Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Wordless Wednesday: Splash o'summer

We interrupt this bleary February morning with a splash of summer.

Who has two thumbs and has had quiet enough of this Ohio winter crap? This chick.

The rotation of snow and mud has all of us looking forward to complaining about how flippin' humid it is around here in our Midwestern summers.

What's humid? asks Micron. Bad hair days? I don't understand a word you're sayin'.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

What is the plural for Abacus anyway?

dog in office
Your phone was ringing.  So I killed it.
You're welcome.
So does it feel like it's been twenty years?, asks a colleague.

No, not really, I say. More like twenty five.

Aw, just kidding. Like I'm sure the boss was just kidding when he said I should be good for another fifteen or twenty more. I worked out the math on that one and didn't care much for the resulting sum.

Sure, I've been working at P&G Pet Care for a cool two decades, but it's not like it's been a quarter of a century or something. But hey, if I put in another twenty years, I'd be that much older too. I can imagine bags under my eyes sagging at the mere thought.

Yowza.  In dog years I'd be ... well, let's say getting kissing-cousin close to the Golden Years. Or what I would prefer to think of as my Margarita on the Beach Years.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Wordless Wednesday: Fur Fur Baby

dog fur

If dogs formed a band.

The little guy in back is the drummer.

From left: Karsen & Kel (houseguests), Jager, Yaxley and Micron


Sunday, February 16, 2014

Why we do the things we do

Do you hear that? I ask my Favorite Kid. I turn down the car radio and look into the side mirror. It sounds like someone's yelling, doesn't it?

We're sitting on I-70, a normal highway on any other day. Today however, we're all in supporting roles as this freeway of life impersonates a mall parking lot at Christmas. We're tooling along, kind of, but walking would indeed be faster. But not safer. This snowstorm now upon us was quick, intense and completely unexpected.

It's the people a couple cars back. Derek says as he turns to look behind us.  A lady is shouting out the passenger window at another car.

Are they ok?, I ask.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Wordless Wednesday: Euka vs The Snowball

 Snowballs, says Euka. Are kinda weird to catch.

I mean, she continues, you think you've got the thing. Then afterwards, you're all ... was that it? Is that all there is? 

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Trump ya with a Jack

Today we share the story of a good dog with a heart of gold. An otherwise great fellow who just made some very poor choices in life.

One after another. After another.

And so on.

Fuzzy memories of our time with Jack the Wonder Dog came back to me after a conversation with a friend about her own pup's insistence of his right to nosh upon non-edibles. Now, I don't want to think of myself as the kind of girl who has to top someone's story with one of my own that-ain't-nuthin' adventures. I don't want to be that person.

But in the case of Jack, I believe I just might have her trumped. With some to spare.

Saturday, February 8, 2014

Dog Hair is a Condiment

I've never been the kind of girl to shy away from a bad decision. Or use her discretionary time to do useful tasks like keeping a spotless house or, let's be honest here, even putting out an effort to clear the crap from the dining room table so we can eat like real people do and I need the family to stop yapping at me about this because I will do it. But not right now.

I'm busy here.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Farmer's Tan. It's not just for summer anymore.

What do you get when you cross a Golden with a Labrador?

This, people.  You get a photobomb that you didn't notice in the tiny viewfinder of your Canon. A cursory glance at the image might even net you that warm feeling that accompanies the camera's promise of a rather nice shot.

Then you download the memory card onto your laptop and you now find yourself gifted with the pale, almost not there, but yep, there she is, that's not a ghost photo bomb.

My handsome golden retriever appears to have developed a white-ish rear end. Perhaps one of them stylin' Lion Cuts. With the unfortunate result of exposing a farmer's tan.

In winter. Go fig.

Take a sec here and place your thumb over the tip of plume tail creeping above Micron's noggin.

There. Now do you see it too?

It's not just me, right?


Sunday, February 2, 2014

Got the moves like Jager

I got the moves like Jager. The dog, people.  Jager's a dog.

"This isn't a football [image of a football].  This is a football [image of a soccer ball]"   -bumper sticker on a minivan.

I noted this particular bumper sticker on a family member's vehicle some time ago.  Way back when our kids were, well, ... kids.  And my brother-in-law was a soccer coach for a small town team.

I wondered then about the ballsiness of it all.  Is it ok, I thought, to start a semantics war against something so all-American as the sport of oblong balls? Sure, I can see that a soccer is a foot ball of sorts; I give him that one.  But isn't it also a head ball sometimes?  And what else could one possibly call Football, other than Tuck the Pig in the Armpit and Run Like the Devil is on Your Tail Ball? You'd have to go all acronym and even that doesn't make sense and there's probably already a Hawaiian volcano or something called TTPITAARLTDIOYTB.

And speaking of kids, while rearing my favorite kid during all his tender years, I only permitted one television in our home. My philosophy at the time was that watching the Stupid Box was already a passive event where you didn't have to think for yourself, but it was also a distraction from being a healthy family unit.

If we're going to neutralize our gray matter, we'll do it together as a family, gosh darn it. And in the same room, too. A family that zombifies together, stays together, right?

And I gotta say, it generally worked out reasonably well. We all picked up some mad skills over these years. Things like negotiation, problem-solving, bribery tactics and who can actually shout the loudest until the neighbors come by to check on us.  A billion two channels available on cable. Three people.

And one television.

Good times.

Ok y'all, this is a touchdown. This spot. Because the ball touched it.
Anyway, I'm told there's some big game going on today. Yeah, I know it's the Superbowl and all, but this doesn't bode well for my Downton Abbey obsession. But no matter. I can watch this week's episode from my Kindle Fire. I think. I hope. Hold just a sec, will you?  I'm gonna check.

[on hold music] instrumental to Stairway to Heaven*

Ok, yeah, we're good.

Besides, the dogs had a ballgame of their own to entertain the masses. By masses, I mean me. I watched the goings on for awhile and have to admit -- I have no idea what the rules of play were. It's like they were making the whole thing up. You know, like how you play Monopoly when you can't be bothered to count out the money because it involves math.

The only thing I could figure was that Euka had to have the ball. Or else.

Or else not have the ball. That works too.

Our polar bear princess is not only faster than the freight train that is Micron, but she also has some mean agility. Mike will be right on her tail, rather literally, when Euka will throw in a right turn, leaving the big guy to eat snow.

This is Euka's specialty of Spin Past the Fire Ring.

And here we have the Holy Crap Maneuver.

So this is obviously not a football game. But what? Oh, don't be silly, calling it Pawball won't work because the dogs carry the thing in their maws.

Snooterball, then? Hmmm.  

I call this .... Snowball.

*For real, I heard this as elevator music somewhere. How did we allow this to happen? This is exactly how societies crumble, people.

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