No, actually I just had a stupid webpage and someone suggested this as a better outlet for my frustrations (and observations).
While I'm new to Blogger.com, I have several years of blogging under my belt. I hope to bring these to bear in an amusing, thought-provoking, and sometimes alarming way.
The cute little fella in my avatar is my dog, Marshall. He was named after those huge black amps you see behind all the rock stars. Marshall is that most dangerous of dogs: a smart cocker. He will sit there and watch to make sure we're not looking, then blast off to steal something; usually a treat or cat food. There is nothing in life Marshall enjoys more than cat food.
PET FOOD BALLET
Every morning the wife and I get to participate in or observe Pet Food Ballet. This is a highly skilled maneuver involving Marshall and his sibling Ren (aka Satan) the cat, along with a bowl of dog food and a bowl of cat food. Ren eats in the kitchen, behind closed louvered doors. As soon as he's done, Ren opens the doors and heads right for the dog food. This allows Marshall to get into the kitchen and get at the cat food. Voila - Pet Food Ballet.
This is somewhat complicated by the fact that Marshall is pushing forty pounds, which is rather large for a cocker, and Ren is pushing twenty (we were told he's part lynx). Last year we spent well into four figures treating Ren's diabetes and got him completely stabilized. We were told to keep him out of the dog food because of this. So Marshall doesn't need the calories and Ren doesn't need the carbohydrates
DON'T ASK ME HOW THEY FIGURE IT OUTBoth of the `children' have figured out how to open the bi-fold doors to the bathroom. For the life of me, I cannot figure out how they figure this out. We have had a total of three rescue cockers and two cats, all of whom have figured out how to open the doors to the bathroom. This wouldn't be worth discussing if we didn't mind being on the loo and having one of two pets bursting through the doors to say hello.
But the bathroom holds other amusements too. Marshall loves shredding tissues but prefers used ones. What better place to find used tissues than the bathroom trash can? If necessary he'll get a fresh one from the dispenser. Occasionally Marshall enjoys a brief dip in the toilet too, which is usually followed by wet paw prints all over the place.
The one thing we can't figure out is why Marshall humps Ren. They're both about seven year old fixed males. I guess it's purely dominance but there is no conversation stopper so grand as Please ask the dog to stop humping the cat.
But don't let me have you believing that Marshall's loves stop at cat food, no sir. Another favorite of his is coffee. My wife knows everyone at Dunkin Donuts by name, such is the result of her manic coffee-drinking. Marshall, being the smart cocker, somehow figured out how to remove the plastic lid from the styrofoam cup.
No, I did not believe this either, until I watched one day. He gingerly took one nail and went around the lid, prying it up, around and around until the lid popped off. At that point it was face-first into the cup and drink whatever he could get before Mom decided she wanted some. From my wife's point of view, she was driving down the street and reached for her coffee. The lid was in her pocketbook, there was precious little coffee left, and Marshall was licking his lips to get the remaining coffee residue from them. Sometimes he gets the lid up by licking at it until it comes up. He tried that tonight. The road noise was perfect camouflage for his coffee-stealing activities.
Today when I came home, Marshall had procured two extra large Dunkin Donuts coffees from up on tables, pried the lids off, and consumed the contents. And it doesn't affect him at all.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is all the rage these days. Monk is a national hero. Everybody has a `thing' they do or are uncomfortable with that can drive others nuts.
My wife, for example, must watch tv with the volume on an even number. Since I cannot let anything alone, I will frequently set the volume up or down one so it's an odd number. This drives my wife through the roof and we spend the next few minutes chasing each other around the couch in the endless quest for the remote control.
I don't have weird stuff like that. Ok, maybe one thing... I prefer not to drive with things leaning on me. If my wife's pocketbook lands on me while I'm driving, I get agitated. Aside from that, I'm perfectly normal. Heh heh heh.
So what is your weird little thing? (please don't send pictures)