Tag: dogs

Two Dog Night

Friday morning I was feeling smug about being one of the people with electricity —but by 11am our household joined the nearly 200,000 in the region plunged into darkness by the ice storm.

Ann and Zack fled to a friend’s house, but I decided to huddle in the darkness and ride out the disaster. There I was with my glow sticks and headlamp, curled up with the dogs. At 1am I couldn’t sleep, so I texted Alex. I’ve written before about how long it takes me to compose a text message, so at about 1:15 he got this:

no electricity at home just me scarlett and maddy

Naturally, he was awake —probably out having fun.

haha why isnt there power

Hmmm. Somebody hasn’t been reading the paper.

ice storm widespread chaos will eat dogs eventually

The dogs stirred uneasily. He wrote back:

lol well cats before dogs

Good point. I fell back to sleep wondering about in which order I’d eat the pets. Let’s hope the power comes back on before push comes to shove.

When the Fir Flies

Bob’s Trees asks:

“Do you yearn for the yearly family trip to the woods, the smell of a fresh-cut evergreen, and the experience of dragging the family tree through the snow?”

Yearn? Dread is more accurate, because in the past our yearly family trips to Bob’s have threatened to ruin Christmas before it even started. Like the year of the ice storm, when cars were doing 360s in the road on front of the tree farm. Or the time I lost my shoe in the mud —and then the car got stuck in the same mud. Or when I accidentally tied the doors of my car shut. I could go on and on. Freezing weather, rain, snow, slop, filthy stinking dogs, crying children, bitter arguments —these are the spirits of Christmas past at Bob’s Trees.

So naturally, if it goes too easily I get suspicious.

Friday we drove up the hill at Bob’s, found a tree, cut it down, and had it on top of the the car in no time at all. No fuss, no muss, in and out in five minutes. How is this possible, I wonder? There must be something wrong with this tree. Will a colony of spiders hibernating deep in its branches come to life and infest the house? Will I get home and find that it’s shed all of its needles? Will it mysteriously burst into flames?

There’s no way to tell, but meanwhile I am keeping an eye on this tree that came to our home without struggle or strife. Either there’s a catch somewhere or after twenty years we’re getting good at it.

Legends of the Fall

I was at a meeting recently where someone stood up and said, “Fall is here, so please remember not to drive through piles of leaves along the road. There could be children playing in them.”

I’ve heard that a hundred times, and a hundred times it sounded like something that grew out of urban legends. On the flip side, we were told as kids not to play in the leaves near the street for the same reason. As usual, this drove me to the internet. Low and behold, SNOPES.COM does not dismiss the warning as a myth, but cites several horrible accidents as proof that playing in the leaves can have deadly consequences.

But there’s a more pressing reason you shouldn’t play in the leaves, particularly not the leaves piled on the street in front of my house. That’s because they are filled with dog poop. Those are the leaves I raked from the backyard over the weekend, and while we try to stay one step ahead of the dogs, it’s tough in the fall. The problem? Their droppings are camouflaged by nature’s colorful bounty. That sounds very poetic until you stroll through the leaves, or worse yet, you spend three hours raking them up. Then nature’s colorful bounty is a stinky, disgusting mess.

So, don’t play in the leaves and don’t drive through the leaves, and for Gods’ sake, wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident.

Now With 100% More Dog

Our household has been blessed with a new arrival: eleven month old Australian Shepherd Matty. As I write this, she is licking a pizza stone which I unwisely left on an eye-level shelf. Please try to forget this just in case I ever serve you homemade pizza. 

Matty came to us as part of some sort of “deal” Ann made with the breeder. We didn’t have to pay for her, but at some point she’ll be mated, and will go to the kennel to birth and wean her puppies. The breeder gets the puppies. We in turn pay for the food, vet bills, dog treats, carpet cleaning, etc. I’m not sure what happens to this “deal” in case she accidentally gets knocked up by some neighborhood mongrel, instead of a carefully selected Australian Shepherd stud. 

That brings us to the algebra of dog ownership. Two dogs means twice the food but it seems to yield four times as much dog poop. And walking two dogs? It’s ten times more complicated than walking one, turning a pleasurably mindless activity into a challenging ordeal. No, having a second dog isn’t easy, but as I get older I’m beginning to think that they key to living longer is doing new things. Hell, If I thought it would add five years to my life, I’d probably get another.

Patchy

The nurse asked me, “How long will this take to grow back?”

She was shaving patches of hair off my body so she could attach EKG electrodes during my annual physical: three on the chest and one on each calf. How long to grow back? No idea —but certainly not in time for vacation on the beach.

Thanks to some bizarre brew of genetic happenstance, I am uncommonly hairy. No, I’m not real happy about this turn of fate, but what the hell? You play the hand you’re dealt. Oh sure, I’ve considered manscaping, but I don’t even like getting the hair on my head cut. Fortunately, Ann says she likes me just the way I am. If not for that -or if I were single or something- I’d be off to be waxed, trimmed, lasered…whatever it would take.

Last year on the beach a nearby family made no secret of their interest in my dog-like appearance. They gawked at me from their blanket, gesturing in my direction and chattering in amazement. Since they were speaking a foreign language I can’t give you a direct translation, but the inflection said, “Oh! Look at the hairy man!” They were obviously from a place where body hair is not the norm. My son Alex says, “Maybe they worship hairy people where they come from. Or monkeys.”

Anyway, the chest hair has mostly recovered from being sheared, but I still have two bare patches on my legs. And next time I go to the doctor I’ll be sure to do it in November.

Weekly Wrap

Black EnterpriseMYSTERIOUS MAIL I get lots of weird mail at work, some of it addressed to me as the company “President”, but I’m really curious how I got on the mailing list for Black Enterprise magazine. Not complaining here —especially not with articles like this about my main man, Barack Obama, but it just seems a little odd. I didn’t think I was in the target demo, but maybe I was made some sort of honorary black entrepreneur. Perhaps I’ll get invited to go hang out with Russell Simmons or something.

ABOUT DOGS At dinner recently we got on the subject of dogs and strokes. Zack asked, “If a dog has a stroke does it end up with slurred bark?” Good question.

ALSO ABOUT DOGS We can’t name many of our neighbors or any of the children running around, but we know the names of all the dogs: Penny, Fenway, Shelby, Fanny, Max, Skipper (Skip for short), Hank, and Fenway. Yes, there are two dogs named Fenway. Boston fans. I’m naming my next dog Bill Buckner.

Random Notes

GOTTA SERVE SOMEONE Zack surprised us on the way out of Mass Sunday, announcing that he’d like to be a lector someday. We were really impressed by this because we’ve worked so hard to keep him interested in church. I was halfway to the car before I realized why he was suddenly so keen on getting involved —and it had everything to do with first reading, Zechariah 9:9-10:

See, your king shall come to you; a just savior is he, Meek, and riding on an ass, on a colt, the foal of an ass.

Like every 12-year-old, he just wants to say ass in church.

ON THE INTERNET, NOBODY KNOWS YOUR A DOG I don’t really have time for it, but I’ve gotten myself involved in another online project: Dog 365. For the next year, I will post one picture a day of Scarlett, the Australian Shepherd who can’t manage to keep her tongue out of my mouth. I’d like to tell you that this is some sort of satire about the relationship we have with our pets, but like a lot of things I’ve done online, I didn’t really put that much thought into it.

POST TIME Madeo couldn’t quite get it done at the May 24 Alydar Stakes, losing by a neck to long shot Trevor’s Clever. His owners and trainer continue to have high hopes for the three-year-old, who’s entered in Saturday’s $350,000 Swaps Stakes at Hollywood Park. Madeo won’t be the favorite this time. Among the entries are Kentucky Derby horse Colonel John, who will likely head to The Travers if he wins this race. Does that mean Madeo could end up in the Travers if he wins? Not likely, especially considering he’s never run on dirt.

This Is The Week That Was

I write a lot of copy every week. Mostly it’s not worth $65,000 per word, but I was especially proud of this sentence: A NEW HOME FOR DOGS LIVING LIKE PIGS IN THE FILTHY HOUSE OF A NEGLECTFUL BREEDER. If dogs are living like pigs, you know things are really bad.

Now this from the amusing typo file: WHEN NEW YORK STATE BUILT THE THRUWAY, THEY PROMISED TO ELIMINATE TROLLS SOME DAY. That’s very good since there are so many bridges on the Thruway.

Here’s an especially absurd idea: SOME PEOPLE SAY THAT YOUR CAR MAKES A STATEMENT; COMING UP, THE STORY OF A CAR THAT DOESN’T JUST MAKE A STATEMENT, IT SHOUTS OUT A MESSAGE OF PEACE AND TOLERANCE. I wonder if that’s covered under the warranty?

Next, there’s something wrong here but I’m not sure what: HANSON-MANIA STRIKES THE CAPITAL REGION —AND WE FELT QUITE A SURGE OF IT RIGHT HERE AT CHANNEL 13 TODAY! OK, that’s what’s wrong: saying surge, mania, and Hanson in the same five seconds .

Finally, my favorite literary technique, good news/bad news: NICE WEATHER —BUT DANGEROUSLY DRY. LIVE AT ELEVEN.