Tags: Books, dogs, family, Humor, life, Media, News, publishing, Reading, Writing
The Internet and TV are alive with a controversy. Is being a puppy a crime? Does it matter where you come from? It seems that featuring a puppy in a Go-Daddy commercial that doesn’t strictly conform to a portion of the public’s belief system, is causing all kinds of consternation. I can identify with the star of the commercial; I looked a lot like ‘em when I was that age. See my picture above? The poor pup’s debut in the Super Bowl ad is cancelled!
The last ten seconds of the ad were … ah … let’s not call it stupid, but I can’t find a better synonym right now. Who is the advertising agency appealing to, the Marquis De Sade? Those humans on Madison Avenue are supposed to be geniuses. Right? I guess if your hat size and IQ are within a few points they qualify.
With that said, how can a commercial get some folks’ panties wadded up so tight? (Glad I’m canine and don’t wear them.) I came from a breeder. They’re not all evil like the tone of much of the doggie poop I see on the I-net would have you believe. My breeder slept on the floor with my brothers, sisters, and mommy to get us used to living with humans, insisted on interviewing prospective families, and helped match our traits to the house we’d soon call our own.
Think of the poor puppy in the commercial. A career that could rival Lassie’s or Rin Tin Tin’s has been sidelined. The dangers that puppy faced: trains, no planes, but automobiles. Neither rain or sore paws could dampen her or his acting effort. Leave it to snarky narrow-viewed humans to louse things up. Oh well, you expect it from the species.
Tags: Books, Current events, dogs, Election, Humor, life, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading
It’s another overcast day and the weather guesser is predicting more rain. And, it’s Monday. Rain’s not a bad thing, neither is Monday, but what happens because of the combination … is. My humans turn on TV much earlier than usual. Instead of a few hours in the evening, I’m tortured by having to listen to a full day’s coverage of tube tripe. Tripe? Yes, it’s an election year and the election season. At least, I don’t have to watch it. I can go a couple of rooms away and avoid that, but the sound follows me like stink on a garbage truck. It wouldn’t be terrible if there weren’t all those negative political ads. If the tone of this post sounds a little cynical, disgusted, and a bit pissed, I missed my intent. I wanted it to sound a very, very cynical, disgusted, and very pissed. American politics are as low as a whale turd sitting in the Mariana’s trench at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. I’ve had enough.
I tired of political pundits and advertisements that tell me how Joan or John Doe kissed a frog’s ass three years ago. Or that they stood on stage with Conan the Barbarian. Or they went shopping in the same Macy’s as Jack the Ripper. The political pundits are particularly loathsome. Ever notice how their mouths all look like a canine rectum with diarrhea?
It would seem humans could do better casting their ballots for someone who is for something, not simply against the other guy. Since most candidates and their idiot supporting organizations won’t produce an ad or commentary with specifics about what they’re going to do to improve the situation, a vote for me seems logical. I’m going to run for something … anything. At least, I can name ten things I’d support and try to achieve if elected to office. I bet you can’t make the same comment about most human politicians.
My “plank” is –
1. All cars are to be equipped with sensors to activate an automatic braking device if the pope, Billy Graham, or a canine is sensed within fifty yards. The sensor also causes acceleration and aims at all political consultants.
2. Cease the war on dogs. I’m not sure what that means, but I’m for it anyway. That is, unless it means male dogs should have nothing to do with female dogs. I’m not for that. Is that what women want? Do they want men to have nothing to do with them? That would be great contraception.
3. I’d pass equal opportunity laws for canines. For example, the same number of dog movies should be produced as the number of flics made starring humans. Bring back Lassie and Rin Tin Tin. Hell, we already feature complete nudity.
4. All the negative ads about politicians should face a sniff test before airing on TV or Radio. If specific people, places, and collaborating evidence isn’t provided to support a claim, and any possible ulterior motive isn’t exposed, the media should be forced to broadcast the following disclaimer: “No irrefutable proof was provided that the claims in this ad are accurate. The viewer should consider everything in it as bullshit.” That would reduce all our suffering, because there would hardly be any “vote for your local pond scum” ads left.
5. Dogs will have the right to vote. They know as much about the Constitution as most people do. More than some.
6. All dog owners will receive a payment from the IRS of $6000. That money is to all be spent on the dog’s pleasure or returned to the Lois Lerner Defense and Corruption Fund.
7. All “Keep off the grass” signs are to have the phrase “Except dogs” added to them.
8. I’d pass a law that the US Attorney General would be an elected official (without party affiliation) nominated from the prison system. That way we’d get someone who was less of a criminal than the AGs who have served the last two administrations. They’d probably know a lot more law.
9. The passage of the “Anti-hypocrite law.” Part one is that before a person/canine/feline/ etc. screams about, and tries to force others to give up their bones, money, dog bed, property, catnip, etc., so that everyone’s the same – they have to send all their earnings over the average American’s salary and send their property holdings over the average US citizen’s to the Government Corruption Center for redistribution. That’s your yacht Leo. And your villa in Italy George. And your royalty check Babs. Part two is that all those folks who claim everybody has an equal chance yet violate the antitrust laws, engage in insider trading, operate hedge funds, etc. are forced to abide by the law. Our Attorney General doesn’t seem to know what those laws are for. That’s you Mitt. And you Rupert and Warren. And all of Wall Street.
10. Most importantly, I promise to put a two-pound porterhouse in every dog bowl every day. Medium rare with light garlic and sautéed with buttered wine-sauce. I really questioned adding this, but what the hell, everyone else is buying votes.
That’s what I’m for. Vote for Sandy. Write me in. I don’t belong to a party, don’t know any lobbyists, haven’t taken a cent of campaign contribution, and have no preconceived ideas about foreign countries. Oh, I don’t have a penis. That seems to be the most important qualification now-days. That proves I’ll make a great – whatever.
PS. In regard to number ten in my platform listed above. I’m searching for Angus and Hereford volunteers.
Tags: conservative, liberal, life, Media, Politics
There are a few things that come to mind, triggered by current events, that I asked the Geezer to comment on. Some of the things are questions I don’t like to ask, hate in fact, however, things have gotten ridiculous. The Q and A follows:
1. Q…..”What can you humans do about the terrible tornadoes that kill so many of you and destroy so much property?” A…..(after a lengthy hesitation) “Not much, if you choose to live in a spot that is subject to natural calamities. It’s a risk you have to be willing to take. The brave people in Oklahoma and other places in the tornado belt have made that choice. We have in Florida where hurricanes pose a similar threat. There are earthquakes in California, super storms like Sandy, no offense old girl, in the Northeast, floods in Illinois and the whole Midwest. If one lives where tornadoes are bad and frequent, one must accept the risk or build their homes underground.”
2. Q…..”When a vicious dog from a strange neighborhood tries come into our community and wants kill and beat up on us, we form a pack and keep them out. Seems to me terrorists do the same thing. Why don’t humans keep them out?” A…..(no hesitation) “Because dogs have better sense than bureaucrats and politicians.”
3. Q…..”After listening to folks like Chris Mathews, Bill O’Reilly, Lois Lerner, Dick Shulman, John Boehner, Heinrich, sorry I mean Eric Holder, and Barack Obama, do any of the media folks, bureaucrats, and politicians have anything in common?” A…..(after a moment of thought) “Yes, they do. In fact, four things. Contempt for the intelligence of the people they claim to represent. Unfettered, unlimited arrogance that allows them to be dismissive and to disregard others. They’re unmitigated liars with no consciences. And in most cases you cited, they’re perfectly willing to try to impose their ideals on others without thought to law or the constitution. That’s their commonality, but like Satchel Paige said, A man can’t help being born average, but he don’t have to be common.”
4. Q…..”After hearing about all the government spying and coersion, aren’t you concerned about the IRS or the Attorney General’s office going after you?” A…..”No. the American people and military will put up with just so much before the advocates of the totalitarian state end up in an honest court, are tried and have their necks stretched.
Tags: Books, Congress, dogs, Humor, life, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
The Geezer and I were watching TV this morning. As usual, the Geezer was tuned to the news in the off chance that someone in government…or in major corporations… or even within the media, did something to give us a little faith things would be alright.
The first three items covered were:
- High-ranking bank officials were reengaging in the same lending practices (making housing loans to those who couldn’t afford it) that destroyed the country’s economy. You know, those folks that are “too big to fail.” Humans don’t seem to understand that when you reward bad behavior with a bailout or something similar it encourages more of the same. Every mommy dog I know has better sense than to let her pups get away with manure like that.
- Those paragons of virtue, Congress and the President, quietly gutted the insider trader law that was passed a year ago (before the election). You know, the one that kept them from benefiting from having government information that would effect future fortunes of a stock. Remember, the one our President said, “Was overdue” and that, “Congress should be playing by the same rules as any other citizen.” Well, we have bipartisanship at last – Both parties passed and the President signed the bill that effectively repealed the law. They sneaked it through quietly, notice that?
- The Geezer changed channels trying to lessen his depression. A media type was explaining why it was fine to allow government officials to eavesdrop on innocent private citizens email without the protection the constitution provides, while it wasn’t okay for law enforcement to continue to question a guilty terrorist to protect the rest of us. And they say dogs are dumb. We are consistent…we always bark at the postman.
The Geezer sadly shook his head, turned off the TV, and turned on the stereo. He mumbled, “I’d say the country is going to the dogs, but I know they’d do a better job running it than the idiots of BOTH parties who run it today.” I agree him…that’s true.
I remembered a bit of wisdom from one of the Geezer’s own books and I repeated it to him.
“It’s no coincidence that big-shot and big-shit are almost spelled the same.”
Tags: Books, dogs, Humor, life, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
Sitting on the couch and contemplating life is one of those things I do when there is absolutely, positively nothing else to do. Since canines live orderly, logical lives, I generally spend little time evaluating our doggie development. When I want something complex to ponder, I turn my attention to the human species. Posing a question and formulating an answer is my favorite way of analyzing their progress, or more accurately stated, lack of. Here are a few questions I’ve postulated and answers I’ve formulated.
Question: Why do humans invent machines to save them physical effort only to invent machines that require physical effort? They invented automobiles, dish washers, electric toothbrushes, self-propelled riding lawn mowers, etc., etc., etc. so they don’t have to sweat and strain. Then, in the time they save and with the effort they avoid by using these machines, they invent other machines like exercise bikes, weight sets, treadmills, etc., etc., etc. so they can sweat and strain. Makes sense to them, but none to we canines. I asked my human, the Geezer about this phenomenon, and his answer…”We humans start to gain weight because we eat too much and don’t get enough exercise to keep the weight off.” I didn’t have the heart to point out the obvious solution, “Eat less.” Human’s don’t have a sense of cause and effect.
Question: Why do humans buy something then never use or eat it because they’re afraid they’ll damage or consume the item? One of my human’s friend’s car is a good example. He seldom drives it, waxes it until I’m sure the paint will come off and screams if his wife requests the keys. The Geezer says it’s because the man has a lot of money invested in the darned thing. He said his friend had an older car he “clunked” around in. I asked, “Gee Geezer, why spend lots of money on something you aren’t going to use much and just a little on something you’re going to use all the time?” He got that blank look humans get when they do something they have no explanation for. He mumbled, “You wouldn’t understand.” That’s their answer when they have absolutely no earthly idea how to answer a question.
One more — Question: Why do humans insist people not lie to them on little things and let people tell whoppers when something important is the topic? The other day I took a paper napkin off the coffee table and started to chew on it. It was a used napkin that would be thrown out anyway. About the time I was deciding how to dispose of the darned thing, the Geezer surprised me, asking, “Sandy, do you have something in your mouth?”
“Nawww,” I answered, “nudthins ‘n maa moousth.” I thought about swallowing the darned thing, but knew it would come back up later.
“Don’t lie to me, girl!” He was visibly upset.
That seemed very unfair. He’d just delivered a sermon about how the press and politicians were lying about the killing of an ambassador, but didn’t seem half as mad. When I asked him why he was more upset with me than with those clowns on TV he said,”I expect them to lie. They do it all the time.”
Tags: animal tales, Books, Cooking, dogs, food, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, life, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
“You want to ride along, Sandy? We’re going to run a few errands.” The Geezer should have known better than to ask that! Does the economy stink? Do politicians lie? The answer isn’t yes, it’s HELL YES!!!!
Anytime I get the opportunity to load into the truck, I’m ready. Nothing but good things happen when I’m navigating for the Geezer. If he takes me without bringing Mrs. G. along, I get to ride shotgun. For you uninitiated in auto slang, that’s front seat, passenger side, window. Folks wave to me and I bark back. It’s great fun. I’m sure they don’t mistake me for Mrs. G. She’s good-looking as far as human females go, but pales in comparison to my magnificent beauty. When pictures aren’t available, I feel I must be more totally honest, than modest.
Unfortunately, I was relegated to the back seat today. The term for being exiled back there is flying tail-gunner. Mrs. G. went. That’s not all bad because the Geezer puts the back seats down giving me more space to move around. I still can navigate by sticking my head in between the front seats. Another perk connected with riding in the back is that— if I rest my head on Mrs. G’s shoulder, she’ll continue to rub behind my ears until I fall asleep, or she does. Neither one of us stay awake on long rides, but she has a tendency to snore by the time the car backs out of the driveway.
The first place we went today, was the bank. I like the smell of money that’s there and the ladies that work inside. I have them trained really well. As soon as we pull up to the drive through, I stick my head out the driver’s side window. The Geezer always opens it for me as we approach. My command to the girls is two sharp “Ruffs.” They immediately fetch me at least three treats. If I want more, I simply sit up in the back seat and swing my front paws up like I’m conducting a band. That’s good for at least two more….. Well, there is one lady who never responds. Some humans just aren’t trainable. You know the deplorable mental capabilities of many of that species. That’s why the old cliché is about horse sense, not human sense. And, heavens, equines aren’t that bright.
The next stop was to get gas. Normally that’s boring. Not so today. Edgar and Edna, two friends and former neighborhood canines were sitting in the bed of a pickup truck that was stopped on the other side of the gas pump. Gosh its great to see old friends. It was one big gab session. My humans and their humans were laughing and talking as I greeted my old buddies. “How do you two like your new digs?” I asked.
“They’re okay,” Edgar said, in a typically reserved English Setter manner.
“Oh they’re wonderful! Magnificent! Just simply superb!” You have to understand Edna is very social conscious. Her lineage was “accidental” that being part Cocker and part Poodle. What does that make her, a Cockepoodle? Crockapoodle would be more accurate. She’s the queen of hyperbole.
“Now Edna, don’t embellish. They’re just nice.” Edgar scratched a flea under his chin. “See, we still have those rascals.”
“Yes, but we have a three car garage, a garbage disposal in two sinks, four bathrooms, and a swimming pool.” Edna was trying to impress.
“That is cool,” I said, “Anything else you have at your new place you didn’t have in the old neighborhood?”
Edgar studied for a few seconds before saying, “Roaches.”
Some folks are born to convert highs into lows.
Our last stop was one of my very most favorite places. I call it the Parking Zoo. The Geezer calls it the mall parking lot. There’s no better place to do some human watching, and there’s nothing more interesting to do when we take one of our rides. We parked and Mrs. G. left the car. I slid between the front seat backrests and took her seat, which was still warm as I plopped my butt down.
The Geezer asked, “Sandy, were you invited?’
I gave him my, Get real, peon, look.
“Okay, okay. But, get back in the rear quickly when Mrs. G returns.”
“Sure, sure, quick as a bunny.”
“Fine, fine,” he said. The old boy doesn’t know sarcasm unless you hold up a sign. He put the windows down half way. That lets me see out without having to look through finger and nose prints. “That far enough?” he asked.
“That’ll do,” I answered.
About that time the first specimen strolled up the pavement in front of the car. It was a man from the human sub-species, concedius-arrogantus. He had a bright green golf shirt on that had a stripe across the shoulders the Geezer called mauve when I asking him. He had enough grease on his hair to lubricate the skids used to move all the stones that made the pyramid at Giza. The man looked around, looking for someone, looking at him. His head was held up and back, his facial expression was like that of a human smelling a full discharge of flatulence. You know, the Bill O’Reilly type.
The next sighting was a full parade. It was a Reproductus-prolifitera. The lady in question led her brood of eight stair-step girls toward the stores, their butt cheeks swaying in time with mama’s. All wore blonde pony tails that swung to the opposite side their from where their rears rotated. It was a precision drill team in training. I mentioned to the Geezer, “That prolifitera is attractive. And, she has a cute rear.”
“That’s why she has those eight ducklings following her tail,” the Geezer editorialized in a knowing manner.
About that time, a man with a pot gut, dirty shorts, and a tee-shirt that didn’t make it down over his naval, (his belly button pushed out like a flag) came from the opposite way the parade was going. His legs looked like pipe stems supporting a basketball. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. Or taken a bath. Or used deodorant. Or scrubbed his teeth. Hey, I can’t help it that my nose is sharp. The “T” had “Every woman’s dream,” printed across the front. I scoffed, “See what’s on that tee, Geezer? I know what the dream is. Nightmare on Elm Street.” I recognized his genus as Grossis-slobovian. Both the Geezer and I exclaimed together, “He looks just like Michael Moore!”
I was watching the slobovian get into his car, when the Geezer whistled. “Get a load of this one!” I turned my head and my jaw dropped, dog slobber decorating the front seat. “Is it?” I asked.
“Yes it is, Sandy!”
“You see them, but not so…developed.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “A real Fattass-humongu-elephatanti,” I added in reverence.
“No, but you’re close.” The Geezer looked me square in the pupils.” That’s a genuine, Fattass-humongu-whalus.”
As the specimen approached, the sun seemed blotted out by its shadow and vibrations from impact tremors made the car creak. I swear that’s true. “Is it male or female?” I asked in fear and awe at the same time.
“Sandy, I have no idea.” He studied the hulk filling the roadway aisle in front of us. “Well, it could…but, then…I think…then again…” The Geezer repeated in awe, “I have no idea.”
There was a tapping on the passenger side window that snapped our heads around and returned us from fantasy land.
“Who wants a hot dog?” Mrs. G. asked. The Geezer always says that woman can send you right to heaven.
Tags: animal tales, Books, Cooking, dogs, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, life, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
Cut the leashes! Break out the doggy treats! Convene a meeting of the Canine Chowder and Ham Bone Marching Society! One of my readers has bestowed a great honor on this shy and humble scribe. It’s called the Versatile Blogger Award. While I shouldn’t divulge this information because it might spoil my image, I can’t help myself. I love being awarded anything! It’s in my blood lines – both mom and dad were best of show canines – so blame them. Please give me a few seconds to bask in the spot light….
Okay, I’ve basked enough. First, I want to THANK Jodi Stone, you can find this discerning blogger at www.jodistone.wordpress.com , for presenting me this award. Next, I want to thank my parents, my teachers, especially Dr. Longfellow the Bassett who has honed my literary skills, the water meter reader who always pets me, my friends in the ‘hood, the Pope, the Academy out there in Hollywood, and Mrs. G for her love and attention.
Let’s see, did I miss anyone? Oh yes, I should mention the Geezer whose computer is required to produce my blog. He also does a few little things like feeding me, walking me, and providing me with comic relief. And, he is my best friend.
I would be remiss if I were to not scrupulously perform the required tasks accompanying this august award. These include: 1) Post a link back to the person who gave you the award, 2) Share seven random things about yourself, 3) Award fifteen blogs you’ve discovered and like, and 4) Drop them a note and tell them about it. So here goes—-
First here’s the link to that paragon of literary taste and blogging virtuosity, Jodi Stone. www.jodistone.wordpress.com
Second here’s seven things you don’t know about me.
* I can eat two cups of Beneful dogfood in the amazing time of 11.913 seconds. The Geezer stop watched my time. One disclaimer, the entrée was served with gravy on top. I don’t recommend this behavior, it creates gas.
* I read a lot! I like Sparks, Cornwell, Ivanovich, Clancy, Gresham and many others, but my all time favorites are Norman Maclean, Harper Lee, Mark Twain, Bruce Catton, and Max Schulmann.
* I’m an avowed nudist! I haven’t been able to influence the Geezer, though. As far as I can get him is to work at the computer in his underwear.
* I’m a connoisseur of all types of eatables. Particularly meaty dishes, pastas, breads, soups, cuishes, desserts, socks, underwear, shoes (left side only), the neighborhood flowers, and roadkill. My human says I’m truly a connoisseur without the conno. I’m not quite sure about that.
* I love baseball, football (my favorite), softball, volleyball, basketball (the most difficult for me to sink my teeth in), tennis ball, golf ball, or just plain old ball-ball. My specialty is chase and retrieve. Surprise, surprise.
* I love to get up early in the morning, watch the sunrise while sipping coffee, and look at the osprey soar and scream their “good mornings” to the Geezer and me as we sit on the dock behind our house.
* My most favorite, number uno, bell-ringin’, supremo thing is making the Geezer look foolish. The only problem is it’s just too easy to do.
Third, here are those 15 blogs (OH hell let’s make it 20) I’ve discovered and enjoy!
Four says to drop them all a note – which, of course, I shall do! All of those that are receiving it – pass it along.
Thanks again JS –
Tags: animal tales, Books, Cooking, dogs, Entertainment, food, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, life, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
There was a meeting of the neighborhood Canine Chowder and Ham Bone Marching Society yesterday. Most of our members were present due to a large yard party for all the “snowbirds” (Human folks that live in Florida in the winter and travel North in the summer.) who were getting ready to depart like a flock of geese.
Of course, over half our Society’s members accompany their humans on the annual migration. Sparkle the Irish Setter commented, “Well, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you all, next fall.”
“It seems as though I’m always moving. I bet I did it in a previous life,” Lucy the Cocker Spaniel moaned.
“You guys believe in that shit?” Peter the Pointer saw the blank stares and added, “Reincarnation.”
“Oui. I certainly do. I can even tell you about at least one of my previous lives.” Our French Poodle, Fifi, is into all the metaphysical stuff. “I was a Doberman ten lives ago, serving in the German Army. I received metals and was a bonified heroine.”
“Huhh!” Sarge scoffed. His German shepherd blood was aroused. “Yeh, Fifi, was your uniform a toto? What did you have for rations? Champagne? Escargo? Did you have a maid to dress you in the morning? You couldn’t have learned to be as snobbish as you are now in fifteen previous lives.”
Peter said, “I’d pay to see you in a hand-to-hand combat drill.”
There was a chorus of laughs. Fifi stuck her nose in the air and walked away in a huff.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I remember a previous life, too,” Manny the chihuahua said. “I was the personal companion to Santa Anna, the great Mexican leader.”
“Uh-huh.” Sarge didn’t look convinced. “Were you his guard dog?”
“Oh yes, si, certainly.”
Peter asked, “If somebody tried to attack old Santa Anna, what was your plan? Bite them on the big toe?”
“Oh no. I was a mastiff in that life. I was a mucho grande dog.” Manny tried squaring his shoulders and looking large.
Before Peter or Sarge could humiliate the little guy, Opie our Scotty and resident scholar interceded. “There is a possible scientific explanation for reincarnation. At least, in the same species. DNA. It’s the building block of life. The potential to hand down memories through parental lineage is certainly a possibility.”
That made us all think. Some could rationalize the theory. Some stared at Manny, visualized a mastiff, and had trouble s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g the reality. That would make for a difficult parental “chain.”
“Sometimes, I do think I remember things– Well, I might have been Rin Tin Tin in a former life,” Sarge said.
“Yes, I’m believing that.” Fifi had rejoined our group. “And I believe elephants can fly and will be jet propelled if they eat enough beans and cabbage and drink enough beer.”
Sarge growled and Fifi snarled back, so I decided to change the subject to humans, something we could all discuss without ruffling neck hair. “Well, I can certainly see that possibility in my human. The Geezer probably descended from Mark Twain. They’re both writers, have a strong awareness of human behavior, and a good sense of humor.”
“Oh, and my human probably has Lady Godiva in her blood line. She loves to go naked.” Sparkle was doing her best to support me and lead the conversation in another direction.
“Oh. Oh. Oh. I bet I know who my human’s great, great, great, great, great, grand-mother was.” Manny was so excited I thought the little guy would pop like a firecracker. “She has to be descended from Catherine the Great because all she wants to do is fu–”
“Hmmmmmm!” I interrupted. “No exposing family secrets here.” I did another switcheroo. “Wouldn’t it be fun to guess who famous people are reincarnated from?”
“I can see General Petraeus being the reincarnation of Alexander the Great,” Opie said.
“Oh. Oh. Oh. How about Queen Elizabeth the II being the reincarnation of Queen Elizabeth the I?” Manny was getting it.
“I bet both Nancy Pelosi and Sarah Palin had a common ancestor,” Lucy quipped. “Attila the Hun.”
Everyone laughed except for Heintz, the neighborhood mut. He said, “Well, that explains a lot. Both Bush and Obama must have the same ancestry.”
“How’s that?” I asked through my giggles. Heintz was serious.
“That’s easy. Trace them back through Nero, you know, the guy who fiddled while Rome burned, to that famous Greek leader. What was his name?” Heintz scratched his head with his rear paw hoping to stimulate his cerebral cortex. Or maybe a flea.
“Plato?” I suggested.
“No.” Heintz kept scratching.
“Socrates?” Sarge asked.
“No, no, no.” Suddenly Heintz’s eyes shone and he stopped scratching. “I remember. It was the king of the city-state of Bankruptkus, Idious the Imbecile.”
Not one of us spoke. First, none of us are Greek scholars. Second, it was too logical to refute.
(Thanks to Lady Marilyn Kaye, one of my readers for the inspiration)
Tags: animal tales, Books, Camping, dogs, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, life, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
Every time the Geezer goes off on one of his jaunts with his fellow fossils, I lose access to the computer. That means no blogging. I hate that. The old boy has been on an extended fishing, camping, canoeing, and bull-shitting trip. When he returns, he looks and acts like a well chewed shoe. Typically, he lounges around, complaining about the aches and pains he’s garnered after ten days of strenuous activity his ancient body doesn’t normally experience. That means a dark monitor and a keyboard in “Rest-in-peace” mode.
He’s finally resuming his normal (for him) activities, including lighting up the computer. I’m back at the keyboard. All’s right in the world.
Camping. That’s one of those things wiser species, like canines, find hard to understand. Humans make such a fuss if they lose power in their houses for a couple of hours, you’d think someone had revoked their constitutional rights. Yet, they voluntarily wander off to the woods and profess to enjoy the privations to which they expose themselves. And, they call Homo sapiens an evolved species?!
After allowing the old boy a few days to recuperate, I decided to ask the Geezer about the mystic fascination camping holds for some humans. “Hey, Geezer, why do you go on camping trips?”
“Why, to commune with nature,” he answered immediately. That meant he was sure of his answer or had given no thought to the matter, which, with humans, is often one in the same.
“Don’t you commune with nature when we take walks or when we go in the boat?” I knew I had him there.
“Yes, but it’s not the same.” He looked annoyed. He usually does when he knows I’m about to make him look really foolish.
“How’s it different?”
The Geezer squirmed. “Well, you get to hear the whip-poor-wills at night, feel the chill of the morning breeze, see the stars and moon, cook out in the open, lots of things…You know, roughing it.”
I didn’t know, but telling that to a human that was as fruitful as peeing on one of those electric flower garden fences. I asked, “Hmmmm, if roughing it is what you want to do…” I hesitated, baiting the trap. A wiser species would have recognized the ploy.
“Yes?” Zap! The trap sprung and the Geezer was where I wanted him.
“You say you like roughing it, but why do you take all that stuff with you?” I watched the expression on his face. It’s what the Geezer would call a shit-eating-grin if he observed it on others.
“Give me an example, Sandy.”
“Well, why do you take all that kitchen paraphernalia? What about the tables and chairs, cooking stove, and that sink center that opens into quarter-mile long food processing center? Wouldn’t it be rougher to sit on the ground, cook over a fire or eat cold food, and prepare what you eat right on mother earth?”
“What about the cot, the air mattress, the sleeping bag, and the tent? Wouldn’t it be cooler, couldn’t you see the stars better, couldn’t you hear the whip-poor-wills more easily, and wouldn’t it be rougher is you just slept on the ground?”
“How about the screened room you haul along…”
The Geezer quickly interrupted me, “Ahhh, sand flies. Mosquitoes. The little bastards can make it miserable out there.”
“But, isn’t that what you said you wanted? Isn’t rough and miserable pretty much the same thing?”
“You just don’t understand. Say Sandy, would you like to take a ride in the boat?” The Geezer changed the subject when he realized he’d been out-thought, outmaneuvered, and defeated. I’ve seen humans do that a lot.
“Sure,” I said. Then I wagged my tail and let him know that I didn’t wish to embarrass him further, insuring I’d get my boat ride. Unlike humans, we canines know when not to rock.
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
“Mind if we go down Quail Trail?” one of the Geezer’s friends asked as we took our morning stroll. Bob, a human, and Lucy, my cocker spaniel buddy, were accompanying us on the AM constitutional the Geezer and I take daily. It was unusual for that particular gentleman to select Quail Trail as part of his morning walk. One side of road was densely wooded and housed a large number of snakes, something that sparked unreasoning fear in him.
I was sure it would evoke a question from the Geezer, which it did. “Aaaa, Bob, you sure about that? This warm weather has the snakes active and crawling.”
“Absolutely!” Bob was staring at a couple approaching us on the normal route we took each morning. “I want to avoid Madelyn and Mark. Those assholes drive me crazy!”
The Geezer just grinned. I spoke to Lucy in Doganese, “What’s the story on him?” I twitched my head toward Lucy’s human.
“Politics,” she snarled.
That explained it to me. The eight-letter word seemed to make idiots of other-wise rational humans. Not that many humans are thinkers under any condition. The species is afflicted with all sorts of mental inadequacies.
Bob tugged on Lucy’s leash, heading us toward black snake city. Yep, we made the turn down Quail Trail.
“Didn’t Bob and Mark used to like each other?” I asked. “I know they’d fish and go to football games together at one time.”
“Used to is the operative statement,” Lucy woofed. “It started before the 2008 election. It’s gotten worse and worse. My human is a Lie-bore-ral. That Mark person is a Con-stern-native. They never even used to talk about politics. Now, that’s all they do. No, not talk; shout.”
“That’s too bad.”
Lucy shook her head like she would if she had ear mites. “I know what causes it; it’s TV. And radio. They have all these political gurus on shows that specialize in making one side mad at the other. Bob repeats what he hears from Mathews, Madow, Marshall, and Maher. Mark quotes Beck, Hannity, Limbaugh, and Levine. All they have to do is mention one of those names and it’s like waving a red cape at a bull, or forcing a teenager to listen to Guy Lombardo music, or giving one of us a rubber steak for supper.
“Yep, I’ve seen it at my house. The Geezer actually threw a towel at the TV one time,” I said.
“Oh, is the Geezer a Lie-bore-ral or a Con-stern-native?”
“I have no idea,” I said, lying as hard as I could. Even a canine with a lot less dog-sense than I possess knows not to stick his or her tongue in that mouse trap.
About that time we’d walked a hundred yard down the road. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of Sneaky B to the receptors in my nose. Sneaky B is a large black snake, a full five foot in length, an inch-and-a-half wide, with a cranky personality. My nostrils told me he was nestled in the weeds growing on the side of the road.
An evil idea hatched in my sometimes devious mind. I stretched my leash out as far as it would go, herded Sneaky B toward the road, and gave one loud bark to send him slithering onto the pavement…right in front of Bob.
“Oh, shit!” Bob hopped back, jerking poor Lucy around as though she was a rag doll. He took a couple of running steps then froze and cursed again, this time using a long string of vile human incivilities. Lucy was giggling between gasps for air that the snatching of her collar had caused.
I was laughing too, but at Lucy and her human. They were a funny sight. What I couldn’t figure out, was what Lucy thought was funny, when she should have been mad. I asked, “Hey, why are you laughing? You ought to be pissed at Bob.”
Lucy said slyly, “Oh, he’s pissed or pooped enough for both of us. Look at his shorts.”
The light tan color of his Bermudas was turning a much darker shade in the crotch area. I asked, “Did he?”
“He sure did,” Lucy confirmed.
I shook my head and watched Sneaky B slide back into the weeds at the side of the road. As the snake passed, he hissed, “What’s his problem?”
“He’s been feasting on too much politics. It’ll give humans problems directly or indirectly every time.”