Kermit was an oddball, and, even now, we sit around the campfire with friends, reflecting on his antics. (WARNING: due to the graphic nature of these stories, they may not be suitable for all audiences.)

with us one week

It was the first Saturday night after we adopted Kermit. B had gone to bed, and Brennen was at work late. I was sleeping. A strange noise woke me, and I felt something on my back. It was too late when I realized what was happening. The sound was that of Kermit hacking, standing on my back. On a positive note, he felt bonded to me already. Unfortunately, he vomited all over my back and hair. Totally nasty, right? Now imagine trying to get out of bed, into the bathroom, out of clothes, and into the shower without dripping dog vomit all over the house. Impossible? Why, yes, yes it is.

meeting the in-laws

Kermit didn't make the best impression on my husband's parents. They are more the "traditional" dog types, and Kermit was as odd in personality as he was in looks. Sweet and sour, basically. We'd planned a nice baby back rib dinner for them the night they arrived from the airport, and, somehow (actual how is a blur), he got a hold of a small bone.

Kermit tolerating N.A.S.H.A. as a puppy.

We were initially concerned that he would choke as he made splinters of it, so Brennen tried to take it. Kermit went tasmanian devil on him and tried to make mincemeat of his hand, then ran off under, then behind, the couch. "Like hell!" Shouted my darling, practically turning the table over as he bounded after Kermit. In one motion, he pulled the couch from the wall and grabbed Kermit by the scruff of the neck, yanking him skyward. As he did, a fountain of urine streaked up and across the wall and all the way to the patio door. Kermit got his bone, but stayed outside for quite some time. We finished dinner before scrubbing the wall and putting the house back together. My father-in-law, who is not fond of "situations"–especially during dinner–commented when his son returned to the table "I wouldn't tolerate that during dinner." I just about spit my wine out laughing. I may have been the only one.

cheating on Lizzie

If you read part one, you know that Lizzie was a big black sweet-as-can-be pit bull, and Kermit's first "love." His next steady girlfriend was a big yellow stuffed duck given to my step son, who was five at the time. Thankfully B was never very fond of stuffed animals, and after laughing at Kermit's frequent courting rituals toward the thing, generously said "Kermit, you can just have it." That was best.

learning to use the remote

Brennen and I were chatting in the kitchen over a glass of wine, making dinner together, while B and Kermit sat on the couch watching a show. They were peaceful, and so were we. Until we heard a snarling tizzy, then crying. We ran out to the living room and asked what happened. It took B (unhurt, but shaken) a few minutes to calm down enough to be understood. Through the sniffles, he finally choked out "I...was...just...trying...to teach...him how...to use...the remote! Waaaaaaaahhhhh!" We didn't see it either, but I think we all know what happened.

i can't see out the window

Kermit absolutely loved to ride in the car. During most of his life, I drove a Jeep Wrangler. He would basically surf on the center console, panting the whole time, giving me an occasional kiss on the cheek. When he got tired, he'd wander the car. He could even stand on the passenger seat and put his front paws on the giant grab handle above the glove compartment. He'd ride along like that forever and deposit about a million nose smudges on the vertical windshield of the Jeep. Any time I took an actual human passenger, they'd ask "What is all over your windshield? I can't even see out of it!" Thanks, Kerm.

the office dog flop

When we adopted Kermit, I worked at a graphic design firm. It was a family-like environment, and the ultra-cool owners were a dog-loving couple who were happy to allow me to bring Kermit to the office. He would mostly sleep under my desk, but whenever a coworker would open the office door, he would trot over and flop down in front of them, then roll over on his back requesting a belly rub. We coined it "doing the Kermie flop."

um...what the fu¢& is your dog doing?

My brother-in-law, Greg, was visiting. We'd left Kermit to socialize with him in the living room while we prepared dinner. Greg said "Dude, get in here! What the fu¢& is your dog doing?"

There's Kermit in our papasan chair, leaning back in a semi-standing position, reaching down with his two front paws to his nether-region, pleasuring himself. Only that dog. I swear. We just shook our heads. Greg said "Good for you, Kermit."

If any of you who knew Kermit have a story to add, feel free to chime in!