I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges. DOODLEBUG. Or Doodle. Or Good Boy. Or Your Majesty. NOT “Hey!” That is for horses and goats.
Sweetie: And “Hey!” is not my name either. I answer to Sweetie, or Good Girl, or Suppertime, and that’s it.
MoonCat: Meow. And there’s no sense in calling me at all. I’LL CALL YOU!
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges.
Sweetie: What are you staring at, Doodle?
Doodlebug: I am not staring.
Sweetie: Them eyes of yours are set in a fightin’ mode!
Me: Settle down, both of you. I think Doodlebug is just gazing in your direction. A gaze is not a stare.
Sweetie: When eyeballs are set on me, how am I supposed to tell the difference?
Me: A gaze is softer than a stare. Like the way you’re both looking at me now.
MoonCat: Meow. None of y’all know anything about a stare. Now THIS is a stare!
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges.
Sweetie: Lady Human, something stinks.
MoonCat: Meow! And I know exactly what it is. And who.
Me: Yes. I do, too. Get up, Sweetie. Your whole sleeping space is going to have to be deep cleaned.
Doodlebug: Yes, Sweetie. PLEASE!
Sweetie: Why me? I’m comfortable, except for the stink.
Me: If you were a horse, I might call this mucking out your stall, so move over here while I…
Sweetie: But it’s the way I like it, except for the stink.
Me: Well, smells can accumulate. Between the potty accident the other day which I cleaned up but which left lingering reminders and the spilled water and the spilled food and the tracked in dirt and mud from outside and…
Sweetie: Muck out somebody else’s stall and leave me alone and happy…except for the stink.
Copyright 2023 H J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges. Where is lunch?
Me: Patience! Patience! Patience is a virtue.
Sweetie: Well, you don’t seem to have any so you should go buy some. NOW!
Me: OK, that’s what I’m talking about. Not everything needs to be hurried along or done right this instant.
MoonCat: Why not?
Doodlebug: We are a patient pack, Lady Human. When you are late with our lunch, we don’t eat yours, do we?
Me: I’m just getting some things off my list today. Next is grocery shopping.
Sweetie: Great! Be sure and buy enough patience for all of us to have some. Especially you.
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
“Cats invented lounging. Nobody else does it quite as well.”
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
MoonCat: Meow! Lady Human, someone…let me be plain…A BULLDOG HAS BEEN TASTING MY WATER!
Sweetie: Lady Human, let me be plain, the cat does it to us all the time.
Me: There is water all over the floor.
Sweetie: My face doesn’t exactly fit into a cat’s water bowl, so that’s to be expected. Why is it okay for her to do it when we are outside?
MoonCat: Because my face is small and I never spill a drop, said no bulldog ever.
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges.
Sweetie: Lady Human, the cat is being her weird self again.
MoonCat: Meow. How can a bulldog call a cat weird?
Me: What’s going on?
Doodlebug: MoonCat is going around and taking sips from our water bowls.
Sweetie: Yeah. Thoroughly unsanitary.
Me: Well, I guess a bulldog would know about unsanitary. MoonCat, is something wrong with your own water?
MoonCat: No. I just like to sample other bowls. Don’t humans do that?
Me: Well, yes. In fact, in some restaurants, they have a wine expert called a sommelier who will sample a bottle of wine first for the guests to make sure it’s good.
Sweetie: I wouldn’t mind doing that job.
Me: Sorry, girl, no wine for dogs. Not good for you.
Sweetie: Oh, but a cat can stick her cat tongue in my bulldog water and that’s okay? Wait and see how you like it.
Me: What do you mean?
Doodlebug: Nothing. But if I were you, I wouldn’t leave anything you’ve been drinking out of within cat reach.
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved
I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges. Lady Human! Oh. Lady Human!
Me: Do you all know what time it is?
Sweetie: Don’t know. Don’t care. Time to get up, Lazybones.
Me: Get up? It’s still dark outside!
MoonCat: Best time of day.
Me: Did you get this party started?
Doodlebug: No, I did. She just suggested it.
Sweetie: Hey, Lady Human, this is an early breakfast call. Just give us the grub so we can get back to bed. What you do with your time then is your business.
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges.
Sweetie: Lady Human, where’s my snack?
Me: You ate it.
Sweetie: That was then. This is now.
MoonCat: And my water needs to be changed. It’s stale.
Me: It was changed 20 minutes ago.
MoonCat: Yes, that’s what I mean.
Me: I don’t even change my own water more often than every 20 minutes.
MoonCat: That is you. This is me.
Doodlebug: Lady Human!
Me: Yes?
Doodlebug: Nothing. Just making sure you were listening.
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges.
Sweetie: Does that mean you are in charge around here? Because this place is very poorly run.
Doodlebug: Don’t blame me. I’m just the King.
MoonCat: Meow. Don’t drag me into this.
Sweetie: Lady Human, no one seems to be in charge, so now I am taking over.
Me: Uh, I don’t think so.
Sweetie: Don’t worry. You can still stay here. I won’t rehome you.
Me: Oh, thank you so much.
Doodlebug: That tone of voice in humans means she is making fun.
Me: Being in charge is not all it’s cracked up to be. There’s cleaning and buying food and cleaning and grooming and more cleaning…
Sweetie: On second thought, I am appointing you to do all that stuff, Lady Human. I hereby declare naptime. It’s great being charge!
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Doodlebug, King of the Olde English Bulldogges.
Sweetie: I am Sweetie. ‘Nough said.
MoonCat: Meow.
Me: You are probably wondering why I have called you all here today.
Doodlebug: No, not really.
Sweetie: Don’t care.
MoonCat: Meow. Because we all live here anyway?
Me: There is mess in the kitchen.
Doodlebug: Oooo, good! Let me at it.
Sweetie: A mess in the kitchen. So what else is new?
MonnCat: Meow. Nobody saw me do it.
Me: Noses need to stay out of the trash bag.
Sweetie: Uhb, trash bags should not be nose high then.
Me: There are nasty things in the trash that are not good for you to eat. We’ve gone over this before.
Doodlebug: Then how come nasty things smell so delicious?
MoonCat: And how come tunafish live in the trash?
Me: They don’t.
Sweetie: No, they don’t. Chickens do.
Me: No, that’s not true either.
Doodlebug: Nobody worry about what is living in the trash. I’ll just keep checking. My nose is on it
Copyright 2023 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
Here I am again! Flying Stella, Squirrel Fighter, ready to right all wrongs and chase all squirrels!
Welcome back, Jerky McSquirrelyFace, you old rascal! Thought you could outsmart me, did you? Well…okay, you did outsmart me for a little while, but Lady Human discovered your trick and she let me in on where you have been hanging out.
And I hear that you have brought your girlfriend with you this time. The more the merrier. Wait! Does this mean that there will be a litter of puppy squirrels around here?
(Transcriptionist: Probably, but maybe not before next spring.)
Noooo! No puppy squirrels!
(Transcriptionist: Baby squirrels are not puppies. They are kittens.)
Double Noooo!!! How can that be? How can squirrels be cats?
(Transcriptionist: They are not cats. Their babies are just called kittens. Hey, I thought you were going to tell a Flying Stella story. This is more like one of our conversations.)
Silence, human!!
(Transcriptionist: If you want me to be silent, stop screaming and stop asking me questions. Save all that for another day.)
Cats, huh. I see their plan now. They are going to join up with Moon the Cat. She has probably been spying for them the whole time. Of course, Moon the Cat never goes outside so how does she pass messages to them? Perhaps by eye blinks through the windows. THAT’S IT! That’s how Jerky always knew where to be to rain nuts down on our heads. Moon the Cat warned him so he could be ready. Clever cat and clever cat squirrels.
(Transcriptionist: Nope.)
This is a terrible danger to the world of bulldogs. Cats on the ground and on top of furniture, counters, washing machines, and pianos. And cat squirrels jumping and climbing trees and fences, running, flying from tree to tree, not to mention scampering across rooftops like little scamps. And all in cahoots with each other.
Now more than ever I must hone my bulldog skills, especially flying.
(Transcriptionist: Since when is flying a bulldog skill?)
Stay alert, bulldogs! And you humans, too! I will keep you informed as the details of the cat/squirrel conspiracy unfold. Until then, I remain
Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
Our old rabbit, Moo-Moo, died today. She came to us because her previous owner, a 5-year-old boy, had an allergic dad. That was particularly sad because it was his dad who had gotten Moo-Moo for the boy to begin with.
They named her Moo-Moo because she was black and white and reminded the boy of a Holstein cow.
My daughter called me, hoping that I would be able to take the rabbit in. The request came at a bad time. I was minimally employed. The thought of taking on another expense twisted in my stomach. These were the pre-bulldog years, but still we had Susie the Welsh Corgi, Moon the part-Siamese cat, and a yellow parakeet named Buddy.
The boy’s father had checked with all the local shelters. No one had room for even one more bunny. My daughter said that the dad had built a three-story “condominium” for Moo-Moo (that’s bunny stories, not human stories -still pretty impressive). And the rabbit was litter box trained.
I was on my way home from one of my part-time jobs when my daughter called. I told her I would think about it and get back to her quickly, one way or the other.
The boy didn’t want to give the rabbit up. His heart was probably breaking. That’s all that I could think about on the drive home. How unhappy that would have made me. How he might be tempted to be angry with his father even though it wasn’t the father’s fault. How he might worry about where Moo-Moo would end up and what would happen to her.
What was the current price of rabbit food? Could I commit the room for a 3-story rabbit hutch? Did I need to take on another pet?
I did not know the father or the boy. I had never met either of them and I never have. I had no personal obligation to take on the animal or solve their re-homing problem.
And then I saw myself as the small, stingy, doubt-filled person I had become. If I couldn’t commit to take in a rabbit, a litter-trained rabbit with a 3-story condominium no less, what could I do? Before I even got home, I called my daughter back and told her Moo-Moo could come live with us. But, I added, be sure and bring the condo.
Being a rabbit, Moo-Moo was quiet though, early on, we almost renamed her “Thumper”. She expressed definite opinions about my volume level in the house. If I laughed too loudly at a comedy show or sang aloud, she thumped the floor of her condo violently. It was her rabbit version of an old-fashioned librarian putting her finger to her lips and shushing an unruly patron.
Among the bulldogs, Miss Sweetie had the closest rapport with Moo-Moo. They touched noses and carried on silent conversations. Miss Sweetie circled the rabbit condo with Moo-Moo keeping pace inside of it, a bulldog-rabbit race that went on until one or the other of them tired out.
Eventually Miss Sweetie would collapse with her back against the outside of the condo and Moo-Moo would skip up to the third floor of her rabbit home to take a rest.
It was Miss Sweetie who let me know that something was amiss this morning. I had given Moo-Moo’s water and food a cursory look as I went about morning chores. Moo-Moo was stretched out as she usually was in the morning, right next to her nesting box on her condo’s third floor. About an hour later, Miss Sweetie had placed her paws on the condo and lifted herself up to sniff at Moo-Moo who had not shifted her position at all.
Miss Sweetie never reached up to the third floor because Moo-Moo always came down to her level to play. It was as though the bulldog was asking why her friend had not started their playtime.
And that’s when I knew.
I carefully picked up Moo-Moo’s body with Miss Sweetie watching. “She’s left. That’s all.” It was the only thing that I could think to say. Miss Sweetie looked at Moo-Moo and then walked away.
No one who lives on this earth avoids facing the fact of death.
Animals are sensitive to it. When my Corgi, Susie, died in our utility room while everyone was out of the house, our cat, Moon, would not walk into the room for the next 6 months. When one of our chickens died suddenly last spring, Snoopey, who always stays right beside me in the yard, would not approach the chicken run with me. She stayed far back, just watching.
That’s why I made sure that Miss Sweetie saw Moo-Moo as I took the body away. Moo-Moo was gone, but she didn’t just disappear. She left.
If I could, if I knew where the father and son who had to give up Moo-Moo were, I would let them know these things:
She lived a good, long time.
I think, I hope she enjoyed herself.
That 3-story rabbit condominium was genius and it held up well. She got lots of exercise jumping up and down the levels. It helped her stay healthy.
She had friends and at least one of them was a bulldog.
She laid down one night and peacefully went to sleep. She showed no pain. She felt no fear.
She will be remembered and she will be missed.
She helped me take a tiny step of faith which helped me take others.
And someday, we won’t experience death anymore.
“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” Revelation 21:5 KJV
Amen.
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
Here I am with Stella, the Olde English Bulldogges’ Queen…
Stella: Where is the cat?
Me: Excuse me?
Stella: Where is the cat?
Me: Chilling out in one of her many hiding places.
Stella: So where is the cat?
Me: That’s for her to know and you to find out.
Stella: That’s not funny. Is that a human game?
Me: It was a long time ago.
Stella: Why is the cat hiding? It is time for cat chasing.
Me: Yeah, about that. That’s not really her favorite game.
Stella: Why ever not? It is the most fun ever!
Me: I have noticed something about that game that is a little odd.
Stella: Like how I always win.
Me: More like how you are the only one playing it.
Stella: That is not correct. Bulldogs are cat chasers. We are all players. Whoop!
Me: Whoop?
Stella: Isn’t that what humans yell when they win?
Me: Mmmmm. Not always.
Stella: Where is the cat?
Me: If this is a real game, you will have to find her.
Stella: Not fair.
Me: Of course it is fair. The cat’s hiding is part of the game. If the other bulldogs are playing, why can’t they help you find her?
Stella: Well…to be honest, they are lazy. But you have suspected that for a long time.
Me: No, they aren’t being lazy. They want you to play the game while they sit still and watch you run your rear end off. They bark and whine and get you all stirred up to search for the cat. Have you noticed that when they walk past the cat, they touch noses with her and there is no barking, no stomping, and no chasing? They leave that to you.
Stella: Well…that is just…wrong! Grrrrrr! It makes me want to….
Me: To tell the other bulldogs off?
Stella: No, it makes me want to chase a cat. Go find me a cat to chase.
Me: Nope. Find your own.
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges.
Me: Allow me to interrupt.
Stella: Why not? You do all the time even without permission.
Me: Only as necessary, so yes, just about all the time. What was that horrible throaty noise you were making to the other dogs? It sounded like gargling embedded in a whine.
Stella: You have no appreciation for bulldoggese! Horrible? Gargling? Whine?
Me: That’s what it sounded like to my human ears.
Stella: I was giving a speech to my followers. You humans understand this. I have been hearing nothing but speeches from your human overlords for many days now.
Me: Uh, excuse me. We don’t have human overlords. Not that some humans don’t try to lord it over us.
Stella: That’s not what I was hearing on the Picture Box. And if you humans make speeches, why can’t I make one…or two…or a few more to my bulldogs?
Me: What were you saying to the bulldogs?
Stella: I told them that humans talk a lot and say very little. I told them that they were not to worry about that. I told them that they are not responsible for human speech that means nothing. I told them to ignore the cat, too. She talks entirely too much and nothing she says makes any sense. And I told them that if they don’t understand something that a human tells them to do, they should just start barking and the humans will give up.
Me: Oh, thank you, Stella, that is so helpful.
Stella: You are welcome.
Me: No wonder the bulldogs are barking so much!
Stella: I am their Queen. They do listen to me. Sometimes. Do humans listen to their leaders when they make speeches?
Me: Mmmmm.
Stella: Maybe I should start making speeches to the humans. Maybe they would listen to me.
Me: You know, Stella, under the current circumstances, it couldn’t hurt.
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I, Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges, will begin this conversation. I just witnessed something truly disturbing.
Me: A giant insect? A giant lizard?
Stella: No, worse. Why was the cat getting treats?
Me: I give her cat treats every now and then.
Stella: Why was the cat getting treats?
Me: Because I wanted her to have something special.
Stella: Why was the cat getting treats?
Me: Sounds like your record is broken.
Stella: No treats for cats!
Me: I don’t give her your treats.
Stella: What did she do to earn them?
Me: She was just being herself.
Stella: That is simply wrong! She is a cat! You know how they are!
Me: Well, what do you do to earn most of your treats?
Stella: Not important!
Me: Why can’t I give the cat treats just because I want to?
Stella: Because CAT! Cats don’t deserve treats!
Me: We get good things we don’t deserve and we don’t get some hard things that we do deserve. We call that grace, both ways. Grace can’t be earned.
Stella: Would you give me some grace?
Me: When you say the word ‘grace’, you are really thinking about treats, aren’t you?
Stella: When I say any word, I am always thinking about treats.
Me: All you had to do was ask, Stella.
Stella: Wait! Grace doesn’t mean a cat treat, does it?
Me: No, I wouldn’t fool you like that. That wouldn’t be gracious.
“Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?…how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask Him?” Matthew 7:9-11 KJV
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
As Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges, I, Stella McStarFace the First, have many responsibilities.
So what, you may ask, do I have to complain about? That list is lengthy and the subject for another blog post. In fact, I should include that list in a conversation with Lady Human. That will save time. How do the humans put it? Kill two cats with one stone.
(Transcriptionist: No, not cats. The old expression is…oh, nevermind.)
Please ignore any interruptions by my staff. To continue –
3. I have the primary responsibility for chasing Moon the Cat. Oh, the others pretend that they will, but when they come face to face with her, what do they do? They stare and walk on by, leaving all the real chasing for me. It is quite lazy of them and selfish to boot. As much as I enjoy cat-chasing, the whole weight of it should not fall on me and my heavy head.
4. I am the bulldog representative to the humans, not just for complaining even though that is the most fun. The humans are pretty clueless and I let them know what needs to be done, such as when we need treats, and more treats, and different types of treats, and more of those treats, too. I am also the taste-tester for all new treats. Unless it has my royal approval, it doesn’t get shared with the others. Of course, I don’t mind finishing off the rejects.
I am sure that I have other queenly responsibilities, but I don’t know what they are so I don’t care. Right now, I am going to exercise my prerogative to take a long nap. Being queen is a tiring business.
Signed,
Stella the First, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
Stella: Hello. I am Stella, the Olde English Bulldogge, here with Lady Human again. Why? I don’t know.
Me: I was watching you sleep a while ago.
Stella: That is creepy. Do you stare at the others while they are sleeping?
Me: Occasionally, but I was watching you because you were obviously dreaming and I have never seen a dog so active during sleep.
Stella: What was I doing?
Me: Your hind legs pumped as though you were running. One even jumped off the ground. Your eyelids twitched. You ruffled your lips. You huffed and puffed like you were out of breath and your sides bellowed in and out. Then your ears perked up, shifting back and forth. Your front legs stayed still, but that was the only part of you that was not engaged in whatever was going on in your head. So what was your dream?
Stella: I was wearing a crown because, you know…queen. I ran up a grassy hill, leading my people, the bulldog army. We were so many. We charged the cat because she had taken and hidden all of our treats.
Me: A whole bulldog army to chase one cat?
Stella: As the humans say, we meant business. Our treats had disappeared! They had to be rescued!
Me: Rescued so that they could be eaten by you?
Stella: Not all eaten by me. Most of them, yes because, you know…queen.
Me: So how did the battle go?
Stella: It was exciting! I was in the lead because…
Me: Yeah, I know…queen.
Stella: Now you understand. Anyway, I was running, but a bulldog with longer legs…I think it was Snoopey but it all happened so fast… passed me and others passed me and so I jumped over them. I tilted my ears left and right to direct which way the army would go. At the top of the hill I found the cat. I ruffled an order for her to leave the treats and depart. She pretended that she did not understand me and just sat licking herself as though she didn’t care. The treats were in a basket behind her. I was about to grab them with my big bulldog mouth when…I woke up. I was at home. There was no army. There were no treats. It was just a dream. Unless…
Me: Unless what?
Stella: You make my dream come true.
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
I am Stella, the Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges, here to share my royal thoughts with you again.
Me: Royal thoughts? Really? Is that what they are?
Stella: I am a queen, thus my thoughts are royal. Do you envy me?
Me: No, I’m fine with being a human commoner.
Stella: Why were you letting the cat sit on your head today?
Me: What are you talking about? The cat did not sit on my head today or any other day.
Stella: I saw her. You were wearing her like a hat.
Me: No, no, no. She was lying down on the top of my easy chair above my head. From where you sat, it probably looked as though she was on top of my head, but I do not wear cats as hats.
Stella: She thought she was your hat. I saw her slap your face with her tail more than once.
Me: That was funny.
Stella: Cats are never funny. Odd. Weird. Catlike. Sinister. But never funny. I would not let a cat slap me in the face with her tail, not even once. They get ideas. What if she decided she belonged there? What if she decided that she lived there?They think they are in charge of things. No cat would ever dare to be in charge of a bulldog, I tell you what.
Me: I have no doubt, Stella.
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
Stella and I are hashing out one of my issues today, not that I expect to get far with it.
Stella: What does that mean? “Get far with it.” Does that mean you are going on a camping trip far away? Noooo!!! Not without me! I hate camping. I still don’t understand why we do it, but I want to go if you are.
Me: That’s so sweet, Stella!
Stella: Not sweet. I get bored when you are not around.
Me: Still sweet. I must be a little bit interesting if you get bored without me.
Stella: You throw the bouncy toys in the yard.
Me: You don’t like the bouncy toys.
Stella: I know, but you make the effort anyway.
Me: What about Tall Man?
Stella: He is not a bouncy toy sort of human. He is a walk around sort of human. When you are not here, we just walk around, looking at stuff. Who needs to look at what we have already seen? And he won’t let us play the cat chasing game.
Me: Ah, you admit it at last. It is all a game. It is not about catching the cat at all.
Stella: Who would actually want to catch a cat? Yuck!
Me: On to my question. When you come in from outside, why must you ram the door the second that I open it? You knock past me every time. Even when I get down close to your face and tell you to enter calmly, you blow in like the last thunderstorm, do your Stella Hop around the room, and only then do you settle down.
Stella: I don’t understand the problem.
Me: You hit the door like a battering ram. In fact, the ancient Romans could have used you on some of their military campaigns. I have tried to stop you. I set myself against the door and open it slowly and BAM! Here you come blasting in.
Stella: I don’t understand the problem.
Me: All the other bulldogs WALK through the door, sometimes a little fast, but still they walk in.
Stella: When they walk in, they are not being bulldogs. I am a bulldog. I am Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges as I have made abundantly clear on many occasions. I don’t simply enter a room. I make my presence known. Everybody knows when Stella is in the building.
Me: Could you maybe be a little less bulldoggy when you come in?
Stella: Less bulldoggy? NEVER!
Me: Well, you heard it from the dog’s mouth. Until next time, farewell from me and Stella the Battering Ram.
Stella: Hmmph! That’s Queen Stella to you, Lady Human! And do not forget it!
Me: How could I?
Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
Bulldoggy 