Privacy?

What's that?

Karma and the kitten

Life and death.

Pelfies

Oh ... Hi, Hooooman! You're back ...

I thought you'd gone away ... Forever.

I was worried. You know ... because I don't really know how to get food out of all these storage contraptions.

It was a relief that you hadn't eaten all of your lunch when you left before.

Don't worry about that cottage cheese ...

I totally cleaned that up.

No need to thank me.

But you're welcome.




Dogs.

So selfish.

feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme feedmefeedmefeedme.

Stinker

Literally.

She got skunked.

Hanging out

With her reading buddy.

There are two members of this household who are already wishing they could maul Hurricane Sandy ... you know ... because their humans are cooped up with nothing better to do for who knows how long

But at least we're getting some school projects out of the way.

Parkour?

You're kidding, right?

Learning how to park

I knew there had been an effort underway to get a dog park in our town -- I even dropped money in a dedicated collection jar at the Surley Cup on occasion -- but I wasn't aware that the park had actually gotten past the planning stages and into the oh-my-god-you-can-really-go-there-and-play stage.

Evidently it opened two years ago ... so ... yeah. I'm observant.

Anywhoo ... The pup and I went and checked it out yesterday.

What a great place!

Secure fencing. Separate areas for small and large dogs.

Lots of space. Lots of shade. 

Water, waste bags available ... 

There's even toys for dogs and lawn chairs for their humanoids.

I don't know what this is for ...

Crowd control? Humor?

And of course, best of all, there's always new friends at the dog park.

But it turns out dogs need to have a park use tag in addition to the standard license, both available at Kinderhook Town Hall, to lawfully use the park.

Which ... after being scofflaws for about an hour ... we tried to obtain. (Town clerk had stepped out when we arrived ... so we'll try again another time, but I was given the helpful advice to "look for her white Hummer in the parking lot" to be sure she was available.)

One final note: You might want to learn how to park in case you are the first to arrive.

Please to be ignoring the orange clown car.  

Uncultured swine ...

... but with excellent taste in books.

Wearing out her welcome ...

and our supply of paper products.

What 3:24 p.m. looks like on any given weekday ...

HERE SHE COMES! Here she comes ... hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomeshereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes hereshecomes!!!!



WAIT! Where'd she go?



HERE SHE IS! Here she is ... heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis heresheis!

First casualty

"It's ok. He's got another foot what's good."

She knows how to be our dog

Looking cute. Cuddling. Cleaning up food that drops on the floor. ... She's got those tasks down really well.

But if she REALLY wants to fit in, though, she's going to have to learn to jump on the furniture, chew up some of the kids' toys and be at least a tiny bit annoying.

Tomorrow's another day for her to get with the program.

Because all dogs are liberal ...

(or at the very least, progressive) ...



when Reagan comes home with us tomorrow, she'll have a new name.

Get a 'Roommate'

It may not vacuum your floor too well, but it will keep your cat busy.

Notice, she's ready to pounce ... should the need arise.

Things I learned today:

Our cat will willingly get into the cat carrier.

And stay there.

For an indeterminate amount of time.

Without complaint.

She won't even mind if you lug her around like a suitcase. Or spin her a little ... like an amusement park ride.

For some strange reason she thinks of her cat carrier as her safe place. Even when it takes her places she'd rather not go.

Like the vet.

But once you set her transportation tent in the car and fire up the ignition all bets are off.

Even driving from the house to the edge of the street will elicit sounds that would make the neighbors think we're ripping out her toenails with rusty pliers and dousing her with antiseptic.

It was a good thing Monkey Baby came along for his check up, too.

Turns out they both got clean bills of health. Neither of them needed to be wormed or flea dipped. Monkey Baby didn't even need a shot.

But while Monkey Baby never made a peep, Ariel wouldn't stop yelling at me. Even when set free, she just laid on the warm driveway and told the world of her terrible ordeal. For hours.

I wouldn't be surprised if she left me a gift in my shoe overnight.

God, I miss her ...

at times like these:

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.

Don't let the dog door hit you on the way out

She skulked into our room just as the blue-speckled morning light was breathing in pink from the sun, and started to howl.

"Your turn," I say to the mountain of covers to my left. "I already handled a squirrel, two chipmunks and what I can only presume was a bird this week. I'm taking the morning off."

Wordlessly, he pulls on a shirt and stalks downstairs passing Ittybit in the hallway.

"Where's he going?" she asks, scooping up the squalling mass of feline flesh as awkwardly as humanly possible. In Ittybit's arms, our black cat is more of a rag doll. She just limply hangs, catatonic.

I don't get a chance to answer before a stream of expletives and a few Lords'-Names-in-Vain come charging up the stairs.

"OH GOD! JESUS CHRIST! OHHHHH, FOR-FUGS-SAKE!"

"What did she kill?" I yell down in response.

"Nothing. It's still alive and its running around in the kitchen!"

When I reach the place where the coffee and toast are born, I find him standing by the coffeemaker. Perhaps he's willing it to become a Haveaheart trap, but I suspect he's more interested in getting a cup of caffeine to clear his mind.

"Coffee first. Then I'll think about what to do. It could be anywhere at this point."

He saw it scoot behind the dog food container and a case of bottled ice tea. All sorts of critters go back there, never to be seen again.

I moved the containers and saw the chipmunk all curled up in a ball. No head, no tail visible in the shadows. On the counter above it is a small movie popcorn box, saved for reuse because of its red-pin-stripe quaintness and lack of visible butter stains.

I grab it and bend to scoop up the cat's escaped snack.

In it goes to the bottom, scrabbling around for a second and then settling back into its protective orb.

I head for the great out of doors.

Ittybit wants to help release the varmint, but minds my urgent request and feeds the cat as a distraction. I tell I'll wait for her, and to meet me at the tree in front yard.

When she arrives, I pour out the popcorn box, kernels, critter and all.

For a long moment, it stands there all stretched out and close to the ground. I fan the box in its direction and it skitters up the tree trunk. Ittybit follows it, circling the tree, telling it all manner of helpful advice.

"Have a nice life."

"Be more careful."

"Stay away from cats."

As she skips around the tree, a first-grade Ann Landers, it chitters at her, loudly.

Its charm delights her.

"You're welcome!"

Take me to the kittens

Sometimes you really just want hang out with kittens. And do little else.