Max’s playmate, and sometimes irritating pest. Fifty pounds of pure energy, in her heyday–aspired to be a lapdog.
Your mischievous ways overshadowed by your sweet nature.
I will miss your company, always.
Maggie, my little sweet girl dog is home from her stay at the vets. Her “brother” Max was glad to see her. The suspense (anxiety) continues till July 23rd. That’s when she’s scheduled for examination by a specialist.
She has problems with her esophagus and swallowing. There are several possible causes. Most of them unsettling. Only a proper endoscopy will tell the tale. She’s tolerating soft food and drinking water. Her activities are limited in the interim.
What did the “b” represent? Maybe, breakfast? No, it stood for “burgers.” What a letdown. IHOb, nee IHOP’s decision, to enter the burger wars was a real head-scratcher.
How will this play out? There’s too much competition already. They kept the “International House of” prefix.
Will they be offering burgers revved up with salsa, pizza sauce, blue cheese, jalapeno, and the like?
At the recent G7 summit, Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s eyebrows, were the topic of conversation in some circles. Were they real or fake?
Inspired by the Duchess of Sussex, Meghan Markle’s complexion, there were some that aspired to tattooed freckles.
On the home front, my dogs no longer sported their pouty faces, after monthly flea, heartworm, and tick treatments. Forgive and forget. That’s one of the reasons why I liked my dogs more than most people.
Why had my dogs suddenly stopped going on morning walks? “There were no bad dogs, only bad pet owners.” I understood Cesar Millan’s message.
What was different? Did I need to change my morning routine? Was it them? Or, was it me? Had they sensed the recent tropical storm? Was I over thinking the issue?
I needed the exercise and walked without them the past two mornings. The weirdest part was the sensation of them being there–even though they weren’t.
That’s my nickel’s worth. I hope the answer comes soon. I’m not nearly as interesting without Max and Maggie. It may simply be discomfort from summer heat and humidity.
Another birthday came and went. Birthday cakes aren’t large enough to hold the required number of candles.
The younger set is impatient to age, the older set wishes aging would slow down.
Visited with friends over a long weekend. Many enjoyable highlights. Scars from last year’s tragic fires were still present in Gatlinburg and Smoky Mountain NP.
Ridges covered with bare trees, stark skeletons of burned-out homes and cabins. Hilltops bulldozed over–some decided to rebuild, others took insurance settlements, and left.
Went deep undercover in Tennessee Vols country Saturday. No one was the wiser. Faithful fans cheered for positive yardage; fell silent during penalties in a very lackluster game with UMass.
The two mutts were glad to be released from incarceration at the kennel on our return. Their lockup due to their incompatibility with felines.
One morning in the restroom, I was startled when one of the male cats jumped from behind the shower curtain. The other, growled from concealment. Thankfully, the conflict didn’t escalate, while I was in a compromised position.
Max and Maggie would be disappointed to know, while they were kenneled, we were visiting with cats. It will remain a secret.
For selfish reasons–I’m glad the Fourth of July is over. Last night, fireworks explosions carried on, till almost midnight.
Max scratched on the bedroom door, to get out, till it was over. There wasn’t anywhere else to go. Why couldn’t he rationalize the same as humans? “Max, settle down, go to sleep.” My spouse slept through all of it.
All five dogs were affected to some degree. Great-grand-dog Dexter, Greta, Bogart, my grand-dogs, and Max and Maggie, hung out in the basement till bedtime.
I don’t begrudge anyone’s Fourth of July festivities. From this pet owner’s perspective–I’m glad it’s over.
I’m still shocked, in disbelief, that a neighbor and good friend passed away last night. He was within a year or two of my age.
Rick and I were retired communications workers–for the same company in adjoining states. We could fall back on telling telephone “war” stories. Rick always lent a helping hand when needed.
Because of Rick, I have buried telephone service to my workshop. It’s an old-fashioned landline. How else were my antique telephones going to work? With ringers as loud as firehouse gongs, they’d refuse to operate on wireless–the very idea.
Every good thing that will be said, Rick deserves. He was one of the good guys. Me and the dogs will miss him. We couldn’t pass by Rick’s house on walks without Max putting on the brakes. Max loved to see Rick–go back to his workshop. I know it was an interruption. Rick refurbished golf carts. Rick always found the time.
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