Tags: Agents, Books, dogs, family, Humor, life, publishing, Reading, Reviews, Writing
It seems like forever since I’ve had my paws on the computer keyboard. You probably have already guessed the Geezer has been away and that precludes my access to “our” internet accounts. Before he left he said, “Oh, I won’t be gone long. I’ll be back so quick you won’t even think about it.” Of course, I knew those remarks were placating, not truthful. In Doganese we classify that kind of speech under the category called, “Humanaucity Bullus Shittus.”
My buddy Oreo, eaves dropped as the Geezer and I discussed his prolonged absence. When I asked him what took him so long to get back, about the only excuse he didn’t use was that I’d eaten his homework. Oreo’s feline tail twitched. There were weather problems…rain, snow, hail, tornadoes, volcano eruptions, asteroid showers…and whether problems…he didn’t know whether to go to this or that event, or take this or that road, or stay at this or that hotel. The cat rolled his eyes in disbelief. The Geezer claimed he forgot several things and had to retrace his steps and repeat tasks. I can believe that; he’d forget his ass if it weren’t so big and firmly attached. My black and white friend rolled on his back, his belly heaving with repressed laughter.
After a series of apologies that fall under a similar Doganese sub-category “Humanaucity Bullus Insincereioso Shittus” Oreo and I were left alone to ponder whether the Geezer really believed we were that stupid. Oreo looked skyward and purred, “If you’re going to lie you should at least try to be good at it.”
I was steamed. I love the Geezer, but it infuriates me when he won’t just come out with the plain unvarnished truth. “Damn it Oreo, I wish he’d just say… sorry. I screwed up…and let it go at that.”
“That’s just the human way.” Oreo stretched his front legs out in front of him, pushing his rear high in the air at the same time. He looked out the window. “Look, Sandy, the Night Herons are back building nests again this year.” Oreo licked his chops, a feline reflex for he’d abandoned any form of hunting for a cushy inside-the-house life.
“Humans don’t seem to bother you much,” I said.
“The Geezer doesn’t.” Oreo got a sly grin on his face. The cat had seen some rough younger years before he came to live with us. “You have to rub a lot of legs before you find your prince.” He looked very wise and provided some sage advice. “Sandy, when you’re warm, well taken care of and fed regularly…bark less and wag more. You may quote me.”
visit the Geezer at
Tags: Books, dogs, food, Humor, life, publishing, Reading, Reviews, Writing
There’s all kind of excitement around our house these days. The Geezer has a new book that’s being released at the end of this month. Mrs. G is busy on the phone, taking and making calls to people and places regarding the novel. I worry that the old boy is so busy he’ll strip a gear; he’s racing around like a cat stuck in room with twenty mice and the poor feline can’t decide which to catch first. He’s on the phone with his editor, then he races to the computer, he pounds on the keyboard, then it’s back to the publisher, you get the drift.
I really shouldn’t give a Russian rat’s rump and wouldn’t if it didn’t interfere with some of the things I like to do. Mrs. G doesn’t fawn over me as much as usual, but I can give her my “poor dejected dog” look and she’ll stop what she’s doing and make over me. The Geezer cuts our morning walks short, spends a woefully short time playing the games I train him in and is less likely to sneak a hot dog out of the refrig for me. I can live with these things. But, the lack of computer access to write to you on my blog, upsets my stomach like a chocolate, jalapeno and dill pickle pie.
Have you ever seen a picture of a computer hog? This is what one looks like!
Trying to get to the computer to write my blog makes arranging a marriage between a Rabbi’s daughter and the son of a member of the Muslim Brotherhood a simple task. First, the Geezer suffers from a bad case of fattassia. (pronounced: fat – tass - ia) Trying to nudge his more than ample carcass from the over-burden office chair is mission impossible. I’ve tried the normal tricks to dislodge his butt from in front of the console: barking at the door…faking like I have to go out, dropping my tennis ball at his feet indicating I want to play, going to the window and whimpering like I do when the neighbor’s twenty-five-year-old daughter is sunbathing au natural (believe me, this usually works), but, so far…….
I even tried something new and inventive. The Geezer hates the political wrangling that’s on TV now; it makes him mad. Using my superior canine logic and applying that to the fact he normally races to the TV to turn it off if such garbage appears– that’s no matter what he’s engaged in (I didn’t know it was possible to use toilet paper that fast.)– I skillfully DVR’d several alternating TV ads featuring Obama and Romney. When I played them, he didn’t budge from the seat. He simply put in earplugs, vomited in the waste paper can and cussed a lot.
What can a poor canine do when faced with removing a massive ass from its resting place? I would try dynamite, but the risk of damaging the computer would be too great. Besides my compassionate side would bar this action, though the old boy could use forty or fifty pounds blown away.
If you’re wondering how I got this opportunity to write to you, let me say two words – “Exlax pie.” Oops! He’s coming back. Time for me to go do some more baking.
Tags: Books, dogs, food, Humor, life, publishing, Reading, Reviews, Writing
“It sure is frustrating,” I agreed. I was sitting next to Sarge, the German Shepherd. We were waiting for Opie to bring-to-order a meeting of the Canine Chowder and Ham Bone Marching Society with one of his Scottish brogue laden ‘woofs.’ “I have to admit, I’ve had it happen to me. Even the Geezer and Mrs. G are completely unappreciative, occasionally.”
“You do something you think is really good and what do you get? Sandy, I’ve been relegated to the rope. They’re tying me up in my own yard. All I did was growl and show my teeth to some strange human that was trespassing on my turf. How was I supposed to know she was the water meter reader? She wasn’t carrying a sign or wearing a uniform. She could have been something terrible like an Al Qaeda terrorist or…or…or one of those Occupy Wall Street people.”
“You scared her pretty badly. Didn’t you tell me she tried to climb a tree?”
Sarge got a sardonic grin on his face. “Yep. It sure was funny watching her try to slither up that coconut palm. She only got high enough to leave her big, soft butt at a perfect biting position. It sure was tempting.”
“Sarge! You wouldn’t do such a thing, would you?”
“Oh, no, Sandy. What kind of a canine do you think I am? Besides, my human showed up at that second, frothing at the mouth with his underwear all tied up in knots.”
“I’ve had it happen to me…I’ve had it happen to me!” Manny our resident chihuahua was eavesdropping and said excitedly, “Humans don’t appreciate what we try to do for them. Why, one time it was raining out. I had to go. You know, number two. Well, there’s this big potted plant in the living room. It was turning brown and looked like it could use some fertilizer. I endangered my life and limb by climbing up in that tall flower-pot. Just as I was finishing, my human came in and yelled at me! It scared me so bad shit went everywhere. I shook more than usual for a whole week.”
Sarge looked dubious. “You sure you just didn’t want to get wet?”
Manny’s eyes opened wide with a, not to genuine, look of innocence. “Oh, no, no, no! I was just trying to be a service.”
I shook my head. Sometimes, Manny has to be Manny.
Sarge surprised me when he nodded. He knows our little buddy is always full of…well…bull shit. He said, “I guess you could be right, Manny. My cousin Rookie lives with this really cool human named Tricia. He says she’s normally sooooooo nice, but…even nice humans can be irrational. Like one time, he was left alone with a tennis ball. Tricia is always having to go find it so they can play. He thought he’d just carry it around with him. It’s unbelievable she got so upset when she took him to the vet to have it removed from his stomach. And, another time Rookie and Tricia were playing with the hose, spraying each other with water. The phone rang in the house and his human went to answer it. Then she went insane, just because Rookie carried the hose into the house following behind her, so they could play in the living room. He was just trying to save her a few steps.”
“So true.” Fifi our prissy poodle joined the conversation. “I try to keep my human in proper fashion. If she wears a pair of shoes, or a dress, or panties that aren’t chick, I immediately remove them from her wardrobe by chewing them to oblivion. Do you think she appreciates it? NO! Chewing that fake leather and polyester is horrible. The sacrifices I’m willing to make. But, instead of being rewarded, I’m chastised.”
Heintz, the neighborhood mutt walked up. “Tell me about it. I take home all kinds of gifts. You think I get any thanks? Hell NO! Rabbits, squirrels, birds, all fresh killed or barely alive. I mean, I’m bringing food for their table. They yell…and then comes the real insult. They throw my hard work away!”
“I know.” I couldn’t resist adding my own tale. “Both the Geezer and Mrs. G are getting a little heavy. Well, that’s true of Mrs. G. The Geezer’s getting a lot heavy. Anyway, they were watching TV the other night while eating their suppers. A neighbor came to the door and they both left their meals on the coffee table. There were terrible things, dangerous things on their plates. Steaks dripping with cholesterol. Potatoes smeared with butter and sour cream. Squash covered with cheese sauce. I wondered if they had a death wish. I hoped if I’d have the fortitude to face those dangers. I DID! I made them disappear. All of it! I was so proud. I stood there, wagging my tail in anticipation of all the praise I’d receive for me helping save them from the horrors that had been on their dishes. They screamed at me!”
Sarge put his paw on my shoulder and said, “Poor Sandy.”
“Uh-uh-uh-ummm.” Opie got our attention. “The subject for today’s meetin’ of the Canine Chowder and Ham Bone Marching Society is how can we be doin’ more for our human friends.”
Sarge yelled, “Motion that we adjourn the meeting.”
“Oui. I second the motion,” Fifi said.
I’ve never heard such a chorus of barks…or seen a more confused look on Opie’s Scottish face.
Tags: Books, dogs, Humor, life, publishing, Reading, Reviews, Writing
Birthdays. They’re a big thing as far as humans are concerned. Don’t believe me? If you’re a husband, forget your wife’s birthday and you’ll wish that house you built for your canine buddy was much larger because that’s where you’re sure to be spending some time. The reverse is true, though males are usually distracted by other human trivia and are more likely not to notice. Sadly, human males seem even less endowed with intellectual capabilities than the females…maybe that’s why they are less capable of remembering. Anyway, as human’s are prone to do, human’s assume we canines share their obsessions. Of course, we don’t, but we do not mind profiting from them. My human assures me this is the case with birthdays.
He says my birthday party to be is just such an occasion. The Geezer announced, “Sandy you’re going to have your first birthday party!” I guess my lack of a joyful, enthusiastic response wasn’t what he expected. He looked disappointed, so I wagged my tail a few cursory times to acknowledge his pronouncement. I also managed a “Gee, thanks.” He looked relieved – not as much as he does when he sneaks taking a leak behind the bushes on one of our walks, but relieved just the same.
The old boy insists the party will be a great time. He tells me most of the neighborhood Canine Chowder and Marching Society will attend. If that’s true, I’d have to agree…the occasion will be a real pisser. The Geezer was secretive about where we’d go and what we’d do. He did say there’d be plenty of treats and something good to eat. Like I said, I don’t mind taking that profit.
But really, what is this preoccupation that human’s have with birthdays? A universal human trait is they hate, despise, and fear getting old… Why, they dye their hair, have surgery, smear their faces with more chemicals than you’d find in a DuPont warehouse and, of course, they lie about their age. Yet, when the anniversary of being expelled from their mother comes around they have to celebrate! I can understand why the mother would party to commemorate her day of emancipation from carrying around the cumbersome weight and getting the pain over with, but the “bornee” doesn’t even remember the experience like the “borner” does. I know I don’t remember any part of those first days.
I’ve examined what reasons humans would have, to make them react in such a manner. I asked myself a couple of questions- Does some magic happen to humans on that day? Does a change to their physical beings occur?
I’ve observed the four birthdays my two humans have experienced during my time with them. A sample of eight isn’t a statistically significant size, but when nothing happens…well, you figure it out. Walla – it’s their birthday. No fairy appears to make them smarter, thinner, delivers a pot of gold, makes them less gray or bald. There goes the magic thing.
As far as anything spectacular happening to them physically or mentally… sorry, from what I’ve observed they’re exactly the same as they were the night before their birthday and wake up in the same exact condition the day following. Well, in one case Mrs. G had oysters at a party the night before her last birthday. She woke up “green” the next morning and lost weight during the day. Poor gal had a hard time determining what end to place over the toilet first. The Geezer explained that the oysters were old and had “spoiled.” That’s just another example of human inferiority. Three-day-old road kill is no problem for our canine digestive systems, just one more example of canine superiority.
That leaves me to conclude that humans use birthdays as a reason to party because they have no other excuse. Since I’m to experience this phenomena in a few days, I’ll let you know if that is a sufficient reason for the over-reaction humans have to a simple biological reality.
Tags: Books, dogs, Humor, life, New Years, publishing, Reading, Reviews, Writing
My buddy Trooper and I were discussing all the joyous celebrating going on around us. It was New Year’s Eve and cock-eyed optimism had descended upon our humans in full force.
“Look at that, Sandy! Can you believe what you’re seeing?” Trooper is a true friend and a wise little senior canine. I’ve learned his observations are normally inciteful, if just a tad cynical. I listened closely as he continued, “You’d think that the simple act of the clock ticking for one more second is actually going to change their lives in that instant.”
“It does sound far-fetched,” I had to agree.
“That’s being very kind, Sandy.” Trooper pointed a paw at Mrs…let’s call her Mrs. X. I’ll use all aliases when discussing humans. “Take her. She’s been spouting off all evening about how her New Year’s resolution is to lose thirty pounds. All you have to do is watch her…performing the best imitation I’ve ever seen of a human impersonating a vacuum cleaner, sucking up two bowls of potato chips, annihilating a plate of chocolates, and devouring sugar cookies so fast the futures market for cane went up ten points in the last three hours…to realize that’s bogus. Change? Change her forty-year-old double-wide butt! No way!”
“That’s a little harsh…But…Well…She sure is a groceries disposal device,” I said.
“And, look at Albert the Alchy. He’s about a third of the way to another ‘four puker,’ a night sleeping on the floor, and a hangover featuring a pounding headache that will register 6.6 on the Richter Scale. Seems to me I heard him tell everyone last year at the Geezer’s New Year’s Day football bowl watching party that he’d never get that tanked again.”
I nodded. That year poor Albert had been so potted he forgot where he was, had stripped to his undershorts, and curled up for a nap on the bathroom floor, after carefully avoiding his fresh deposit of used deviled eggs, sweet pickles, BBQ’d smoked sausage, and rum and Coke. “You’re right, but, at least, the Geezer stole his car keys early tonight so they didn’t have to argue about Albert’s trying to drive.”
“The Geezer did do everyone a service. Too bad he couldn’t remove Mildred’s vocal chords. It’s like replay on TV or a sticking record, over and over, the same tales about everything from her gall bladder to her hair follicles.” I knew Trooper had heard enough of the hypochondriac’s annual rant. The poor woman claimed to be afflicted with every malady know to western man, the orient intellectuals, and the aliens who visit Earth from the planet Bullishitius. Her dissertation was particularly ill-chosen this year, for as she sat at the snack table, Mildred’s description of yeast infections, her visit to the proctologist, and the results of her many digestive disorders were particularly revolting. Well, if someone must find a positive in the situation, it did help some people maintain their diet.
“Watch them at midnight. You’d think their watching a big glass ball on TV, that’s all lit with light bulbs, slowly descend from high to low, is going to really change something. Delusional, Sandy. Humans are utterly and totally delusional!” Trooper shook his head. “I know we should have compassion for God’s inferior species, but really Sandy, can you provide one reason for them to be celebrating so?”
I thought for several seconds. “Trooper, if you think that they believe change will come simply as a result of the new year, you’d be right. I choose to believe that my human has high hopes that good changes may occur in the coming year and has the determination and resolve to see they do.”
Trooper nodded his head slowly before saying, “I suppose that’s how they survive…Sometimes, Sandy, you’re wise beyond your years.”