I'm not sure what some silly crafter was trying to say ...

Either way, it seems like a$$vice.

So ... if you wash your husband's new iPhone ...

Can you blame Hurricane Irene?

Turns out the Apple Store people can. Dog bless them.

If I ran the circus ...

I would not be putting the superheroes in the back ... where you can't even see them.

No one ...

And I mean NO one ...

wants to sit on a superhero.

Couldn't leave without saying ...

I've met and worked with some really amazing people in the past 14 years.

I wish I had photographed each and every one of you.

And then there are days like these ...

When you just feel like screaming.

Maine event

Maine.

That's where we were in case you were wondering.

We left our troubles - the pink slip, the house full of fleas and a mildly depressed cat mourning the loss of her canine pal - to fester while we spent two weeks in a presidential hometown in the upper U.S.

We saw family.

And old friends.

We even met some new ones.

During the course of two weeks we had many laughs, however the best came on the last day of the recreational program at KBIA. We stayed past swim lessons so Ittybit could take part in open swim.

The Champ wasn't interested. No amount of convincing could get him back in the water.

"No. No. I'm not swimming. Nope. Not going in. Not swimming."

He was content watching from the sidelines and eating his bag of chips from the snack bar.

Until.

He noticed his swim instructor had removed her sweatshirt and was getting into the pool.

To swim with another little kid his age.

"I'm going swimming now!"

Just in time.

***

Even with all the excitement (and the anxiety that comes with it), I have to admit It feels good to be back home.

Breakfast with Martin

And a song:


"If you want to be a grump that's okay, but could you be grumpy a little further away? It's not that I don't love you, 'cause you know I do. Sometimes I'm grumpy too.

If you want to be a nudge that's okay, but could you be a nudge a little further away, it's not that i don't love you 'cause you know I do, sometimes I'm a nudge too.

I think I understand exactly what you're going through. Oh your oatmeal's lumpy and your socks are all bumpy, what's a poor kid to do?"

- Music for Aardvarks

Obituary for the Old Barkley Times

Madeline J. Dog, 113.75 in dog years, was suddenly called home to snarfel the big beach in the sky on Wednesday, July 27, 2011.

Born on a Columbia County farm in mid-April of 1995, Maddy Jerk Monkey Hose Dog, as she was affectionately called by family and friends, was the smallest and quite possibly the homeliest of a large, multi-generational family.

Her mother, whom she knew only briefly, was a black Labrador-mix and was whispered to be the canine predecessor of the OctoMom. Her father, whom she never met, was known as That Bastard Who Got Over the Fence. Both have reportedly returned to the breeding ground in the sky.

Madeline is survived by her adoptive family: Siobhan, her adoptive mother; Jed, some guy who never formally signed the paperwork and always referred to her as "YOUR DOG IS BEING A JERK"; Annabel, a foster sister, who misses her but kinda wants a puppy; and Silas, a foster brother, who would feed her from his plate accidentally on purpose.

She is also survived by a cat, Ariel, who was a late-in-life friend and not entitled to bragging rights.

Madeline was predeceased by at least one sibling, a direcl litter-mate named Chester, who, became affluent in adoption and who, in the early years, was reunited occasionally with his sister by way of dog-sitting. He was tragically struck and killed by a car in his prime. The motorist was never located, however there was some question as to whether Chester bore some culpability in his own untimely death, as he was rumored to have been a car chaser.

She was also predeceased by an adopted sibling, Maggie Dog, who was her dearest and closest canine pal for more than a decade.

She often referred to herself as "one member of a two-dog wolf pack."

Madeline was estranged from her remaining siblings.

She bore no children, a credit to her natural abilities of entertainment.

Also ... the result of spaying.

Madeline was educated in the style of 4-H Obedience (Method trained) and won praise for her recitals of limited runs. She never flaunted her abilities outside the spotlight, however, refusing most performance requests.

Her favorite pastimes were playing with her Squeaky Nun toy, drinking out of the toilet, begging for food, stealing food not quickly provided to her, knocking over small children and licking pants.

She was a lover of balls, sticks and playing fetch. She refused to "drop it."

She enjoyed yearly trips to Maine, where she loved to romp on the beach and chase after dogs owned by former presidents of the United States. She also liked to reinforce the point that she would not perform (nor would she "drop it") for the Secret Service. Luckily, she was never harmed as a result of these hystrionics.

She especially enjoyed trips in the car to just about anywhere ... the grocery store ... around the block ... the end of the driveway. Anywhere except the vet. In her youth, she would curl up in the back window of her adoptive mom's old, Civic hatchback. People from all over the country would wave and laugh as they drove by. Her mom couldn't see them, however, as Madeline was a large dog and often would block the rear views.

She also enjoyed watching the opening sequence of "The Slaves of New York," a movie based on a Tama Janowitz novel and featuring a Dalmatian named "Andrew."

She was also known for barking intermittently, jumping up and running out of rooms for no apparent reason, and other occasional irregularities.

She was not known for her humanitarianism, however she was modest. She didn't like to make a big deal out of staying by the side of people who were in the throes of painful back spasms. She often reveled in looking at them nervously and with undue concern, though she did not like to be known as a "Nervous Nellie."

She would prefer people just forgot she ever cavorted with a cat. That was AFTER she got the cataracts. She truly thought it was a meowing, battery-operated toy one of the foster kids had dragged home.

Near the end of her days, she enjoyed sleeping, eating and pooing, sometimes all at the same time. She also enjoyed barking at her family when they sat out on the porch. They would let her out. She'd want to go back in. Then out. Back in. She wasn't indecisive, she just assumed the family being OUTSIDE was completely unnatural. She wanted them inside, staring at the TV where they belonged.

The end came quickly for Madeline. However, she always liked to keep them guessing. For the past three years she had gained considerable skill at clutching her chest and shouting: "This is the Big One, Elizabeth. I'm comin' to join ya, honey," and then recovering completely.

She will be missed by all who knew and loved her, but she is looking forward to being reunited with her friend and beloved sister, Maggie, so they can relive their kibble days.

A private burial was held after bedtime.

Contributions in lieu of flowers, preferably pigs' ears or some other delicacy based on a dare or bi-product, may be sent to the humane society of your choice.

Imaginary parenting

BICKER-BICKER-BICKER

BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER

BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER

BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER


Hey, Guys?

How about you NOT bicker for the rest of the trip ... or at least until we get to our first destination? OK? Whatdoyasay?


BICKER-BICKER-BICKER

BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER BICKER-BICKER-BICKER


OK. ... How about this:

How about you take your imaginary pencils and - silently - write your complaints on these here imaginary sheets of paper, which you will then insert into my imaginary suggestion box, which I store in the front of the car for just these occasions ...


BICKER-BICKER And then what? BICKER


And then I will pretend to read them tomorrow.