Goodbye Sandy

I went through another of life’s challenges this week. I made it through a hurricane. Here’s how I stayed safe and protected our home:

Notice how I strategically placed my right paw (my writing paw) underneath Mike’s guitar? And I wedged my head against the toolbox to keep it from being blown away. It might come in handy!

So Sandy is gone and everything’s getting back to normal. That means more sleeping shift work for me. I like to keep my head elevated, and sometimes it’s just too hard to crawl over to my pillow:

I perked up a bit this morning and barked at our woodpile for awhile. Why not? My mom brakes for hallucinations, so I can bark at delusions.

Here’s a stunning picture of me:

But, of course, they’re all stunning. I love you!

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A Quick Post

Friends and family, we’re hunkering down for hurricane Sandy. When it gets here, it’s only going to be a tropical storm, but it’s going to be bad.

My parents have spent their time preparing and so have I. Here I am helping with preparations:

After all, the most important thing is to stay calm. I’m really good at that.

On the plus side, I didn’t throw up today.

Hopefully I’ll be able to post again soon.

I love you!

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They Fell For It

My parents have been talking about giving me that which must never be spoken out loud. Something that was forbidden during the “Summer of Minn”. Something that starts with a B and rhymes with math.

I had to nip this in the bud.

So, I decided to act like the soon-to-be 16 year old dog that, in fact, I am. I stumbled on the steps. I upped the throwing-up rate. And today, while Mom took me on a extended walk due to the wonderful weather, I collapsed on the ground. That was quite the convincing performance, if I say so myself. Mom thought I had suffered a stroke, and tearfully carried me back into the house.

I was fine. She fell for it hook, line and sinker. And there’s no more talk about giving me a ba……. Mission accomplished.

I’ve found a new use for my pillow. Why torture my joints by creeping into my cave under my parent’s bed when I can just do this:

Whenever I get my fluid therapy in my shoulders, my mom tells me I look like a buffalo. I take that as a compliment since I think buffaloes are magnificent creatures. What do you think:


I think those are two magnificent creatures. Gosh, I wish I had horns.

I love you!

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Bite Me

I’ve been throwing up a bit more lately. Can you blame me? First of all, the Ryan/Romney ticket is gaining in the polls. Why would old people in Florida vote for candidates who want to destroy Social Security and Medicare? I guess they figure “I got mine, screw you, young people” (anybody under 55).

Or maybe it’s because the administration didn’t heed warnings about security issues in Libya. Oh, kind of like when George W. ignored warnings about terrorists using airplanes to attack U.S. buildings, so then he invaded the wrong country and drove us into astronomical debt, but THAT was patriotic. Bite me, Romney.

No, I’m throwing up because my White Sox missed getting into the World Series by two games. If they would’ve won two games against Detroit, we’d be watching them on free TV. Bite me, Detroit. It’s time to change the banner. Which one should I choose?

You know the Bears won:

I’m getting tired of my fluid treatments. The other day I pretended to bite my mom when she injected me. But what’s that saying – never bite the hand that feeds you:

Speaking of being fed, we have a crisis going on. I am completely, totally out of food. Really. Mom & Dad went on a cruise up to the metropolis known as Olean and left me with no provisions. Mercifully, they brought back a hunk of turkey which is being baked as we speak. Let’s check the temp:

Yikes!! Only 100 degrees, and I need to be fed in two hours!!! Maybe salmonella will get me before my liver or kidney failure.

Finally, I need to check out the makings for Olive’s Christmas princess dress. My mom said she was going to sew her a new pink dress:

Oh my. Unless my eyes have started to fail, I do believe this fabric is purple. Courtney – Mike – can you sell purple to Olive? If not, bite me.

I love you!

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Thank You For My Daily Egg

I know that bread and egg don’t really rhyme, but it’s close. C’mon, I’m a dog, not an English major (like a certain mom and aunt and future sister-in-law).

I’m still loving my daily egg. It almost – ALMOST – makes getting jabbed with a gargantuan needle worth it. Here I’m anticipating the deliciousness while my dad gets it ready:


Soooooo good:

Did you notice the red spot on my shoulder? That’s blood gushing out of me at the injection site. And yet I stay calm. I am awesome.

Speaking of that, my dad made two awesome pizzas this weekend:

It’s refreshing to see my mom guzzling down something other than beer.

I’m thankful for something else – the heatage is on!!!

Warm floors are glorious. Unfortunately, I heard my mom ordering a propane tank refill, so as soon as she gets the bill, I’m afraid she’ll shut the heat down. I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts.

I’m also thankful for YOU, friends & family. Take care, and I love you!

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Shift Work

My sister finished her training and started her regular job this week. Evidently, it’s something called “shift work”. After listening to my parents talk about it, I gathered this involves nothing more than the ability to sleep at any given hour around the clock.

You KNOW I was born for this. I started “shift work” right after my breakfast:

I wanted to make sure I could “shift work” in different locations, so I moved to another bedroom and started another shift:

I am rockin’ this. The only time I interrupted my shift was to get my pills:

My sister has a sweet job. Wait a minute – my Mom just told me that Kristy has to work for 8 hours every day, too. As in be awake and alert for eight straight hours!

I’m done with shift work. Mom, get up here & take care of me RIGHT NOW!

I love you!

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I am surrounded by failure. First, my liver. Then, my kidneys joined in. This is bad.

Mitt Romney’s campaign is not only failing, it’s starting to crash and burn. This is good.

But I’m really barking about baseball. It’s the end of the regular season, and my White Sox are falling apart. Their last two series were, as Hawk (their announcer) said, “painful to watch”.  And today, despite three SOLO – I repeat SOLO home runs, they lost. By one run.

Where’s the gnome?

Oh, I see Mom has brought out the fall/Halloween decor. The gnome is next to a ghost my sister made a kazillion years ago. Did you find the Bears banner yet? We might need it soon.

Well let’s get off failure and move on to successes. When I woke up this morning, I was breathing! And I got fed!

That is quite the close-up, Mom. Might want to think about backing off a bit in the future.

I can still roll around on the floor and make noises like some demonic force has taken over:

You might want to try it sometime.

Let’s hope the gnome works and the Sox make it to the post-season. Oh, here’s another success – my mom’s piano students’ recital made it into one of the local papers! Here’s the URL:

In case you’re wondering why our last name is spelled incorrectly, that’s so we don’t get fifty phone calls a day about piano lessons. Mom is booked. Also, for full disclosure purposes, I should mention that the parents of one of her students own the newspaper. Not that it wouldn’t be newsworthy anyway.

That’s it for now. I love you!

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