Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, Fox & Friends, Fox News, Humor, life, publishing, Reading, Writing
I’m oh, so sad, today. One of the Geezer’s and my friends has left us. Mr. B, one of our family, passed away last night. I know that we dogs are supposed to be at odds with our feline cousins, but as with almost all forms of contrasting life, an accord can be reached, and, as in our case, genuine love and respect can flourish.
Watching Mr. B the last few weeks has been difficult. If there ever was a feisty cat, one with no fear, capable of amazing athletic feats, it was my old buddy. Seeing him decline has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. He used to chase me at random times for random reasons in an unending game of seniority tag. By his reckoning, I’m a short time resident in the Gator home. My 2 1/2 years pales to his 20 plus. Certainly, I’ll miss him, but the Geezer and Mrs. Gator will much, much more. Those two love us animals with deep uncompromising affection.
Mr. B spent every night, up to the last ones, curled up in the Gator’s bed next to Mrs. G’s chest. He was better than an alarm clock, waking her each morning promptly at 5. Mr. B would see she was propped up in bed, pillows stacked behind her, waiting for the Geezer’s cup of coffee which the old man serves her in bed each morning. Every day she gave Mr. B his after breakfast “ride,” a stroll around the house perched on her shoulder, a perk he enjoyed and guarded jealously. When she arrived home each evening, he’d climb up on her chest and gaze lovingly into her eyes, asking no more than that he be allowed to stay.
As much as Mrs. Gator will grieve her loss of Mr B, the Geezer’s feelings will equal or exceed hers. There was a special bond between those two. B was the Geezer’s writing companion before I came to fill part of that responsibility. Often we’d share that joy, Mr. B draped over the Geezer’s right shoulder while I’d rest my head on the top of the Geezer’s left thigh. We’d stay at our posts for hours at a time, waiting for the Geezer’s words of appreciation and the petting that always followed. Mr. B’s favorite spot was sitting on the old boy’s shoulders. Close seconds were the Geezer’s lap and on the recliner above the Geezer’s head.
Mr. B was there for the Gators when Hurricane Charley destroyed their house, when they moved to new jobs, when reverses occurred in their lives, and he helped them celebrate those victories, large and small, for which humans strive. He was so loyal. In his last few desperate days, he refused to die without having the opportunity to say “goodbye” to the Geezer who was away at a writers conference. He clung to that thread with uncompromising tenacity until his friend returned home. In turn, the Geezer was with him at 1:30 when…
Mr. B, I can only say to you these words that are the highest compliment that any of we living beings can achieve. “You are dearly loved. You’ll be severely missed.” In memory of my friend, Mr. B – October, 1988 to August, 2009.
There are tears on the keyboard.
Tags: animal tales, Books, Congress, dogs, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, Fox News, funny stories, Humor, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
One of my dog buddies from our street asked, “How can you put up with that old guy, Sandy?”
I looked at Barbie the neighborhood cocker spaniel and head gossip. I said, “The Geezer? He’s a nice guy. Why would you ask something like that?” My human and Barbie’s were discussing mosquitoes and other irrelevant human subjects while we patiently waited for them to resume our walks.
Barbie got as close to me as she could and whispered in Doganese, “I’ve heard he’s a cannibal!”
I yelped, “What!! Where did you hear that?”
The Geezer Gator bent over to see if I was okay. “You alright girl?” he asked. He doesn’t understand a word of Doganese, though I’ve diligently instructed him in its intricacies. Of course, at times that’s an advantage. This was one of them. I licked a paw and said, “Just a sand-spur, Geezer.” He accepted my excuse and resumed his chat with Barbie’s lady.
I motioned to Barbie and we moved away as far as our leashes would allow. The Geezer is like practically all humans, their comprehension of languages other than those spoken by their species, is zero. Still, the old boy is perceptive and he might have figured out what we were talking about.
I switched back to Doganese as I asked Barbie, “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You live in that house.” Barbie looked at the Geezer with disdain.
I said, “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Just like most of her breed Barbie was running her mouth, half-cocked.
”Oh. Oh. I ask you, were his grandchildren here last week? His ‘grands’ as he calls them? Huh? Huh?” Barbie was practically panting.
“Yes,” I said.
“And, and, are they here now? Huh? Huh?”
“And, when and where was the last place you saw them? Huh? Huh?” Barbie couldn’t contain her excitement, drooling at what she supposed was juicy gossip.
I thought for a few seconds, replaying the kids visit. “Last Saturday, in the kitchen, before they left to go home,” I answered.
“I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!” Barbie yammered. “You just thought they went home! He actually ate them!”
“Bull shit! How do you get from his ‘grands’ being in the kitchen to the Geezer eating them as the main course?” I shook my head in disbelief.
Barbie narrowed her eyes. “The Geezer confessed to Mrs. Zoomer. Manny, her chihuahua, told Scoop, the labrador retriever, who told Baseer, the afghan hound, who told Heinz, the… well, I’m not sure what he is, who told me in strictest confidence. I had to trade something to get that information.”
“What?” I asked.
“Sex,” Barbie whispered.
It was beginning to make sense. Barbie isn’t the swiftest fish in the canal. “What did Heinz tell you?”
“Heinz said, that Baseer said, that…”
I interrupted, “Skip that, just get to the point.”
Barbie lowered her voice and glanced nervously at the Geezer Gator as she spoke. “The Geezer told Mrs. Zoomer that he really enjoyed eating his Grands with sausage and milk gravy!”
I started laughing so hard I could hardly stand on all four’s. I said, “Barbie, you moron, Grands are a type of biscuit made by Pillsbury. Honey, you’ve been had! Or, let me rephrase–you’ve been screwed!” For she had. About that time, the Geezer and Barbie’s human, who the Geezer calls “The Fantastic Fanny,” broke up their conversation and we went our separate ways.
After we were out of hearing range, the Geezer asked, “What was that all about? You two were giving somebody a hard time. Who was the victim?”
“You. Let me explain.” I retold the story and we both got a good chuckle. I said to the Geezer, “Poor Barbie. Her ethics are non-existent. She’s either stupid or naive. It’s a good thing she owns a nice human. If she had to earn a living I don’t think there’s anything she could do.”
The Geezer rubbed his chin a few times then said, “Maybe there’s a couple positions she could hold.”
“What?” I asked. I couldn’t think of a thing.
“A member of the US House of Representatives or a US Senator.”
“I guess she might qualify for that.” I thought of the leadership in Washington. “Yes, she does. Anything else?”
“If she couldn’t handle one of those jobs, I can only think of one more– based on the last three who held the job, how about President?”
I laughed and nodded my agreement.
The Geezer sighed and added, “There’s only one problem, Sandy.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“After observing Clinton, Bush, and Obama, she’s probably over qualified.
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, Fox News, funny stories, Humor, life, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
The Geezer sat on the seawall and I laid down on the dock in front of him. When I glanced up, I wished I hadn’t. To put it delicately, the combination of my position, the spread eagle “V” formed by the Geezer’s legs, and his loose fitting shorts and underwear, exposed his “family jewels.” The male human body lacks aesthetics in that region. This problem increases with age, and as I’ve told you, the Geezer “ain’t no spring chicken.” I laid my head on the planks, covered my eyes with my paws, and said, “Hey Geezer, give a girl a break. Your private parts are showing.”
I heard rustling as the Geezer said, “Sorry, girl. Is that better?”
I lifted a paw and confirmed the old boy had covered the view; one that would nauseate vomit. “Thank you,” I muttered in relief.
“No…, thank you, Sandy. It sure would embarrass me if someone else had been looking my way.”
The Geezer’s statement aroused my curiosity. I asked, “Geezer, tell me about the word embarrass. Do you know what its derivative is? I was just wondering if it had anything to do with having that part of the body exposed or something close to it. Like in “Mmmmm, bare ass.”
“I guess I should know that, being a writer and all, but to be honest, I don’t. Yours is a logical deduction, Sandy. A lot of situations that cause humans embarrassment are a result of being caught with their skirts up or pants down.”
“I thought so. Remember when Mrs. Zoomer’s bent over to pickup her hat and split her pants wide open? She kept saying, “I’m so embarrassed.” Her face turned the same color as a tomato and I’ve never seen a woman of that size move so swift and agile. Normally, she has the grace of an NFL offensive lineman in ballet class. She had underpants on even though they were sunk deep into the Grand Canyon. If she’d been sans panties I bet she’d have broken the world 100 meter record.” The recalled picture of the event caused this dog to laugh. The woman damn near spit out her false teeth she reacted so violently.
“That’s not very kind, Sandy,” the Geezer said in his most admonishing tone.
“Ohhh, Geezer I’ve heard you talk about Mrs. Zoomer’s Grand Canyon many times, and you have to admit she’s not going to win a dance contest that has any song playing other than the Baby Elephant Walk.”
The Geezer stood up, faced the Zoomers house, came to attention, and saluted smartly. “Sandy,” he said, “The Grand Canyon I refer to is the one located between Mt. Everest and Mt. McKinley on her chest. As far as her dancing ability, I can’t comment one way or the other. Mr. Zoomer’s doesn’t dance so I’ve never seen her shake that booty.”
“If she does, you can bet a seismograph is breaking somewhere.” The picture Geezer’s last statement brought to mind was Mrs. Zoomer’s waltzing with her husband. Poor man. His whole body could fit in the space between her mammeries with room for a dump truck thrown in. Mr. Zoomer’s bod was best described by Mrs. Gator when she remarked that, “At least they don’t have to worry about being locked out, Ben (Mr. Zoomer) can slide right under the door.”
We were getting away from my question. I decided to drag my buddy back to the topic even if he were kicking and screaming.
“Now, about my theory that the word embarrass comes from people being caught bare assed. Can you…”
The Geezer Gator interrupted me before I could finish my sentence. The thing that makes me maddest is he generally knows what I’m going to say. “There are many things that can embarrass humans other than being caught nude. Take the time Mrs. Gator told her friend Irene that the clothes Irene’s sister wore, and I quote, “Makes her look like she shops at a 2nd hand boutique for destitute clowns.” When Mrs. G. found out that Irene gave the dress in question to her sister, that was embarrassing.”
I finally understood why Irene gave Mrs. Gator that chocolate pie. The one which Irene put a bar of Ex-lax in its making and claimed it was accidental . The Geezer was babbling on in his antique logic and finally reclaimed my interest.
“Then there was the time when I was partying with a bunch of my work-mates sitting in our favorite bar. In walks this woman. One of the guy says, “See that gal?” He pointed to the curvy lady, “I used to screw her blue.” He went on to give vivid details of the gal’s anatomy, ability and stamina during sex, and ended with a Monica Lewinsky reference. He hadn’t noticed the thundercloud on one of our friend’s face. The reason was evident when the upset gentleman introduced the lady as his new bride. That was super emba–” I returned the favor by interrupting the Geezer.
“You’re proving my point; everything you’ve talked about is connected in some way to having a bare ass or covering it up.”
“Come on, Sandy.”
“No, really Geezer.”
The old boy said, “You know that’s not true.” I hate it when Geezer gets his, I know better than you ’cause I’m older and wiser, look.
“Okay, Geezer. I know how to settle this. Promise that if I ask you a question you’ll answer honestly and you’ll tell me the whole story.”
The Geezer lifted a brow and looked at me like I had a smelly dead fish draped over my snout. “Yeah, I promise.” He was wary and cautious.
“I want you to tell me the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you.”
The codger jerked back, contorted his face, and shook his head.
I reminded him, “You promised.”
He took a deep breath and said, “It was back several years ago. Mrs. Gator and I were leasing a 100 year old ranch house on 1,000 acres. Of course, the structure was built without modern tools that keep doors and windows square, floors level, and so on. The house was 1/4 mile off the road, guarded by a locked gate. I was coaching football at the time and Mrs. Gator borrowed the car to go shopping with some friends while I was at the school. One of my coaching buddies dropped me at my home after practice. It was at the farm lane gate I discovered I’d left my house keys in the car with Mrs. Gator. No problem. I climbed the gate and hoofed up the sand ruts to the house. I could wait outside; Mrs. G. would be home soon. About 2/3 of the way up the road, my lack of keys became more of a problem. Last night’s triple helping of chili had worked its way through my “bod” and was suggesting its emancipation. The urgency had become great by the time I twisted the door handle. It was securely locked. The old wooden Florida style house was built on pilings, but I could reach the windows in the living room if I stood on a 5 gallon pail. The cypress was old and rotten so I figured I could force the sash open. I found a screw-driver and, after a few seconds of prying, dislodged the latch holding the window down. I got the rickety window pushed up enough to crawl inside. After stepping up on the pail, I inserted my head and torso through the opening with my waist resting on the window sill. As I tried to wiggle through, my butt touched the window and it slammed down on my back. The sash wedged at an angle shackling me in place. There I was, pinned in the window, unable to move either way. Struggling to free myself resulted in kicking over the pail and that left me dangling in the opening, my full weight resting on my distended stomach. The urgency had become a full-fledged emergency. I writhed around trying to push the window up between stops for necessary tight cheek periods. Right before my capitulation to nature was eminent, the window popped lose from its jammed position and I slid backwards off of the sill, landing in a heap outside. I struggled to my feet. The emergency had become a 5 star, red, terrorist alert. There was no alternative. I dropped my drawers to my knees, assumed the position, and commenced fertilizing. It was then the car horn tooted. Mrs. Gator and 4 of her friends were leering and laughing at me from the Ford.”
I said, “See Geezer, I rest my case.” The old boy turned pink just talking about it. Humans are strange. I do that every day. After all, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Bare ass. Yep, that’s where the human word came from.
# # #
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“Why do you do that?” I watched the Geezer Gator get his tide marker out for his monthly update. Each full moon he measures the level of the high tide from the top of the sea wall and records its height on a strip of wood. He’s done this since I’ve been here in our Southwest Florida home– that’s 2 1/2 years.
”It’s my version of a lie detector, Sandy.” The old boy looked at the stick and grunted. “I’ll set this out so I don’t miss marking it. Full moon is on the 7th. I forgot last month.”
“You okay? You haven’t fallen and bumped your head? Or developed malaria? Maybe we should take your temperature.” Once in a while I get concerned about the old boy’s mental state. I figure there must be rust on that brain of his. “How on earth can that serve as a lie detector?”
The Geezer Gator laughed. “I can understand your confusion. This started ‘BS.’ That’s ‘before Sandy.’ Five years ago when the flap about global warming was peaking, I decided to do a little survey for myself. I’ve owned this place on an ocean-connected canal for 29 years. I hadn’t noticed any difference in the water level, but unless you recorded the actual height would you really know? It’s pretty important since the information some folks have been putting out is that this property will be under water in a few years. I decided to find out for myself. Was the book “An Inconvenient Truth” fact, or just “A Politically Motivated Lie?”
“And the answer is?” I asked.
The Geezer shuffled through a stack of papers stored by the stick. “In the 63 observations I’ve made, the net increase is 3/16 inches. That’s in about five years. Actually, it’s gone down a couple times. Since the average high tide level is 29″ from the seawall top, and if I use the 5 year rate of increase it means the seawall top will be breached in 773 years. What do you think, Sandy?”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire!”
”That’s my deduction too, Sandy. But, lets remember there are a lot of factors that may change. And, while the increase is insignificant, it is an increase. Things could get worse. China and India are just really getting started on putting autos on the road. The global economy is developing new industrial capabilities and power requirements world wide.” He got his sly, ’my tongue is in my cheek,’ look. “And of course, there’s the continuing problem of animal life producing all those pollutants.”
“Sounds like none of that is going to change.”
“Let the liars, I mean politicians, have some time to dream up ways to make it appear like they’re working on the problems while at the same time strengthening their political power and padding the pockets of their friends and business partners.”
“That sounds pretty cynical to me, Geezer.” I have to keep the old boy in line. “Just how would they go about that?”
The old boy rubbed his mustache and looked into space hoping a friendly alien would beam down an answer. Amazingly one must have. He smiled and said, “Bicycle pedals, Windmills, and Beano.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Geezer, what are you talking about? How do those three do anything to solve the problems of more cars in the emerging economies, the need for more power, gases in the atmosphere? For example, China and India already have huge numbers of bicycles.”
“Did I say bicycles? I didn’t say bicycles. It’s pedals, pedals, pedals. In fact, the politicians will tell you that pedals solve the unemployment problem as well. We’ll hook up those pedals to electrical generators, have the unemployed turn them in shifts, convert all cars to electric, and have GE make the conversion kits.”
I enjoy a spoof as much as the next canine. I played along, “What if there aren’t enough people unemployed?”
“No problem. The government will simply decree that ALL people must spend two hours, or what ever it takes, on the power tread mills. Freedom is no longer an issue, government can do anything, like set salaries, cancel debts, bankrupt businesses, make value judgements of a persons mental judgments based on race and gender. Why not tell us we have to do our part for the collective?”
No sense reasoning with the Geezer when he gets those hypotheticals rolling. He always seems to come up with another tale. I decided to move on. “The windmills are for generating power, right?”
“Yep. GE will have a monopoly on that, too. So that fits. Might be able to use some of the unemployed to blow on the blades. The government is creating more of those folks in the auto industry by producing more cars in China. They could set up a couple windmills in the studios of MSNBC, CBS, CNN, ABC, FOX, and NBC so that something usable comes out of those blow hards.”
“I’ll drink to that!” I had to agree. I cautiously asked, “Butttt..What about the Beano? Explain that.”
”Sure, Sandy. We can get the government to hire Haliburton to clandestinely put Beano in all foods for humans and all domestic animals, world wide. Think of the impact. Less methane to attack the Ozone layer. You can eat leftovers without fumigating the house for roaches. Cows won’t poot in pastures decreasing the mating urges of bull frogs and crickets thereby eliminating those surplus populations. I won’t ever have to worry about cutting a fart in a crowded elevator, having to look at the guy next to me like he did it, while waving my hand in front of my nose and saying, “Some People.”
I shook my head and said, “Geezer, really.”
He laughed. “Okay Sandy, I take it all back except for one thing.”
My paw covered my squinted eyes because I had to ask. “And…what’s that?”
“Politicians are liars.”
You can’t argue with a universal truth.
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, economy, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, Fox News, Humor, publishing, Reading, Writing
“Hey, Geezer, what’s out-housing?”
The Geezer Gator looked at me as though I’d eaten loco weed. “Out-housing?” he repeated. “Are you sure? You know plenty about that already. That’s what you do every morning when we take our walk.”
I gave him my, you’re a smart ass, look. “Geezer, I do lots of things each morning. Give me a break.”
“I guess being city born and a youngster you don’t know what an outhouse is. An outhouse is what folks used before toilets and indoor plumbing. It literally was a small house located “out” or away from peoples’ homes.”
“Oh.” I still was unclear about the word.
“Sandy, you sure you wanted to know about out-housing? How was the word used?” The Geezer could see I was confused.
“I heard Mrs. Gator and Mrs. Zoomers talking about how the Smith’s were in deep doggy dew because of the out-housing happening at Mr. Smiths company. Mrs. Zoomer said the Smiths were about to lose their house.” I scratched my ear with my paw. “I guess that makes sense, but wouldn’t they be in deep human poo, not doggy dew?”
The old boy grinned the way he does when I do something dumb, like the time I tried to eat a bottle of Tabasco. “You need to improve your eavesdropping skills. I think you got the words wrong or mixed together, Sandy. I think you heard them talking about outsourcing.”
“Out-whating?” I asked.
“Outsourcing. That’s when a company decides to buy materials or services they previously did for themselves.”
”Hmmmm. Why would a company do that? Don’t the people they buy it from have to make a profit? Wouldn’t it cost more?” It didn’t sound logical to me.
“That might be hard for you to understand. It gets complicated.”
“Try me.” I wanted to add, it might be for human brains, but not for my sharp canine intellect.
“It has to do with costs. Sometimes you can get something done cheaper by another company because of the machinery they have or the technology they use, but most frequently it’s because of cheap labor and often the labor is cheap because it’s not in the US. They call that offshore outsourcing.”
“That’s not difficult to understand, Geezer. But, how does that effect the Smiths?”
“Well, when a company outsources, it gets rid of the expense it had to make the part or perform the service. Mr. Smith’s job was to do work his company decided to outsource.”
“Oh, then Mr. Smith has to get a job somewhere else, right?”
“Yes, but a lot of companies are doing that so it’s hard to find jobs now.”
“Okay, but…..” I still didn’t understand the logic.
The Geezer was grinning at me, but I had to ask anyway. “If people keep outsourcing, how do you humans buy the things you need? Won’t the companies that saved the money not gain anything because the humans they sell to can’t afford it and they’ll have to reduce their price or go out of business? A few people will make out like bandits for a short time, but everybody gets clobbered in the long run.”
“You’re right Sandy! That makes you smarter than most professors at Harvard, all our politicians, and the Wall Street crowd.”
Of course, the Geezer didn’t have to tell me that.
# # #
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“It’s a hula hoop.” The Geezer looked at the ring that looked like a piece of hose with its ends connected. It was one of the things he was evaluating as he went through “stuff” stored under the house.
“A what?” I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.
“A hula hoop.” Geezer tossed the item in the discard pile.
“That’s what I thought you said.” The plastic didn’t have anywhere to slip on a grass skirt. “What on earth do you use that for? Did you use it to learn the hula?”
The old boy shook his head and chuckled. “Nope, I didn’t. It wasn’t used to teach people the hula. Well, not exactly. Maybe, kinda.” His antique brain rebelled, but finally functioned. “It was a craze, a fad. Those things are hard to describe rationally.”
I cocked my head to the side and lifted my lashes, asking the question without muttering a woof.
“Okay, a fad or craze is something humans do because everyone else is. A lot of the time people do it without its making a whole lot of sense.” The Geezer pointed to the “hoop” lying on the concrete. “That thing is a good example.”
“I’ll bite. What do you do with it?”
“Well, the idea was to slip the hula hoop over your head, hold it at your waist, then rotate your hips, to keep the thing from falling to the floor.”
I waited for the rest of the explanation, but none was forth-coming. “And then what?” I prompted.
“You just tried to keep it up as long as you could.” The Geezer nudged the plastic circle with his toe.
“That’s it?” The more you learn about humans the smarter posts become.
“Ahhh, let’s see. Sometimes people would get together and have contests to see who could keep their hoop from falling for the longest time.” The Geezer looked sheepish. “Sounds stupid doesn’t it?”
“You said it, I didn’t. Do humans do many things like that?” I asked.
“Yes, Sandy, I’m afraid so.” He lumbered over to another box and held up a pair of shoes as though they were a soiled diaper. The clod hoppers had 3″ thick heels, 2″ thick soles, and a bulbous toe that looked like part of a clown’s outfit. “These were in fashion several years ago. Fashions that men and women wear are fads most of the time. I used to wear those things but hated them. They were uncomfortable and I kept turning my ankles.”
“Then why did you wear the damned things?” I’d always believed my buddy was smart, but…
“I was younger and effected by peer pressure. I wouldn’t do that today. You get a little wiser as you get older.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Say, Geezer I’d sure like to see how you did that hula hoop thing. Can you demonstrate?” I could visualize it, but I wanted to see if it was funny as I thought it might be.
He frowned. “I don’t know Sandy.”
I gave him my most admiring innocent look. “Please, Geezer. I’d really love for you to show me. Please…please.”
The Geezer sighed and grunted, “Okay.” He surveyed his surroundings, moved a few fragile items out of the path of possible destruction, and picked up the hoop. “Well, here goes,” he said.
He lifted the plastic circle over his head and eased it down to his waist line. Check that– to the place his waist line should be. He began moving his body in a circular motion. He reminded me of a drunken elephant looking for a peanut. Geezer finally launched the hula hoop with his hands trying to get it spinning around his middle. In spite of his gyrations, the hoop dropped to the floor in a screw-like motion. He muttered, “Shit!” picked the plastic pipe up and readied himself for another attempt. This time he really cranked up his old bod, flinging his torso, hips, and legs around like a walrus on steroids. He spun the hoop with mighty hand shove and behold; the hula hoop clung to his gut as it rotated around him. Either he took more space to wiggle like a pig infected with Saint Vitus Dance than he anticipated or simply misjudged his diameter of operations from its beginnings, because three items he was evaluating became thrash when his hula hoop becamea wrecking ball. A vase and a candy dish are now glass shards and a clock has cookoo-ed its last. I thought I could hear the song, “The Baby Elephant Walk” playing somewhere. I couldn’t help but laugh…and so did the Geezer.
I said, “Tell me that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever bought.”
The old boy chuckled and started fumbling around in one of the cartons. “Wait until I show you my pet rock.”
“Is there anything else that you’ve done as futile and pointless as engaging in these fads?” I’d thought reached the bottom of the human barrel.
The Geezer never hesitated. “Yes, I recently voted for President.”
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It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get to the computer. The Geezer’s been off running around the state on reunions and fishing trips, plus he’s been entertaining his family. That means no keyboard access for me. Sooner or later I’ll figure out some way to circumvent his security system and I won’t be silent so long.
I miss the old boy when he’s not around. Well, mostly. He’s my walking and talking companion. The play-mate I can count on most. The Geezer serves me my meals when he’s around and provides the bulk of treats I shouldn’t be getting. He is a soft touch. We’re best friends.
But even best friends can get on each others nerves. I could do without his rants on politics. The ear mite medicine he treats me with is a real head shaker. His nagging me about tugging on the leash, stopping me from trying all those delicious little tidbits lying on the road, and restraining me from running full speed to my friends is annoying, but on the whole I can’t imagine life without him.
We were sitting on the dock this morning for the first time in a couple of weeks. The weather was pleasant and the conversation light. I brought the subject of his son’s visit up, thinking it would be something he’d enjoy.
“Hey Geezer, your son sure is doing well. Even though he works in a troubled industry, getting that company technology award has to be a real plus for him. He seems to be making enough money to live comfortably. Both your grandchildren are smart and work hard in school – they don’t appear to have any major behavior problems. His wife has a good job and they seem to get along. You must be happy he’s succeeding.”
The Geezer looked glum. “He has a failure to fail.”
“What are you talking about? That’s crazy!” I was afraid senility had suddenly claimed my buddy.
“I does sound crazy, doesn’t it? And it would be if it weren’t true.” The old boy’s sad expression and slow head shake underlined his next statement. “Failure is today’s surest way to be rewarded. Want some examples?”
The Geezer looked like he needed some humoring. “Okay, I guess I can suffer through them.” I braced for the worst.
“Sandy, answer true or false to each of the statements I make.”
“The reward for failing in your job as a major business executive is a Golden Parachute.”
”True.” I could see where this conversation was leading.
“The reward for a bank company failing is a Bush bailout.”
“True.” I struggled to think of a way to change the subject.
“The reward for failing to pay your taxes is being made Obama’s Secretary of the Treasury.”
“Yep, all true.” I figured a way to clear the depression permeating the dock. “If failing is the way to get ahead, let’s try this. I’ll give you some failures and you tell me what reward would likely occur. Use that writer’s imagination you like to brag about.”
The codger can’t resist a challenge. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and said, “Fire away.”
“A high school student fails to turn in a paper and flunks a science class that’s crucial for his getting into college.” I figured that would stump him right out of the starting gate.
“That’s easy. The student lies, telling his teacher it was written in invisible ink on invisible paper and goes on to explain his earth-changing theories on cloaking devises. He’s immediately offered a full scholarship to MIT, a summer laboratory in the Peekskills, and a job with the CIA.”
I had a comeback I thought would be more challenging. “One of the participants on a picnic fails to heed warnings about the effects eating too many baked beans will have on him.”
“Hmmmm.” The Geezer scratched his head, but smiled. “Being so full of hot gas, the picnicker floated up into space like the Aunt character in Harry Potter. An Air Force fighter confused him with a UFO, shot at him and missed. The nearness of the rockets passing, caused him to unleash a huge burst of flatulence. The picnicker hurtled to earth landing in a huge stack of hay. He was able to sue the US government for a trillion dollars for mental anguish, collect from a chemical company who discovered his gaseous formula was a perfect pesticide, and was given a payment by former Vice President Gore for contributing to the background for his newest book, “An Inconvenient Fart.”
”That’s pretty good.” The Geezer’s colon cleansing must have had a mental side benefit. Made me wonder if the old boy’s anatomy was standard. I decided to make one last effort to silence him. “You failed to make it to the airport in time to catch a flight to see your wife. And…and…and, if you don’t have sex in 24 hours you’ll die!
The Geezer frowned for several seconds before he smiled. “As a result of failing to catch the plane, I was sent to a private waiting room. Upon entering, I accidentally tripped the time lock on the door making it impossible to open for 25 hours.”
“Damn, Geezer! Where’s the reward in that?”
“You didn’t let me finish. The only other things in the room were a box containing 1000 Viagra pills and Nicole Kidman, who couldn’t see very well because she had her eyes dilated, kept saying, ‘Keith I’m glad you finally made it,’ and she told me she’d just eaten 10 dozen oysters.”
The things Geezer was saying were far-fetched and didn’t make any sense, but then that describes everything that’s happening today. Gee, maybe failing to fail isn’t a good thing.
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, Fox & Friends, Fox News, Humor, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
Hummmm. Sometimes you have to take a step up and look in the mirror. Gosh, did I over-estimate my canine ability to use human language. My last post, “Is there a lawyer in the house?”, was supposed to be a spoof on the wording used by our legal eagles, not a serious statement about politics or a serious effort to bring a suit against the Geezer or Fox News. I guess I worded the post too realistically; what I thought were tongue-in-muzzle jokes were read by some folks as a real issue.
Just to be clear I don’t need a lawyer, I do not need contributions to a legal fund, I wasn’t trying to make a political statement. Some people read it that way. Sorry my communication wasn’t clear.
The Geezer said, “Sandy, I think it speaks a lot about our times as much as what you wrote. People are so on edge, so polarized, and in many cases, so scared, they are dubious of what they read, hear, and see. They’re ready to react defensively. But, can you blame them?”
“Geezer, I just didn’t think anyone would take the whole think seriously.”
“Yep, some got it. But, you see by some of the emails you received that some didn’t.” The Geezer tried to look wise. “It’s my fault, too. I read it and didn’t see the way part of the folks would interpret the article. I guess that’s from we two spending so much time together.” He shuffled his feet and sighed. “After rereading it, I can see how you could interpret it the way some folks did. I’d suggest you look at it again and see what you think.”
I did. You can read it as serious. I guess I’ll just have to be a lot more careful in the future. Gosh, human language is sure more complicated than Doganese.
Well, for those folks who come here for the reason I intended, to laugh, here is something I heard that should make some of you chuckle.
Two men were talking. Suddenly, one of them began to cry. His friend asked, “Gee, Tom, what’s wrong?”
The sniffling man said, “Oh, I might as well tell you Jerry…my wife and I are separated.”
“That’s too bad! Is it permanent?”
“No, it’s just for 30 days.”
“That’s not that long.”
“I know; it’s over today.”
The other man, Jerry, began to sob. “I’ve been trying to be brave, but my wife has a problem, too.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, what’s happened?”
“I got a call from her sister saying my wife was involved in a drive-up shooting.” Jerry looked distraught.
Tom said, “Don’t you mean drive-by shooting?”
“No,” Jerry moaned, “They couldn’t get around her. But, that’s not the worst thing. She was shot.”
“Horrible, horrible! Where at?”
“Under the left breast.”
Tom gasped, “My God, that’s a fatal wound!”
“No, it just blew away her left knee cap.”
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, Fox & Friends, Fox News, Humor, publishing, Reading, Writing
It was chilly on the dock this morning. That was partly because another impulse of cold air brushed across Southwest Florida and partly because we left the nice warm house earlier than usual. The winds were brisk and penetrated my coat enough that I shivered. There’s the possibility I could catch a cold or develop pneumonia. I blame the whole thing on the Geezer’s failure to keep one of his New Year’s resolutions and Fox & Friends. I’m seriously considering contacting one of those shyster lawyers that advertise on TV and suing both of them.
The Geezer is gradually watching more TV news programs and he’s breaking his resolution not to get mad as he watches. This morning he started shouting at the screen as the three smiling faces on the couch reported news about octoplets, Oscars, Obama’s bank bailout, etc. At times, Geezer is like a run away steam engine. Once his boiler gets lighted any kind of fuel pushes his pistons faster. I expect the old boy will explode one of these days. There’ll be pieces of steel plate, iron parts, and hot water spewed over five counties. To avoid self-destruction this morning, he clicked off TV and cooled down in the early morning winds.
Obviously, by breaking his promise not to watch and become angry at news programs like Fox & Friends, he knew or should have known, his resultant actions did or could cause damage to those in association and/or contact with him on or about the times that he participates in said activities. In other words, if I get sick I’m going to screw the old boy.
But the real culprit is Fox. They did it! They knew it! Or should have! Broadcasting news that was sure to inflame the Geezer and people like him was a blatant act of irresponsibility. How dare they upset poor unsuspecting people like the Geezer! After introducing him and those in his class to the addictive personalities they feature, they have conspired to falsely imprison his/their judgement. In utter disregard for their implied contract with their viewers, they must have known they’re forcing the Geezer and poor unfortunates like him to make rash and irrational actions creating damages to him and to those entities who have dependencies there upon. This is clearly evidenced by the act of subjecting me to cruel and unusual temperature conditions. Besides, I’m sure old Rupert Murdock has deep pockets!
The settlement I’ll require is $121,470,378.00. I’ve dropped the small change. I’ve fairly and carefully assessed my damages. This figure has been constructed by adding the costs of my potential vet bill $168, medicine $88, time at the hospital, $270.50, mental trauma $15,000,000, and $15,367,068 for loss of potential income for the potential degradation of my barking voice for potential watch-dog positions and potential recording opportunities. This totals $30,367,594.50. The treble punitive damages comprise the rest of the settlement. In light of recent suits like the 8 mill awarded to a smoker that was too stupid to quit and the 32 mill a bunch of illegals sued a rancher for who was holding them for arrest, I think the escalation is appropriate.
I have the phone numbers of some local legal eagles who seem sleezy enough to handle such a case. But, I’m going to take a shot at trying to corrupt a lawyer I have lots in common with. Megyn Kelly! She’s sure to have insider information about Fox. Maybe knows who’s sleeping with who. We both are blonds, are beautiful, have piercing eyes, sharp tongues, and don’t take s–t from anyone. A 50% split just might do it, though my Wall Street pals tell me $60,000,000 is tough to get by on.
I can honestly appeal to a lawyer on the basis that the courts should favor the suit. The courts’ heirarchy seem to be ready to embrace minority causes. Goodness, even the Attorney General is calling us a country of racial cowards. Isn’t that a positive statement full of hope for Americans? Certainly Golden Retrievers qualify as a minority.
If any of you know a lawyer who will take the case or Megyn Kelly’s contact info, I’d be interested. That’s as soon as I can leave my paws in cold water long enough to get sick. Oh, and if you have a yacht brokers telephone number….
Tags: Agents, animal tales, Books, dogs, Entertainment, Fox News, Humor, life, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
Ahhhhh, our Southwest Florida mornings are back. It was 63 degrees with a zephyr rattling through the palm fronds as we made our morning Bokeelia Beach walk. The Geezer waved to a man walking on the other side of the road and we crossed the street to talk. Of course, the first thing they did was shake hands.
What gives with this ritual? Two humans approach, square off in front of each other in a challenge position, then extend their right hands, grasp the invader’s palms, and grind up and down like they’re operating an antique water pump. Are they trying to see if water comes out of their fellow humans’ mouth or ears?
The males seem obligated to perform this action. Many females do engage in this ceremony, but are less obsessed. My guess it’s just another example of the females superior intelligence. That’s a universal trait we gals of all zoological types share. Of course, I don’t discuss this with the Geezer. Naturally, he has a different take.
Curiosity about this fetish had me burning. I wanted to ask the old boy why this slavish devotion to a convention that makes no sense to me. However, I’m too much of a lady to rudely interrupt a conversation. I decided to wait to pose my question. The other gentleman yakked on incessantly. Eventually, I rolled my eyes and paced back and forth trying to get the Geezer moving. He was too busy talking about some stupid political thing. In desperation, I tugged at my leash to break up the gab-fest. The old boy broke off the babbling immediately. Who says you can’t teach old men new tricks!
After we’d gotten out of human hearing range, another deficiency of the species, I asked, “Geezer, why do humans shake hands when they meet each other?”
“It’s a universal greeting. It’s like saying, ‘nice to see you,’ without using the words.” The Geezer dismissed the subject by pointing out what was obvious. “Isn’t it great weather? It sure beats the chilly mornings we’ve had the last few days.”
I hate it when the Geezer does that! It pissed me and my sarcastic side popped up. I growled, “Oh, nicer weather? Gee, I’d have never noticed. I guess my paw pads have lost their sensitivity and my skin doesn’t recognize temperature differences.” Before the old boy could retort, I added, “That stuff about shaking hands because you’re glad to see someone is Toro Caca. You shake hands with that Irving guy from down the street and you despise the sniveling little bastard. I know you’re not glad to see him.”
The Geezer’s anger flashed for a split second before he saw the wisdom in my comment. After the time it took to get his ancient brain in operate mode, he said, “Well, Sandy, that wasn’t a complete answer. It’s a custom that’s origin is from long ago. It’s more a “I’ll do you no harm,” than “glad to see you.” If I remember right,” I thought he probably didn’t, “Shaking hands goes back to when men carried weapons and you weren’t sure of a person’s intent when they approached. By showing an empty hand and accepting the other man’s empty palm you mutually agreed not to try cutting off the other fellow’s head.”
“I guess you’re going to tell me that’s why you always shake right hands?” I couldn’t help smirking.
“Very good, Sandy. That’s exactly right!”
The smirk continued. Either Geezer was blowing smoke up my food vent or I had another bit of proof the human race was playing the game short a few cards. “Come on, Geezer. What about lefties?”
“Since most people were trained to do everything with their right hand, I guess it didn’t occur to them.” The Geezer surprises me at times. I hate to admit MY human can be so simplistic.
I wanted to point out all the obvious superior points that the butt sniff has over the hand shake when greeting, but I’ve learned in my young life that discussing such issues with intellectually inferior species wastes my time. However, let me explain the differences to you.
What do you learn from a handshake? Well, you see the other person has a right hand, he can move it, and not much else. Oh, you find out the person you’re meeting is willing to smear his germs all over you. That way you can’t say he’s never given you anything. Geezer says you can tell how assertive an individual is by his shake. I won’t dispute that, though I have my doubts, and for sure, that’s a one time thing.
Now, let’s consider the butt sniff. To paraphrase old Shakey, “How do I see thee better, let me count the ways.” Right from the first a butt sniff says, ‘I’m willing to follow behind you,’ not ‘I’m right in your face and space to challenge you.’ What’s the friendlier greeting? Walking around your new acquaintance gives you a better chance to check them out. A 360 degree view so to speak. From a ladies point of view, it lets you size up your competition and, more importantly, the male contingent. If humans adopted butt sniffing, just think how many women wouldn’t waste time on men with, shall we say, deficient virtue! I’m assuming the clothes will go, that’s the natural thing that follows. Mind you, that’s just the visual.
The sniff! Talk about information! Let’s take sexual promiscuity. It jumps out and beats your nose like a baseball bat. Not that that’s my first interest. Lets’ get right to the social aspects. A whiff gives you a great clue to a dog’s socio-economic status. I can tell an Iams, Nutro, or Science Diet canine from a Kennel-ration mutt after sampling 2 parts per million. Coupled with their grooming, you can see who the social climbers are, the snobs, the down-on-their luck types, etc. I could expound on the superiority of the butt sniff for hours, but I’d sound preachy and I detest that.
I do see hope for the human race. Orientals bow to greet each other. Their’s is a much longer established culture, and I see this as proof of Darwin’s theory. I’m sure the bow is the first vestige of the human species evolution to the butt sniff as a universal greeting. It’s comforting that they’ll soon be thinking like I do, which means they’ll finally be getting it right.
PS - Geezer tells me over 3000 of you have visited my humble jottings over the last few months. He thinks that’s great. So do I. Thank you for your visits and the hundred plus plus universally kind comments. It sure makes a dog want to do more.