The watch dog

Years ago, Mr. P. gave me a cut-out metal yard decoration in the shape of a French bulldog looking up at a butterfly. We also have a pug-shape decoration next to it but the Frenchie is bigger and more noticeable. Before the Schwann's driver gave up on trying to sell us frozen delights, he told me during one of his visits that he was kinda nervous of that dog in our front yard. As far as I could tell, he was not the teasing type and quite sincere about his dog anxiety, so I reassured him that the dog would never hurt him because it was made of metal.

"Dang!" he said, "I thought it was real!"

I suggested that he have his vision checked.

The more, the merrier

"The more, the merrier."

That ought to be the official 9 Dogs Howling motto.

I'm also thinking that we could have our own reality TV show in which Ty Pennington, Cesar Millan and Stanley Steemer get together to do an Extreme Makeover on our tired old house. Though I don't know why it bothers me that this blue chair is so grungy. Only the dogs use it nowadays, and they certainly don't care about the dirt. The more dirt, the better.

A day at the pool

The Burnetts' cows spent all day yesterday at the pool, sunbathing and swimming.

The heat index was 115 degrees. You can almost see the heat shimmering in this photo.

Miss Neurotica 2010

It's Pageant Season here. Every weekend brings another community event, county fair, corn festival, soybean festival, hog calling festival, you name it, and every event brings flocks of little girls (and boys) with fancy dresses and anxious stage mothers to the stages and sidewalks of west Tennessee.

Although our own Miss Meg is a world-renowned beauty of inimitable charm, she refused to get out of bed this morning for her pre-pageant toilette.

Jean: Meg, I thought you were excited about this pageant. Don't you want to wear that beautiful new pink dress I bought you in the Girls' Plus department at JC Penney?

Meg: That dress makes me look fat.

Jean: Meg, a burlap bap would make you look fat. You are fat.

Meg: But everyone will laugh at me.

Jean: They're laughing with you, darling, not at you.

Meg: No they're not. And Teddy said the pink dress makes my butt look like the back end of a bus.

Jean: He's just jealous, Meg. I caught him trying on that dress in the bathroom yesterday.

Meg: I don't care, I'm not wearing it, and that's final.

Georgie - DUI

No, ossifer, I haven't had anything to drink. Well, some water, but that was hours ago. I'm just a little light-headed. I haven't eaten a poop in at least 45 minutes. The roach burning in the ash tray? That belongs to Teddy, not me. Well, I did inhale once or twice, but that's just secondhand smoke. No harm done, right? You won't mind if I just lay my head down for a minute and have a quick snooze, will you? Then I'll sign the citation and you can be on your way. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Allow me to introduce myself

Dear Ms. O:

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Herr Bernard Von Püppenpüken (known as Berry to friends and family), and I understand that your fine facility is accepting applications from qualified German dogs. I am part Rottweiler and part dachshund, and while I feel that some of your previous applicants actually belong in the Washington State Canine Penitentiary, I am well known for my good deportment. I am housebroken, polite, steady, devoted, and multi-talented. For example, I will clean floors, toilet bowls, food dishes, dishwashers, and windows, and my unique size and shape make me the ideal coffee table. I believe I would set a good example for your youngest resident, Herr Weiner, and provide pleasant if not very intelligent companionship to your entire family and staff. Here is a photo of me. Please let me know when would be a good time to conduct a telephone interview.
Thank you for your kind consideration. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,

B. Von Püppenpüken

Dear Herr BVP:

While I'm sure your pedigree is flawless and you are an extremely handsome young man, as the hotel manager said to Mary and Joseph, "Sorry, no room at the Inn". Although, if you are a dog that doesn't poke and scratch when you want to be petted, your Grams and I may work out a deal or swap. How are you at keeping your beard clean? Fritzy Von Schnauzer has a terrible time cleaning his beard and often relies on Lionel Von Weiner to clean it for him! You clearly have all the brains and good looks of the your pack and that would make Zigfeld Von Schnauzer very jealous as he believes that he holds the title of most "everything" dog in our brood! And besides, Grammy would never give you up or you would have been taken to Walmart a long, long time ago! We are now busy preparing for you Grammy's arrival and the deck is only half stained! There's a lot of pressure to look your best when royalty visits! We're looking forward to it though even though Queen Grammy would rather have me out of the house at work so she can be alone with "the Germans"! I'm beginning to think she actually prefers dogs to people!
I wish you could at least come for a visit, but by the looks of you, you're not exactly "carry on" size! Thank you for sending that sweet picture though!
Love,
Auntie Lisa

Dearest Auntie Lisa,
I am very handsome, aren’t I? Grammy tells me that every day without fail. And I don’t poke or scratch when I want to be petted. No indeed! Instead, I lick. A very gentlemanly lick. And speaking of licking, I greatly enjoy cleaning other dogs. I specialize in ear wax, eye boogers, and heinies, but I’m sure I could manage Herr Fritzy’s beard as well, and that would give Herr Lionel a rest from his labors, wouldn’t it? When Herr Zigfield realizes what an easygoing fellow I am, he will be happy to share with me the Crown Princehood of the Federal Republic of Snoqualmiestadt. Being a lady of superior intelligence, you have cleverly deduced that I am not carry-on size, but Grampa says that if obese 14-year-old boys can be given two seats for the price of one, surely a well-behaved 50-pound dog can be given one seat (in first class, of course).

Your devoted servant,

Berry

The dog days of summer

Summer heat in west Tennessee. Sunny, dry, dusty, with a heat index of 110. Patch spent the morning digging at the trench that Mr. P. swears is Goober's grave and brought a cloud of dust inside when she was done. Her white coat is dingy and she leaves rust colored dirt wherever she lies. I dampened a paper towel and rubbed her down before she settled on a living room chair.

Jean: "How is your day going, Miss Patch? Have you been having fun out there in heat?"

Patch: "Blah."

Jean: "Would you like to watch some soap operas now?"

Patch: "Blah."

Jean: "Well, can I get you anything, Madam? An iced tea? A mint julep?"

Patch: "Blah."