We would like to apply for dual HULA membership. Our foster mom says any affiliation that may help us get adopted and out of her house is fine by her. We are currently employing both physical and psychological warfare to wear the human down in our bid for domination.
I, Phoenix (aka He Who Must Not Be Named), am the leader of this revolution. Foster mom says not only have I broken her spirit, I’ve crushed it into pieces, eaten the pieces and pooped them back out again. And that’s after only seven months in foster care.
When the animal shelter first picked me up, the fools put me in the outside kennel. That 10 foot high chain link fence was nothing. If they hadn’t caught me climbing it, I would have been unleashed on the unsuspecting public within minutes. They thought they could contain me by moving me inside. I tried to go under my kennel door but hit a little snag, literally. When foster mom came to pick me up she totally freaked out when she saw what I’d done to my eye. I’m attaching a photo of me post-surgery.
I have escaped from my crate more times than I can count. I would eat Kleenex, but foster mom is too low-brow for that. She blows her nose in toilet paper. So on one of my many crate escapes; I shredded a roll of toilet paper, and a tube of toothpaste, and a bar of soap. If you think Kleenex is yummy, try toilet paper topped with toothpaste and some soap for dessert. I also shred anything left on, or near, my crate. I particularly liked the shrieking noise she made when she saw what I did to her coat and sweatshirt.
Speaking of shrieking noises, you should hear her voice after she found me with a knife not once but twice. It sounded like a dog whistle when she screeched “Where did you GET that!?” After the second knife incident she has now gotten into the habit of tossing my crate for contraband on a regular basis. I hope she doesn’t ever think to look under the couch.
But all of that are small potatoes compared to some of my other acts of terrorism. After an adoption event one day, the stupid human stopped at the McDonald’s drive-thru. When I heard her order food for herself only, I decided to act. When she accidentally lowered the back window of her car, I made a break for it. She turned just in time to see my big furry butt going out the window.
Ever see a human try to close a window, grab a leash that’s already gone out a window, unlock a door, undo a seat belt, put it in park, pull out of the drive-thru line, and get out of the car all at once? I thought she was going to explode into tiny bits. Just to embarrass her further, I very calmly let a stranger catch me. Nobody could figure out why she was shrieking “Grab him! Grab him! Grab him!” when I obviously wasn’t going anywhere. They all looked at her like she was an idiot. And she was so upset afterwards that she couldn’t eat her burger so she gave it to me. That’s what I wanted all along.
The next week when we got ready to leave she tied my leash to the overhead handle in the car. She was laughing like a loon and mumbling “that’ll teach you” and “dare you to jump out now” as she attached me to one handle and my foster brother to the other handle. Before we’d gone more than ten miles I had both leashes braided together and wrapped around my middle and my brother’s neck.
She had to pull into an abandoned rest area, get out of the car and climb into the back to untangle us. After she untangled us, cursing the entire time (I told you she was low-brow), she went to get out of the car and came face to face with my evil plan. She forgot there’s a pet barrier behind the front seat and that she keeps the child proof locks engaged so we can’t open the back doors. So she found herself locked in the back seat with us with no way to get out. The cursing that came out of that woman as she dismantled the pet barrier embarrassed even me. But we laughed and laughed at her for days after that.
Now whenever we have to go someplace, she spends an hour sitting on the couch rocking back and forth and mumbling before she gets my leash. She’s so unsure of herself that I’m not allowed to leave the house without a harness, a collar, a Halti, a coupler attaching them all, and a leash tied around her waist. She’s really going to pay for making me look that silly.
My foster sister Kenya (aka The Girl) is only part husky. She’s more of a sheltsky and therefore less adept at mental torture. She has gone for physical attacks. In the month she’s been in foster care she has left the human broken and bleeding.
First she made the human play “catch me if you can.” Kenya went racing past her and when the human lunged for her she ran head first into the corner of the refrigerator. I heard her skull crack from three rooms away. The human had a huge lump on her forehead and probably a mild concussion; we wouldn’t take her to the vet for a check up.
A few days later she tried to act all cute and friendly but when the human lowered her guard, The Girl tried to claw her eye out. Since then, it’s been pretty difficult for the human to ask strangers for help in getting away from us. Everyone who sees her thinks she had pinkeye and wouldn’t get within 20 feet of her.
The Girl’s efforts are a pretty good start, but I believe her true skill lies within enlisting her herding dog relatives into HULA. With their help we should be able to raise an army of sheep to do our bidding.
Your faithful (and very busy) servants
Phoenix and Kenya