Black Cloud

Maggie, my little shadow, follows me everywhere. She makes my business her business–when mowing the lawn, cooking out on the grill, or when going to the backyard.

She’s going in tomorrow for a more complete analysis of her digestive issues. Restricted diet and activities, didn’t seem to have caused any negative effects. I’ve missed taking her for walks in the morning.

I don’t know what the prognosis will be. Hoping for the best. She seems so normal. Another day, will tell the story.  Not knowing has been the black cloud, that I wish would go away.

Where Did They Come From…?

Where did they come from?

Where did they go?

Where did they come from?

And how would you know?

“She doesn’t put up with any crap from other dogs.  When I found her, she was caged with sixteen other dogs of all shapes and sizes.  The mean, ornery little dog down the street found out the hard way.”

“Maybe that’s why they (the owners) gave her up?”

“Could have been.  Maybe it was because she got pregnant?  It could have been a male dog from the wrong side of the tracks?  God forbid, a Chihuahua or pit bull; a suitor deleterious to the pretentious pet parent’s social standing in nondescript suburbia.”

“It was on them to spay or neuter.  Who knows?  They could have been hoarders; or have been running a puppy mill.”

Where’d the suitors come from?

Where did they go?

Where they came from

We’ll never know


The Seige Is Lifted

Out of the bunker.  Last night hunkered down in the center part of the house.

It seemed to work well for the two pups.  Firework sounds were more muffled, and maybe all of us being together with the big TV, helped.

The Florida room isn’t as well insulated from sound and flashes of light.

Max seemed to do better without tranquilizers.

Anyway, I hope everyone had a happy, safe Fourth of July.  Lessons learned for next year.  It’s the day after–I’ve no more to say on the subject.

The Other Side Of Cool

Cool kids drove cool cars, were hip, said cool things.

For introverted, socially awkward kids, like myself, it never happened.

Instead, I listened to drive ya’ crazy, AM DJ’s; hung out with other oddballs, misfits that refused to conform.

From the other side of fascination with things that blew up.  It’s not funny or amusing anymore.

My dog, Max, after last night’s episode of fireworks, has the same look in his eyes as those poor dogs in the ASPCA commercials.

Tranquilizers, used for the first time, calmed him somewhat, but didn’t knock him out, to the point, that he slept through the noise.  Instead, he wandered with dilated pupils, never lying down, until after it was all over, sometime around eleven.

Today, he was hung over.  He was afraid to walk on the tile floor.  After eighteen hours, all is back to normal.  No more tranquilizers–just the thunder jacket.  Fireworks are legal here.  There is still the grand finale, tonight, to go through.

No News Is Good News

Nothing exciting to report this Saturday.  Unless, vacuuming per hair is your forte.  As pet owners will attest, dogs and cats shed incredible amounts of hair.  I extracted more than enough hair to make two complete dogs.  I wondered, were there any artsy-crafty type people out there, interested in buying dog hair?

The vacuuming’s completed.  Now for a refreshing bowl of ice cream.  Too late, the mutts are wise to me.  I’m a sucker, for begging, brown eyes and they know it.


Oh, the thoughts that trample through my head when I can’t sleep.  Max, one of my furry children, limped last night before going to bed.  It was his surgically repaired leg.  This pet parent worries about his two charges.

Then, the rain started.  Not much thunder-rain fell in torrents.  Morning dawned, towering thunder clouds dotted the horizon.  No morning walk today–It will be a good day for reflection.

Maggie, my other dog insisted on going outside in pouring rain.  The purpose–to hunt frogs and toads.  She hates to be dried off with a towel–so I had to chase her down.  Max loves it–because it’s like being petted.

After that it was a spirited game of catch-me-if-you-can.  Max chased without the slightest sign of a limp.  Could he be limping for attention?  He fooled me.  And, it’s going to rain all day.