Wander Woman

Tag: Brussels griffon

Rainey Street

by on Sep.17, 2012, under Quirky Places

We live above Rainey Street, a small historic street lined with pre-World War II bungalows. The street is sleepy by day, but come happy hour, it becomes a twinkling, laid-back mecca for live music and front-porch cocktails.

My little stink machine, Purnie, loves to barhop. He hits the watering holes every night on his pre-beddybedtime walk.

Blackheart is one of his favorite bars. The bartenders don’t seem to mind when the Purnster sneaks inside and drops anchor by the bar…

He’s not a fan of everyone’s favorite scrappy beer den, Lustre Pearl. Too ragged, too dusty for his delicate paws…

Icenhauer’s, with its azaleas and chandelier-lit windows, isn’t too shabby…

But Banger’s has officially stolen his heart. The lush green grass is everything he wants from an outdoor venue…

Just a place to lift his leg and relieve himself… for the 700th time.

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Dog Party: A Birthday Dessert for Our Pooch

by on Apr.10, 2012, under Parties & Gatherings

We’re in the throes of wedding chaos – we tie the knot this weekend! – but we decided to take a short wedding time-out so that we could pamper a very important member of our family: our little stinker, Purnie.

He turned 9 last Friday, and I’ve always felt that we never celebrated him in a big way (aside from sticking a b-day hat on his head and popping a candle in a can of meat). So to fete him this year, we scooped up a seriously special, yum-yum treat: peanut butter ice cream (made for doggies) topped with Purnie’s favorite veg, shredded carrots.

He was a little confused at first, since we never let him eat off the table, but he got the hang of it.

The cannolis were for us humans, although I would’ve been just as happy wolfing down P’s peanut butter sundae. (The ice cream really doesn’t taste too different from the PB ice cream we eat. Who knew?!)

Happy birthday, little man.

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A Christmas Photo Shoot

by on Dec.21, 2011, under Other Lovelies

Purnie says, “Merry Friggin’ Christmas.”

He hates the holidays. Check out last year’s post to find out why.

The little grouch needs to be groomed. Maybe Santa will drop a fur-clipping elf in P’s stocking who can help with that.

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Purnie’s Painful Christmas

by on Dec.23, 2010, under Other Lovelies

Purnie hates the holidays.

There’s too much hubbub, with people rushing in and out of the house and Christmas carols blasting in every room. All of this disrupts his sleep.

Presents and poinsettias obstruct his pathway when he patrols the house, and the Christmas tree pricks him when he brushes against it.

Plus, someone always tries to squeeze him into a hot, garish sweater.

I had every intention of dragging P-Doodle out of the house and posing him in an outdoor nativity scene – swaddled in a cradle like Baby Jesus, of course – but the rain forced me to re-strategize.

I decided to have our photoshoot at home.

He eyeballed me as I skipped over to him with his new Christmas sweater.

“Bugger off,” he snorted.

“Oh, come on, little fella. This will be quick and painless,” I promised.

He rolled his eyes, and I slipped him into the new outfit.

He wouldn’t get near the Christmas tree, which Purnie views as a seasonal intruder who wields tiny green daggers and has a cozy fragrant scent that competes with his fish odor.

But Purnie agreed to sit by the poinsettias.

I like this one. It really captures his humpback.

He smiled – or rather, grimaced – for the camera.

But soon, he began to grow sleepy.

Amazingly, he stayed upright.

Awww, sleepy boy…

Then suddenly, he shot up – energized by thoughts of who-knows-what – and started to walk…

…backwards to the couch, where cushions awaited him…



…so he could take a proper nap.

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Holidays Lights and One Annoyed Pup

by on Dec.13, 2010, under Other Lovelies, Quirky Places

Purnie took a slight interest in the white lights, but he soon raised his leg to pee all over them.

I live to torture my little stinker Purnie during all seasons, but especially around the holidays.

One of these years I’ll make him pose on Santa’s lap. But this year, I settled for photos of him flanked by Christmas decor.

He was being a curmudgeon this particular night.

He hates cold weather, and he really doesn’t like taking walks either.

He’s actually a terrible walker: Once you take a few steps alongside him, he’ll hit the brakes, stopping abruptly, and mad-dog you, for no apparent reason. He’ll use his entire body weight, crouch to the ground and dig his claws deep into the concrete. Then he’ll glare at you with his big boogery fish eyes for three minutes, or until he decides you’ve submitted to his authority.

It’s a bold act that tells the walker “I object! I am not your servant! You follow my lead, capish?”

And it’s beyond the law of physics how a body the size of a toaster manages to yank back a full-grown human, but he does it well.

Here he is walking… before he pulled his petulant, full-stop shenanigans. 

Yes, that’s a coral-covered scarf he’s wearing. Purnie still feels like it’s summertime, and he insisted that he wear something tropical, in addition to his shearling cape.

I got him to stop in front of the snowman and Santa for a few short seconds…

But he quickly grew tired of posing next to plastic illuminated figures.

Here (above), he’s getting annoyed. He peered from the corner of his eye and snorted, “Sacre bleu! How many pictures can one gentleman take? It’s time for me to get my beauty sleep!”

As we made our way back to the house, he hit the brakes again, just to make sure I knew who was in charge.

I admit, I’m disappointed with Purnie’s “holiday” photos.

So I went to Target and bought the most Christmas-y doggie sweater I could find. I plan on taking amazing, knock-your-socks-off photos this weekend. I’m going to prop him up in Santa’s gift bag or have him straddle a reindeer – it’ll be special.

So stay tuned…

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Looking for a Good Recipe… But I Was Distracted

by on Aug.18, 2010, under Other Lovelies

I wanted to cook something luscious tonight, so I plopped down on the couch with a good ol’ Southern cookbook. I flipped through a few pages, hoping a delish dish would catch my eye.

But I was interrupted.

I was interrupted by Purnie, the stinky pooch who roams my house, scavenges for crumbs and eats used Q-tips.

He had grown tired of his usual nighttime routine – napping on fresh laundry and rubbing his funk on the ground-level kitchen cabinets – so he decided to hang around Mama.

Purnie parked himself on the floor just below me and stared at me from his 10-inch-high vantage point, measuring me with a grumpy glare.

Then he jumped up on the cushion, fumbled toward me and proceeded to stomp all over my book, which was sitting on my lap.

He dug his Wolverine claws deep into the pages.

My fear: that he’d slash the ingredient list and permanently remove the egg count for whatever dish lay beneath his daggers!

So I thought maybe, just maybe, if I gave him a good 20-minute rub-down, he’d pass out from touch overload. And I could finally nestle in with the recipes.

So I scratched his butt, rubbed his paws and picked his eye boogers for a good half hour.

Finally, he released the pages of the book and traveled to the other side of the couch.

It took him just a few seconds to nod off to Snoresville.

His eyes are getting heavy.

Almost asleep…

And finally!

Alas, I was able to learn about Chicken Marbella in peace.

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