photo contest.  What did I win?”

Oh, that.  Sorry, Iggy, you didn’t make the finals.

“What?!  I didn’t?”

I’m afraid not.

“But… but… *sniffle* you mean nobody thought I was cute?”

What the — are you crying, Iggy?

“They thought I was ugly!  They thought, ‘Ha, look at that stupid Schnauzer, thinking he can win a cute dog contest.  He’s all wormy and stupid and hideous!’  *sniffle* I bet they laughed at my picture!”

Aw, Iggy, no!  You got hundreds of votes!

“I bet they just felt sorry for me!”

Aw, hang on, let me open the crate.  Come here, I’ll scratch your ears.  

“No.  Don’t want anyone scratching my ugly ears!”

Don’t be like that.  Do you want a rib bone?


What about a chewy hedgehog?  You love those.


Is there anything you do want?  Your Kermit?  Your squeaky chicken?

*sniffle* I dunno.”

Come on, Iggy, name it.


If I can get it for you, I will.  I hate seeing you so sad.  A marrow bone?  How about some jerky?

*sniffle* Okay.”

Okay, what do you want?


You manipulative little–

“All perfumed and poofy-tailed–”


“–and shaved!”


“Another Schnauzer, then?”

No more dogs.

“A girl Schnauzer would work!  We can shave her!”

Nobody’s shaving any dogs, because we’re not getting any more dogs.

“She’d have to have her face shaved, in the very least.  The mustache and beard would just make her look menopausal.  Oh — no offense, Karen.”

Get back in the crate.


Iggy really wants your vote.

Hi, everyone.  Just a reminder that today is the last day you can vote for Iggy in that pet photo contest Iggy and I have been telling you about.

“That’s right, Karen.  It’s easy, reader people — click the link and you’ll go straight to my picture.  Simply click ‘vote’ and you’re done!  Karen says we’re getting a lot of votes but I shouldn’t get my hopes up because there are other dogs with more votes.”

Well, yeah, Iggy, it might be kind of a long shot, but it’s worth a try.

“Yep.  So please vote for me, reader people.”

Thank you.

“Or I’ll die.”

Wait, what?  You’re not going to die, Iggy.  It’s just a photo contest.

“Okay, vote for me or I’ll eat this kitten.”

You don’t have a kitten.

“The reader people don’t know that!  They can’t see what I’m doing right now!”

That doesn’t mean you can lie to them.  

“Yes it does!”

No, Iggy.  Nobody’s dying, nobody’s getting eaten.  

“I’m waving a crossbow around in a room full of bunnies, reader people!”

You’re in your crate with a chewy hedgehog and a toy sheep.  

“It’s gonna be a baby bunny bloodbath!”

No it isn’t.  


Stop it, Iggy.

“Well, can I get some bunnies?”


“One bunny?”


“I’d like one bunny and a crossbow, please.”


“How about a poodle?”

Lay down, Iggy.

“We’re gonna lose.”


Iggy approves a campaign ad.

Fluffy says he wants to win the Publix Paws Photo Contest to get a supermarket gift card for his human. What Fluffy doesn’t say is that he favors cutting funds for early childhood education.

Lulu likes to talk about how sweet she appears with a squeaky toy in her mouth and a tutu around her waist. But when will Lulu talk about ISIS? Or is Lulu a secret terrorist sympathizer?

And isn’t Bongo just adorable with his football chew toy? But if Bongo had his way, we’d all have Ebola right now.

Vote for Iggy so your children don’t end up imbecile hostages with Ebola.

I’m Iggy, and I approve this message.


Iggy asks for your vote.

“Hi reader people — Iggy here!  You know that photo contest Karen and I have mentioned before?  Well, it’s still going on.  You can vote every day through October 21st.  Karen looked at the vote count and thinks we might have a decent shot at making it to the finals!”

Well, I’m not entirely sure, but so far it’s going okay. 

“Yay!  So please click here to vote for me.”

Yes, Iggy and I would greatly appreciate it.  The link will take you straight to Iggy’s picture — just click the “vote” button and you’re done.

“Yes!  Vote for me!  Otherwise, so help me, I’ll pee on everything you hold dear!”


“What!  I want to be persuasive.”

Persuasive is fine.  Threatening is not.  Readers, I promise, Iggy won’t pee on any of your belongings.

“Just a little bit?”


“Fine.  Please vote for me, reader people, despite the fact that there will be no repercussions if you don’t.”

Much better, Iggy.



Iggy, outside.

“So much time in solitary–”

You’re not in prison, Iggy, you’re getting over heartworm treatment.  

“–but still, I remember this.”

What do you remember?

“The breeze.  The smell of grass.  The feel of the sun on my fur.  I remember it all.”

You should, you were just outside ten minutes ago.  Are you gonna pee or what?

“Ooh, a small slug crushed between my toes.  I remember that too.”

Oh, yuck.  Come on, we’re going back inside.

“Wait!  Let me walk just a few feet over this way.”

Okay.  Are you finally going to pee?

“Let me sniff a little.”

Okay.  Then you’ll pee?

“I might.  I just might.  Just need to sniff a bit.  No, a few feet over this way, let me sniff here.  Maybe.  I might.  Hmm.  No, a few feet this way.  Wait, no, just a few steps over towards here.  No — wait, no, maybe.  I might.  Okay — oh wait, hang on–”

Iggy, come on.  You can’t be outside this long.

“One second, let me just sniff here.  Wait — no.  Over here a couple of feet.  No, over here.  Wait, hang on, I think — no, never mind.  Over here, maybe–”

That’s it, we’re going inside.

“Ah HA!  HERE!”

Okay, good.

“Wait, never mind.”

You don’t really need to pee, do you.

“Not really, no.”

Right.  In we go.  


Okay, slowly — don’t run through the door, Iggy — slow walk back to the crate.  Let me remove the leash, hang on.  Okay, in you go.  


Good boy.


No.  You just said you didn’t have to pee.  We’re not going outside again.

“You didn’t ask if I had to poop.”

Ugh.  Fine.  Okay, come out of the crate — slowly, Iggy.  Let me get the leash on you.  All right, walk — no running!  Good boy.  Walk to the door.  Okay, let’s go.

“Okay, just need to sniff a little bit.  No, a few feet over here.  Hmm.  A few steps this way.  Okay, wait — no.  Let me sniff over there a bit–”

Are you going to poop any time soon?


You just said you had to!

“No, I said you didn’t ask me.  I didn’t say what my answer would be.”

Back inside, Iggy.

“Can I bring some slugs with me?”


“Will you get me a poodle?  I really think I deserve a poodle.”

No.  Get in the crate, Iggy.

Vote for Iggy (again! And again, and again…)

“Hi everyone, Iggy here!  I’d like to take a moment to ask you to vote for me in this contest — it’s sponsored by a supermarket chain and the winner gets $750 in marrow bones and treats.”

Well, actually, it’s a $750 gift card to use in the supermarket.

“Yes.  On marrow bones and treats.”

Or, you know, human food.

“You don’t need human food.”


“Well, look at you.  You could afford to skip a meal or two.”

Watch it, Iggy.

“All of it?  My field of vision isn’t that big.”

You know, it would be easy for me to lose track of how many days you have left in that crate

“I kid!  I kid!  You’re gorgeous!”

Much better.

“You look like a poodle!”

Okay, this is backfiring.  Anyway, readers, please vote for Iggy.  You can vote once every day until the contest ends on October 21st.

“If you had a poofy tail, I’d swear you were a perfectly groomed purebred show dog!”

That’s enough, Iggy.

Iggy, terrifying.

“Hi folks, Iggy here! Getting over heartworms and tired of confinement? Just lie down in your crate and breathe really fast — you’ll be out of the crate and going on a car ride before you know it! Of course, it’s to an emergency vet, but what can ya do.”

What? You did that purposely?

“Huh? Oh… um… hi Karen!”

Don’t “hi” me. You faked that whole thing?

“Um… kind of.”

You scared the hell out of me!

“I went on a car ride! It was fun!”

Fun? At two in the morning?

“Any time is a good time for a car ride!”

No, Iggy, two in the morning is not a good time for a car ride when I have to be at work at eight.

“I didn’t have to be at work, though. It was fine.”

It was not fine, Iggy! I got a huge vet bill!

“It was totally worth it! Car ride!”

Ugh. It’s almost five now. I have to work in three hours. See that bed there? I’m crawling into it now, and I’m going to sleep. Lie down in your crate and nap.


Good night.

“Good night.”

. . . . .



“You asleep?”

Mm hmm.



“Gotta pee.”