Toot Toot

There is an old joke that has been around for years and it tells a story about a boy who was meeting his girlfriend's parents for the first time before they went out on a date.  After the young man knocks on the door he is greeted by the dad and promptly ushered to the living room where the boy sees an old English bulldog named Spot,resting on the floor beside the recliner.  The young man is quick to sit in the empty recliner in hopes of hiding his nervousness.  Soon after that the father began a relentless interrogation of the boy about his intentions with his daughter.  The boyfriend became even more nervous with each passing minute and he noticed that ole Spot was now sitting in front of him, begging to be petted.  So in an attempt to calm his nerves he began petting Spot as the father's questions continued.  The more questions that were asked the more nervous the boy became.  As the boyfriend's nervousness grew his stomach began to grumble and growl.  As his stomach continued to growl he started having gas pains.  His gas pains  got worse and worse.  The boy's stomach hurt so bad he knew he needed to get rid of some of that pressure or explode and not in a good way, so the boyfriend let out a little toot in hopes that his girlfriend's father would not notice.  After that the barrage of questions suddenly stopped for a moment and the father  quietly spoke, "Spot!" then the questions resumed.  The boyfriend soon realized that he had not tooted enough to get rid of his terrible gas pains and decided to let loose a bigger one in hopes of getting some relief.  When he did the girlfriend's father suddenly stopped all questions again and said with a slightly firmer tone "Spot!" and continued with his questions.  After the second toot the boyfriend concluded that the father was thinking Spot was the one passing gas and since he only got minor relief from toot number two the boyfriend decided to let out a big one so he could finally get some significant relief from those gas pains.  So without giving it a second thought the boyfriend went for the gold and blew off one that would make a champion chilli eater proud (no pun intended) but when he did, the father screamed out with panic in his voice "SPOT!"....."Get away from that boy before he poops on you!!!" 

I know that subject matter is a little crude and I really want to keep these stories as a G rating, especially for the younger readers, but what happened the other day with Red Dog reminded me of this boyfriend story.

It was a restful Tuesday evening, I was not on call and it was just about supper time.  Debbie was making her wonderful homemade pizza pie loaded with everything she could find in the fridge.  The aroma throughout the house was amazing.  I could not wait to tear into that freshly sliced pepperoni, Jimmy Dean sausage, yellow sweet onion, green pepper and black olive pie.  Reed was living back at home then while he awaited being shipped to basic training at Great Lakes Navel Station so the three of us grabbed our eating gear, loaded our plates with steaming hot slices of homemade pizza pie and headed to the living room to enjoy our meal while watching M*A*S*H reruns on Netflix. ( I am expecting to receive a handsome endorsement check from Netflix once this story is posted for promoting their product by the way...lol)  Even Red Dog got in on the action and got his own slice of pizza heaven on this day.  Once we finished eating we all sat back to enjoy the rest of our overindulgent evening.  It was quite a sight to see as Reed and I fell into a 30 minute pizza coma while Debbie pecked away at her computer working on her blog, Texasdaisey Creations and Red Dog stretched out on the floor snoring away like some old man with sleep apnea.  Once Reed and I had regained consciousness we were all chuckling over some old M*A*S*H reruns when all of a sudden Debbie jumped to her feet and yelled "OH MY LORD WHO IN THE WORLD DID THAT"!!!  A new aroma had suddenly overtaken the room and it smelled nothing like homemade pizza, that is for sure.  When Debbie yelled out, it got our attention mucho pronto.  Out of pure instinct I began reciting apologies from the Married Husbands HandBook in an attempt to deflect any wifely punishments that might be forthcoming for marital offenses, I may or may not have committed in the past 24 hours (i.e. leaving my socks on the bedroom floor, not putting the lid down after doing my little boy business, or sleeping through one of those heart to heart marital conversations that goes on for hours just to name a few).  But I was apparently still a little pizza drunk and not immediately aware of what the "OH MY LORD" was all about.  All I can say was that my beloved son, who will be written out of my will soon, was quick to point a finger my direction saying "It was Dad, It was Dad" and I was still trying to figure out what all the yelling was about.  "Thanks for standing strong for Team Testosterone son!"  I finally got a whiff of what all the yelling was about and "WOW!" was it bad.  Fortunately for me my dear sweet loving kind hearted wife did not, I repeat, did not initially blame me for this terrible offense.  She first accused her number one son which was quite surprising given the fact that he has been her little darling the past 23 years...lol...Reed instantly denied he had anything to do with it and continued to try to throw me under the bus.  So as a good murder mystery goes, if it wasn't Reed, Debbie or myself and given the fact that we don't have a butler in a library or reading room in our Huntley Manor then the only remaining suspect in the room is Red Dog.  But the question on all of our minds is how could it be Red Dog.  He was lying there lazily watching time passing by without a care in the world showing no sign he was the guilty party.  The mystery was finally solved a few short minutes later after our attention was drawn back to the M*A*S*H reruns.  Red Dog got up from his resting place then began waltzing across the room with his tail proudly displayed high in the air and with each step we heard a TOOT......TOOT TOOT.....TOOT TOOT TOOT!!!!!!! 

Unfortunately at that point there was no doubt who was guilty of this terrible atrocity and OH MY GOODNESS it went from bad to really bad in a few short steps.  I must confess that I was relieved (no pun intended...well maybe some pun intended) that this one could not be pinned on me but as a guy I had to give ole Red Dog two thumbs up for a job well done...lol...To keep from getting into trouble with my bride I kept my poker face on and the snickers to myself as she marched out of the room completely grossed out.  Who knew Red Dog was part pack mule...lol.    

Today's take home message is never feed Red Dog homemade pizza and although somewhat gross Red Dog is still a guy and he can TOOT with the best of them.  So I guess when it is all said and done the old saying "Guys Will Always Be Guys" hold true for both man and beast...lol...  Until the next adventure God bless you all.     

Shake It Off

Have you ever been under a time crunch working right up to a dead line to get a project finished and just when you think things are under control and can see the light at the end of the tunnel things begin to unravel. Well that's what happened at this year's Howard Come and Go Christmas and oh my goodness did that stink!

For the past seven years Debbie and I have hosted a Come and Go Christmas party at our house to celebrate the birth of our Savior with my hospital co-workers and have expanded it to include friends, family, church members and neighbors over the years.  We have our dear Belizean friend Jo, who is the owner/chef of Blessings Tea Room, cater the event with good old Texas dishes that have a Caribbean twist.  Her food is so good it would not only make you want to slap your mamma but knock out one whole side of the family tree. (note to readers: I don't slap my mamma lol).  She does an amazing job and many folks at my hospital start looking forward to next year's party by the end of the night.  My wife takes about 3 weeks to clean and decorate every room in the house just to make it special for those we care for so much.  It's a huge undertaking but we love to do it.  Well this year was no different than any other year with Debbie working diligently up to the very last minute preparing to entertain about 80 or so guests.  As you have read in the past I have nicknamed our little place the DMZ (Debbie's Mini Zoo).  That's because we have had goats, donkeys, chickens, ducks, dove, finches, parakeets, a cockatiel, cats and dogs (all at the same time) not to mention the wild life that wanders through the place like deer, wild hogs, pheasant, quail, dove, raccoon, opossums, bobcats, coyotes, rattle snakes, and skunks.  It's a regular Noah's Ark out here and the one who keeps it all under control with tight security is Red Dog who is the head of our home security system.  He did have an apprentice for about one year by the name of Rosie but she thought that chewing apart our house was more important than home security so she lives with a new family now. Old Red Dog is responsible for the whole place all by himself now.  

On this particular day about 30 minutes before the party is ready to  start the plan was to put Red Dog in the back garage for the evening so we didn't have to listen to that SONIC WOOF he has when guests come knocking at the door.  I thought it best to let him out in the back yard so he could take care of his personal business before hand and when I went to put him up Red Dog was no where to be found.  He's not in the back yard.  He's not on the acreage and when I go looking for him I notice the back yard gate was left open after our handy man put up the Christmas lights.  Well, I wasn't overly worried that Red Dog was MIA for a few moments because he knows who provides him with food, water, air conditioning and heating year round and I knew he wasn't far off.  So I whistled for him and I could hear him running toward the front door because each time he gets out of the yard every dog in the neighborhood starts barking as he makes his way home.  At this moment I thought everything was cool but when I opened the front door I was shocked.  He was covered from head to tail with a dark green stinky goo that smelt like the south end of a north bound Hereford bull.  Where had this guy been I thought to myself but I apparently can't think and hold the front door closed at the same time and Red Dog darted into the house with our first guests only minutes away.  At this moment I thought I was a dead man when I heard Debbie scream "OH MY LORD, RED DOG" and knew if I didn't get him out the house and NOW it was the dog house for me!!!  The aroma from all of those wonderful Caribbean dishes were becoming overwhelmed by this green gooey cow poop and Debbie was not a happy camper.  So as quickly as I could I grabbed Red Dog by the coller, which was saturated in this green glorious gunk I lead him in the back garage before folks thought they were coming to a cow lot and not a Christmas party.  Man, did he smell bad but "the party must go on" as they say.  With Red Dog securely hidden in the back garage the guests began arriving and for the next five hours we had a wonderful time giving guided tours of our home and showing off Debbie's wonderful Christmas decorations.  Mission Accomplished.  Everyone seemed to have had a wonderful time and the food was fantastic as always. The catering crew was the last to leave and then Debbie and I collapsed in our chairs completely exhausted,  Our feet hurt and our faces hurt from smiling so much.  I felt like my fat was even hurting and as we sat there reminiscing about the success of the night it dawned on me.  Stinky ole Red Dog is still in the back garage.  We started wondering how he got into that stinky mess.  Was someone trying to be dog napped and put in the back a cattle trailer?  Had he chased a coyote or bobcat back to the Brazos River and ran into some old muddy stink hole? As the old Clairol commercial used to say "Only her hair dresser knows for sure"?  But after carefully studying his stinky green colored body I came to the conclusion that old Red Dog just decided to go waller in a big pile of cow manure out in the neighbors pasture somewhere.  It was the only logical conclusion because this stuff was every where on him.  His belly, his back, his tail, his chest, it was even under his coller.  It must have been a regular cow patty slip and slide.  In my mind I could see him running and sliding across the yard just like a six year old kid sliding across a yellow piece of plastic in the summer heat but it's winter, he's a dog and that green stuff was stinky cow crap!!!!!  Debbie and I sat there looking at each other wondering who was going to volunteer to give Red Dog a bath.  I was thinking maybe a coin toss or rock, paper, scissors but no sooner than I started developing a winning strategy Debbie spoke up and volunteered.  Luckily for me I was still recovering from an appendectomy only a few shorts weeks ago so I'm sure she took pity on me.  Off to the bath tub they both went.  As fate would have it our night was still not over.  After only a few minutes of being in the tub, I heard Debbie yelling for help so I headed to the bathroom and I was not prepared to see what I was about to see.  As I walked through the door I saw Red Dog in the tub soaking wet and standing in a foot of what could only be described as fresh green sewer water.  He was cold, wet and shivering like some little chihuahua with a clogged drain.  Debbie had used every ounce of Dawn dish washing soap we had in the house and Red Dog still smelt like the south end of  that same north bound Hereford bull.  Just as I thought that the drain was the only problem I then looked toward Debbie and notice she was covered in shimmering little green dots.  They were on her face, her arms, her hair and all over her nice Christmas party clothes.  Apparently Red Dog shifted into Taylor Swift mode after the drain clogged and decided to "Shake it off, Shake it off " with the bath tub door still opened.  As I took a second look around the room, not only was Debbie covered up in these lovely little aromatic dots so was the whole entire bath room.   It was polka dot H. E. double tooth picks in there.  At this point all we needed was an accordion and a man dressed in liederhosen so we could start dancing the famous Cow Crap Polka right there in the bathroom, sore feet and all. The defeat in Debbie face was obvious so being the wonderful loving husband that I am, I put on my super husband outfit to finish bathing Red Dog and clean (i.e. clean in man speak means wiping up) the rest of the bathroom.  Once I got the bathroom "clean" the odor went away with about 2 gallons of Febreze so at that point it was time to pull the plug on the cow patty party and head to bed because we were beyond exhausted.  

I guess the take home message for today would be this.  Even though the great comedic country singer Roger Miller says that you "Can't Roller Skate In A Buffalo Herd"  but Red Dog proved that you "Can" slip and slide through a pile of green cow crap.  We learned that you can still have wonderful dinner party and a surprise hot tub party all in the same night if you let Red Dog "Shake It Off "..lol...Until the next adventure, God bless you all.       

Clean Up On Isle Three

Have you ever had sympathy pain for someone when they were hurt?  I have heard many stories of men having sympathy pains for their wives while in labor.  Do your eyes water when you see someone get poked in the eye and their eyes are watering?  Mine do, I'm a self proclaimed sympathetic eye waterer.  People come into the clinic all the time with very red watering eyes and within seconds the flood gates open and there I go.  Have you ever yawned after watching someone else yawn?  The answer to that question is probably yes.  Someone in a group yawns and before you know it, everyone is yawning.  Finally someone will yell out "Stop That" like it was someone's fault.  Y'all know what I am talking about.  Studies show that it's an empathy or bonding response with others that is not completely understood.  

Well besides being that guy who's eyes sympathetically water like Niagara Falls at the sight of red watery eyes I unfortunately have a second sympathetic response that is far more unpleasant than your typical red eye.  I am in fact a sympathetic gagger as well.  If you start gagging or tossing your cookies I am right there with you gagging away myself.  I have been in medicine twenty nine years and as soon as I see someone gagging in the ER I jump right on the gagging band wagon with them.  It's almost as if two of us are engaged in this at the same time then it some how speeds up the process and the mission is accomplished much quicker.  Do any of you remember what the old Double Mint chewing gum commercial once said "Double your pleasure and double the fun" so surely two gaggers are without a doubt much better than one. lol.  

The worst part about me being a sympathetic gagger is that it's not subtle.  I'm one of those loud gut wrenching toe curling guys.  If gagging was made into an Olympic sport I could be a gold medalist for sure. I know this sounds kind of gross and the reason I bring it up (no pun intended) is because this happened at my house several weeks ago but fortunately Red Dog and I weren't the participants.  It involves my wonderful wife and our ginormous house cat Mr. Buttons.

My wife Debbie prides herself at being a loving attentive wife and mother.  Over the many years of raising kids she has done every nasty smelly gross mommy job under the sun.  I have seen her clean up some of the stinkiest little rear ends on the planet and wrestle messy poopy diapers off of those same little bottoms.  She has endured white smelly baby vomit running down her chest,  washed wranglers that look and smelled like they were drug through a cow lot (which they were I might add) and watched her bathe two large stinky dogs covered in skunk spray without blinking an eye.  She is Wonder Woman, Cat Woman, Bionic Woman, and Xena the Princess Warrior all wrapped up into one when it comes to taking charge around the house but the other day I witnessed a chink in her armor and no one was more surprised than I.  It came in the form of one of the largest nastiest looking hair balls that a cat has ever produced in the history of man kind.  All compliments of Mr. Buttons our two ton lazy house cat.  I mean this thing was nasty with a capitol "N" and here is how it all went down.

It all began on a very pleasant warm Saturday morning.  We got up and headed off for our regular Saturday morning breakfast date like always. We made our usual stop to the feed store on our way home to pickup some scratch for the chickens.  Once home I sat back in my over sized comfortable recliner with a hot cup of coffee to finish my morning with a weekly deer hunt on the Outdoor Channel.  My morning was slowly winding down and the plan of hunting until lunch time was coming along quit nicely.  

I decided to make myself a sandwich and then see how much nap time I could squeeze in before supper.  (Deer hunting always makes me hungry and sleepy...lol).  My plan was working out very well until I suddenly (and loudly I might add) heard Debbie scream " No Mr. Buttons!!! No!!!"  It wasn't one of those "you are in so much trouble" type of screams that I have personally heard many times during thirty two years of marriage but this one was different.

  Out of pure instinct I sheepishly sunk deep into my big fluffy recliner just in case she was screaming at me.  I know I said she screamed out Mr. Buttons name but from past experience my wife has called me by all of my kids names, my brother in law's name and she even sometimes goes through the whole family tree before getting to my name when I am in trouble.  All you married guys out there understand what I'm talking about, right?  Well if your wife hasn't done it I know your mothers certainly have and when we heard our first, middle and last yelled out by our mamma's, we knew there was trouble in River City.  But there was something different about this particular scream.  It was more of a panic like scream but I still tried to make myself invisible just in case.  Then I heard Debbie yell out again "Oh No, Oh No" and she swiftly darted out the front door.  Since my back was to the door I couldn't see a thing and heard the door slam shut behind me.  I said to myself "self you may not be in trouble here".  But before I could muster the courage to come out of hiding I heard the front door open and suddenly slam shut again.  I also heard her yell out "Oh No" again as well.  By this time I figured out that she wasn't yelling at me so I walked out the front door to see my poor sweet wife throwing up in her flower bed in the front yard.

I must admit that my initial thought was oh crud she's pregnant again and unfortunately for me that was the first question that came running out of my mouth (there are days when my thought filter doesn't work very well and this was one of those day).  There she was on her hands and knees in our front yard violently vomiting into her poor pitiful looking flower garden that has been devastated by a four year drought and she looked up at me like I was the most ignorant man on the planet and snarled "No I'm not pregnant, I've had a hysterectomy".  Duh!  It wasn't one of my finer medical moments to say the least and that old saying about there is no such  thing as a dumb question, well,  I have news for you, there is!

  So after asking her if she was ok I cautiously asked a second question.  What made her sick.  She told me that Mr. Buttons hacked up the grossest hair ball she had ever seen on the carpet in our bedroom and when she reluctantly attempted to clean it up she started to toss her cookies so she ran outside.  Of course I had to ask the most obvious third  question which was much safer than question number one.  
Why did you run outside to get sick when the toilet was just a few feet away?  Her answer was that she did not have time to clean the toilet before she vomited.  What!!!  She wanted to clean the toilet before barfing in it.  I was very confused at this point.  Then she told me she refuses to stick her face in a place where people sat their naked bottoms (that's necked bottom if your from the south)without cleaning it first!

  I remember her telling me this in the past but just thought she was pulling my leg.  Apparently there isn't any leg pulling when it comes to the issue of vomiting in the toilet and as I thought about her clean toilet issues it began to make some sort of sense to me.  You don't sneeze on someone else's meal and we don't slobber in someone else's ice tea so I guess it's reasonable to think that we shouldn't stick our face in the toilet before it's cleaned.  I think it was Jim Croce who said you don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, you don't pull the mask off the ole Long Ranger and you don't vomit in a dirty toilet or something like that. Once again I have been enlightened by my wonderful wife.  

So what is the take home message of today's adventure.  Well first, I would say never own a two ton indoor cat because bad stuff could show up on the bedroom carpet.  The second would be to never ask the wife, who has had a hysterectomy, if she is pregnant while she is barfing up her toenails because you will become the dumbest person on the planet in her eyes.  Thirdly I would say never use your toilet ever again for its intended purpose because your wife may need to vomit in the next century.  And finally, if for some reason your wife does need to go vomit in your front yard "DO NOT" remind her that barfing in the front yard on her hands and knees might have been entertaining for the entire neighborhood or you might find yourself eating bologna sandwiches for the next several days.  Until the next adventure God bless you all. 

Rhodesian Underpants

Since the recent birth of our first grand kid many old memories of when our kids were born came flooding back to me and over the years I have come to realize that as a parent I didn't have a clue about what I was doing.  I am so thankful that Debbie's parents lived down the street a few blocks for helpful advice or I might have been hosing those little goobers down in the back yard with the water hose at bath time and duct taping them to the hood of my pickup to dry them off.  Good thing duct tape doesn't stick well to little wet bodies.  lol.  Clueless would have been an understatement as far as my daddy skills went.  The only thing of any real value that I knew about little kids was that they liked to be tossed straight up into the air and caught again.  My dad, who was known as "Uncle Alvin" by all of my cousins (which were many), loved this activity.  He used to grab them under the arms and basically launch them from a standing position high into the air with his brute strength and catch them on their way back to earth under their arms before they hit the ground.  It was amazing to watch young children in perfectly good health leave the ground like a tomahawk missile, disappear into the blue sky then suddenly reappear as a blurred shadowy figure returning to earth.  The cousins just loved this and all of them would stand in line for hours begging "Uncle Alvin" for more.  I think dad enjoyed it as much as the kids.  One important rule that had to be observed during this process was never launch them facing the sun for the obvious reasons.  For some reason most mothers had trouble getting their minds wrapped around the thought of someone launching their little darlings into the stratosphere for fun but my cousins were convinced it was nothing less than Six Flags Over Hooterville.  On a rare occasion a kid would slip through Uncle Alvin's grasp and have what NASA would call a "Hard Landing".  But once the dust settled a cousin would get up and clean themselves off and hurry to get back in line (although some were slower than others because of their newly acquired limp).   It became an unspoken rule that if you were involved in one of those "Hard Landings" there was no crying because once one of the Mommas heard their little darlings boohooing it was "Game Over".  No one really ever took Dad to task over a "Hard Landing" because everyone accepted the fact that even the great Dallas Cowboy Bob Hayes dropped a pass once in a while.  Although my dad taught me many wonderful things about life and how to be a good dad, the skill of launching young children into outer space with brute strength captured my attention the most. It wasn't helping my sweet wife clean house, give baths, warm bottles, wash clothes, change diapers or rocking babies to sleep.  It was throwing those little goobers in the air and praying I didn't lose sight of them in the sun.  Now that was a cool daddy skill to have.  

So the only reason my children have turned out to be anywhere close to normal was because of my wonderful wife's strong parenting skills but weak upper arm strength.  I can only recall one failed decision Debbie made with our first born and it was to use cloth diapers instead of disposables.  I was perplexed by this because given the choice of throwing a poopy diaper in a trash can verses washing them out with your bare hands I would pick the trash can every time.  But since my secret objective was to avoid those stinky baby chores, I agreed to see where this would lead.  
Well after three days of rinsing poopy diapers out in the toilet 
I noticed Debbie's resolve was waning.  I came home from work on Day Three of cloth diaper use to find a pile of brown colored cloth diapers piled high in the toilet.  The baby was crying, the bath room was stinky and I knew it was time for our family to start producing our very own "environmental footprint" because she was done with cloth diapers . So I made the thirty five mile drive to the grocery store and walked into the twenty first century by purchasing several boxes of disposables.  The rest of the old cloth diapers became cleaning rags (minus the stinky pile I mentioned above) and parenting got a tad bit easier from that day forward.  I will tell you that over the years when my kids wore disposable diapers, there were several times I considered suing all of those diaper companies for false advertisement.  As you might remember, each box of diapers came marked with a weight limit on it such as "10 to 15 pounds" or "15 to 25 pounds" right?  I must tell you that no matter which diaper brand or size we bought, none of them ever held that many pounds of poop between diaper changes and trust me I gave it the old college try.  I decided it was all a big con by corporate America to make us dad's look bad.  If your bottle of coke shows to contain 20 ounces of soda why shouldn't us dad's expect that those diapers should hold that many pounds of baby poo?  I have yet to find a lawyer willing to take my case.   

The reason I bring up the subject of diapers is that at age fifty Debbie and I had no clue we would be forced to start buying diapers again and it wasn't for our new granddaughter Zerah or her fifty three year old grandpa!!!  It was for Red Dog's pesky little sister Rosie.  Yes, Rosie our 10 month old ridgeback.  Since some of my readers are youngsters and I don't want to go into great detail about the birds and the bee's (even if most of them already know more about that subject most of us old toads) I will just say that Rosie came into her "special time" so she could have puppies some day.  (Note to readers:  Please pause at this time so that the youngster can explain to you in more detail what "special time" means lol).  With three women living in my house most of my married life I have unfortunately become way too familiar with "special time" over the years and I thought these days were long gone but I was "WRONG".  "Great", now Rosie has to have her "special time" and we have never had indoor dogs to deal with "special time" so I'm flat clueless (which is not uncommon for me about females) as to how to take care of this blessed event.  My first thought was to banish her to the back of the property until the "special event" was over but then I thought what if some gentleman caller finds his way under the fence and we end up with a gaggle of puppies because it would be just my luck to be stuck delivering those little goobers and I don't recall being trained in puppy birthing during my medical education.  So what do we do?  Well it just so happened that my oldest daughter and husband were in town and she had the answer for the situation.  Baby diapers and little girl panties!  That answer wasn't even in my top 100 of solutions.  Diapers and panties.....hmmm!  Now folks you have to remember I am not necessarily anatomy ignorant and have been in medicine in one fashion or another for almost 30 years so how do we fit two legged equipment on a four legged problem with a tail?  And the answer is........(ding)....scissors!  Ok, now we have baby diapers, little girl panties and a pair of scissors but we still have a dog, four legs and tail.  If we are going to cut off a couple of legs and a tail I have power tools that would do a much faster and easier job than scissors and I think teaching Ms. Rosie to walk on two hind legs will be way too difficult especially given the fact she will have just lost two front legs and a tail. Well my daughter quickly remarked (while rolling her eyes at me) that there would be no need for any type of amputations today.  So off to the Dollar General Store went the girls.  For those of you who have never heard of a "Dollar General Store", it's the Hooterville version of WalMart (I am now expecting an advertisement check from both companies for mentioning their names on my blog in my dreams of course!) and for those of you who are too young to know where "Hooterville" is, well that's what "Google" is for (there's another advertising check right there, I wish!) so grab your tech gadget and look it up.  When they get back from DGS they have baby diapers and little girl pink panties with multiple Tinkerbell characters on them.  My daughter eye balls Rosie's rear end then takes the scissors and cuts an x in the center of the panties and diaper.  She then grabs Rosie, plops her on her back and slaps the diaper on then tapes it around her middle.  She then grabs the pink little girl panties with Tinkerbelle on them and shoves Rosie's two hind legs through the legs holes and we now have a doggie diaper safe and secure.  I bet by now your asking what did she do with the tail, well that's where the x came in on the diapers and panties and it wasn't quick and easy to tackle.  First trying to poke a wagging tail through the cut in a diaper and panties was like trying to poke a wet noodle through the eye of a needle.  It took several tries to hit the bulls eye.  What was even more difficult was when poor little Rosie realized that the object of the game was to grab her tail and poke it through a hole she went into immediate tail tuck.  I mean that tail of hers was locked down so tight between her legs it nearly took a lift jack to put it into threading position but finally Ms. Rosie caught on as to what we here trying to do and relaxed.  So now we have the blood line of a great lion hunter in diapers and panties, how proud her ancestors would have been.  But to Rosie's credit she stood up and started prancing through the house with her new homemade pink diaper panties then went outside to sun bathe to show off her new drawers to the world.
  
I am not quite sure what the take home message is about Rosie and her new "Doggie Diapers".  I guess it could be whether you are man or beast wear your diapers with your head held high and keep on enjoying life.   But mostly I just find it really strange to see a dog, especially one who's heritage is to track down and kill lions, walking through my house with a diaper and Tinkerbell panties strapped to her rear end.  But I guess that's just how we roll at the Howard house these day.  Until the next adventure, God bless you all. 

                  

     

Dog Sitting Stinks And Grandkids Don't

 Six months seems like a long time but now that I am back writing about Red Dog so let me tell you about this latest little adventure.  "Warning" if you have a vivid imagination be prepared to hit the delete button in your brain because this one might be a little gross but sometimes life gets a little smelly.   

The story starts with my wife and I becoming brand new first time grand parents to the prettiest baby girl in all of Texas.  She is an absolute blessing and we are proud to be this little girl's Gigi and PAC.  In case you are wondering what PAC means it's the acronym for Physician Assistant Certified.  A title I worked my tail off to obtain several years ago.  Besides there are plenty of Pa's, Papa's, Poppies, Grandpa's, etc.  I know one guy who's grandkids call him Doc since he is a veterinarian.  I even have an old marine corps aviator friend who's last name is Bandy and his grandkids use "Moe" as his grandpa name because that was his call sign as a fighter pilot.  How cool is that!  I know that PAC doesn't sound very cool and it may even border on dumb but it's unique and I kind of like unique.  Besides PAC is a much better choice than the first grandpa name my wife and kids wanted to use.  When we first found out we were to be grand parents my wife decided she wanted to be a Gigi and she suggested I needed to be Pee Pee!!!  Yes a Pee Pee!!!  So when she told the kids of that brilliant idea they thought it would be great (especially after laughing about it for five minutes) and that's when I knew I better come up with something else or I would forever be known as Pee Pee to all of my grand kids.  "Heck No". So PAC it is. lol. 
 

The weekend after Zerah Grace was born our oldest kids came to see their new niece and brought their Ridgeback Mattie with them.  You remember Mattie, she was the first Howard family Ridgeback and we were so impressed with her manners that we got a couple ourselves.  Mattie comes to visit every time the kids come to town so when we get three large Rhodesian Ridgeback roaming around the house it gets a little crowded.  It's a Ridgeback here, a Ridgeback there, every where a Ridgeback.  Walking across the room with the three of them lounging around the house is like trying to roller skate through a buffalo herd to coin a phrase from back in the day.   They just love to be rubbed and scratched on but there is apparently a fear running through the pack that one dog
might get a tad more attention than the other two so they all dart your direction trying to grab all the petting they can get their paws on.  I can see a hip fracture in my future as they all bolt my direction and knock me to the floor.  It is highly probable that these mutts are spoiled and get their way to often.  

These three, who's ancesters were rugged tough lion hunters living on the arid African plains now live a life of "swimming pools and movie stars" as far as dogs are concerned.  It's a dog version of "Life Styles Of The Rich And Famous". They all have a special bed to sleep in, get their own personal eating bowl, and have their own private concierge medical practitioner who many times is me ( I'm apparently a very diverse practitioner caring for people and now Ridgebacks).  Mattie is the real city girl with a special prescription diet, lives in an high rise apartment and is well acquainted with the lights of the big city.  Red Dog and Rosie live in a small rural town in Texas but have a well groomed yard in which to poop in, a 17 foot long back yard water feature in which to swim in, an enclosed high fenced 3 acre compound in which to roam in (it also makes for great protection from the larger intruders in the area like cougars, coyotes, feral hogs, bobcats, and the occasional crazed gray squirrel) and last but not least is central air conditioning and heating for that year round pleasurable climate controlled living experience but they still have to endure the occasional inconvenience of outdoor living (like real dogs)  I know, I know.  The humanity of it all.

After a wonderful weekend of drooling over our new grand baby our oldest kids realized they had no one to dog sit Mattie before their trip to the comfort of the high mountains of New Mexico over their upcoming holiday so Debbie and I agreed to let Mattie stay the week with us while the kids were traveling.  Now we have the blessing of three pony sized Ridgebacks leaving the dream in this climate controlled Doggie Oasis for the next 10 days.  How did we get so lucky?  What's next, Bob Barker jumping out of the closet saying "IT'S A BRAND NEW CAR"!!!!!  I sure hope so.  Well anyway here we are me, the wife and 3 red Clydesdale's trying to occupy the same living space.  "IT'S GREAT". 

I think I mentioned earlier that one of these spoiled mutts has a special doctor prescribed diet? Well today we found out why Ms. Mattie has this "special diet" and will get to that in a few minutes. 

When I was a kid I had the blessing of having an old Heinz 57 mutt wander into my life. He was named Lion Dog.  He got this name because my sister and I thought he looked like a lion.  Well old Lion Dog just showed up on our front porch one day and never left.  He took to us like ticks on a hound dog and would play with my sister and I for hours on end.  He was the best but he never got to live indoors like the Ridgebacks.  Lion Dog slept outside come rain or shine heat wave or blizzard.  I do remember once dad relented to let him stay in the garage during a blizzard because the snow had drifted over the top of our house and he didn't want Lion Dog to suffocate or freeze to death.  Don't get me wrong my dad loved dogs and growing up he had a loyal companion named Laddie for many years but dad was raised on the farm and that meant all critters lived outside.  It also meant that the dogs ate left overs from grandma's cooking or they went out to catch their own supper.  Lion Dog didn't have it quite that tough.  His meals consisted of our left overs and co-op dog food because it was the cheapest priced dog food in town .  No special diets for those guys so I guess that's why it seems weird that Mattie needs one.  She's a dog and should eat regular dog food not prescription dog food in my way of thinking.  Brother, was I wrong about that one. 

A few mornings ago Debbie and I learned a valuable lesson about the importance of Mattie's specialty prescription diet.  Have you every heard the one about the older gentleman that woke up in bed early one morning and thought his water bed had sprung a leak overnight and as he laid there wiping the sleep from his eyes he suddenly realized he did not own a water bed!  Well this particular morning I woke up and as I laid there in my comfortable California king sized pillow topped perfect sleeping man sized bed I noticed a not so alluring fragrance filling the room and as I wiped the sleep away from my eyes I thought to myself "Wow supper really gassed me up during the night".  The longer I laid there I tried to think which foods created this extraordinary aroma?  As I was mentally going down my culinary check list it dawned on me that I only saw Red Dog and Rosie go out the back door when I let them out around 5:00 am.  As I continued lying there in the warmth of my toasty sleeping spot with my beautiful bride snoring (LOUDLY) beside me I started thinking about how much trouble I was going to be in when she woke up to a stinky bedroom.  So I began to formulate a plan to keep out of trouble.  I first thought that playing possum would be a good idea and when she woke up I would plead my innocence or ignorance which ever worked.  That's when it hit me.  "Bam" as Uncle Si would say.  Mattie was still in the house and she normally goes out to potty around 6:00 when my son in law  comes home from fighting crime for the police department and it was now 7:05.  I yelled out a very loud "OH NOOOOOO" and jumped to my feet.  Well that "OH NOOOOOO" was very effective in waking up my sleeping bride and her ultra sensitive nose which immediately knew what had happened.  She jumped out of bed and starting yelling at me as she ran across the room to turn on the lights as the room was still dark.  At this point I'm a little confused because I'm not exactly sure who is she is upset with, me or the dog so I began to yell out Mattie's name just to be sure I wasn't going to get the blame.  When the lights came on there it was or should I say there "THEY" were.  Ms. Mattie not only left a smelly gift that was the size of a small log home but added a couple dozen stinky mud pies on the carpet as big as the dots in the Milton Bradley kids' game "Twister" minus the bright colors of course.  Oh My Lord.  How could one dog produce this much poop in one hour.  It had to be some kind of a record!  I just stood there in shock.  I couldn't believe my eyes (which were burning by the way).  The carpet at the foot of the bed looked like the Keebler Elves broke into the house and used it as a baking sheet to make some Jolly Green Giant sized cookies.  What a "Ginormous" mess.  I just stood there staring at the mess then I looked over at Debbie and then looked back at the mess then looked over at Debbie again. After doing this about 5 times Debbie looked over at me I and said "WHAT"!  I replied, how in the world did you run all the way across this room and maneuver through that stinky mess and not once step on one of those lovely little gifts?  And in the dark none the less!  I don't know if I was amazed or in shock that she made a clean pass (no pun intended) through the disaster zone as I watched her carefully inspect her feet. No melt down meant no mud pies between her toes.  Luckily for me I was running late for work by this time so I did what any hard working man would do.  I cautiously tip toed through the tulips and made a mad dash for the shower then out the door like an Olympic sprinter.  Well to spare you too many more gross details, a six pack of Charmin, three pack of Brawny and barrel of hand sanitizer later the poo was gone but the stains remained.  On my drive home from work that evening I decided to prepare a small sermon to speak over Mattie's grave as I knew my kids would have wanted her to have a Christian funeral.  I arrived home expecting to see a HazMat team in my front yard with yellow tape wrapped around our house and the neighborhood under full quarantine but to my surprise there wasn't even a sign of a cleaning company in sight.  I was shocked when I walked into the house and saw that the carpet was spotless.  My loving wife put her mad computer skills to work and Googled up a recipe of Dawn dish washing soap and white vinegar that cleaned the spots right up.  DEBBIE'S THE BOMB!!!  I think she deserves a special smooch from me, that is if she's speaking to me after abandoning ship earlier in the day. 

As I sit here trying to think of what the life lessons are about this story, here is what I came up with.

1.  Dogs who are the size of Clydesdale's should live outside for the obvious reasons no matter how much you loved them.

2.  Marry a wife who has crazy foot working skills.  But maybe put her through some type of NFL workout with tires and ropes before you propose so you know her skill set.

3.  Always pay close attention to the words "Special Prescribed Diet" whether its your dog or a family member because you don't want to clean up after either of them.

4.  Always have an exit strategy in case your pet blows up the house over night.  You are not Mike Rowe and don't want to get stuck with the "Dirty Job". 

5.  Have a good internet provider because you need Google in case there's an emergency. 

6. It's last but far from being least and I've not mentioned it since the opening of this story.  Go out and get yourself some grand kids, "THEIR GREAT".  But what ever you do never agree to dog sit when your on a "grandpa high" because bad things can happen and that "bad thing" probably isn't coming from the new grandbaby if you own a herd of Ridgebacks! 

Until the next adventure, God bless you. 

Little Sisters

I don't know about you but many of us grew up with a siblings who for some reason or another got a great deal of pleasure out of tormenting us in our younger years and mine just happened to be my little sister Cindy.  She was a tough fiery red head that was without a doubt no girly girl. We were the only children in the family and hung out together all the time.  She played football with my dad and I, all the time and was a natural athlete.  She could punt a football further than any of my buddies and was twice as tough.  She was always my first pick when we had pickup games in the front yard because she wasn't scared to put a hit on anyone.  My dad told me a story later in life about how one day, while playing football in the house,one of my buddies went to ask him to make Cindy stop tackling so hard.  This request put a big ole proud poppa grin on His face and still does today when we talk about it.  In 5th grade one of her male classmates would regularly pick on her during recess.  One day she finally got enough of him and tackled the boy to the ground like NFL Hall of Fame linebacker Dick Butkus.  She then began beating him about the face and chest until the play ground teacher came and pulled her off of him.  That same boy years later thanked her in the senior yearbook for beating the poo out of him when he was being such a brat, lol.  She even wanted to try out for the Jr. High football team in seventh grade but was told no by the school.  Later that same year she told my dad that she wanted a football and a bra for Christmas which was the first time in her life that any of us saw a sign of her turning into a young lady.  My mother was thrilled with this news and my buddies were hoping that the gift request was a sign she was retiring from the game of football soon.  To say that my red headed sister is tough was an under statement.  Not only was my sister tough but for some reason unknown to me she got great pleasure out of tormenting me on a regular bases.  She would do things like lock me out of the house after school and taunt me through the windows just to watch me have a nuclear melt down on the front porch.  She always knew how to push my hot button and would even sometimes invite her girl friends over to watch me explode like a cheap Fourth of July fireworks display, just for the grins and giggles of it.  It was apparently pretty entertaining and she spent a lot of time dreaming up new ways to get under my skin.....And she did!  I would give more details about many of her devious plans but I don't have the time to go back to therapy these days, lol. 

Since I am on the subject of little sister let me tell you a little story about Red Dogs little sister Rosie.  When Rosie moved in with us I fully expected Red Dog would teach her the ways of the Howard household like where to eat, where to poop, where to sleep and where to play.  Red Dog would be the Master and Rosie would be the Pupil.  Well after two months of training that turned out "NOT" to be the case. Rosie is a Rhodesian Ridge Back and comes from the same brave line of lion hunters as Red Dog.  She is a fiery red headed female who is as tough as nails and full of spit and vinegar just like another red head I know.  She is stuborn and does things her own way (again like someone else I know).  Over these past few months I was under the impression that Red Dog was doing a good job of keeping her in line which I should have know was impossible.  Who ever heard of some guy being able to keep any female from doing what ever she wanted, Ridge Back or otherwise.  Day after day I would hear a yelp or two coming from the next room and thought Red Dog was on top of his game as Sergeant Major of the Howard Home Defense System by teaching Rosie all of the do's and don'ts of her new home but come to find out he was just another innocent victim of the "Evil Sisters Society".  Those subtle "yelps" I had been hearing from the other room were coming from Red Dog.  "WHAT" yelps from the Mighty Red Dog.  Has the king of the lion hunters been brought to his knees by the likes of his little red headed vixen sister.  Say it ain't so, Joe say it ain't so but in the immortal words of Paul Harvey "It's True"!!!  That cute little fur ball is in reality a wolf in sheep's clothing.  

The other day after hearing multiple yelps from the bed room I decided to go see what all the racket was about and when I walk into the room all I saw was Rosie chewing on Red Dogs legs, tail, nose, mouth and ears like a rawhide chew bone.   He just laying there and painfully allowed her climbing all over him digging those sharp little milk teeth in every square inch of his body.  Wow that looked so painful. No wonder I was hearing little yelps coming from the other room.  Red Dog even got up to walk across the room and there's Rosie with her jaws locked down his right ear like a bear trap while Red Dog drags her over the floor.  I even saw Rosie bite down on the side of his neck and watched her stretch his skin out like she was in a world champion taffy pulling contest...Ouch!!!!  That looked like it hurt somuch I started having sympathy pains for him but Red Dog stood there and took it like a champ.  He's a really patient big brother and Tough!!!  After seeing all ofthis it made me think about how many time my little sister pestered me when we were younger and I wished I would have had half the of the tolerance he had. lol.  Good job Red Dog.  You are one tough hombre. 

I guess the take home message today is that when life starts to wear you down and people start chewing on your tail, nose, ears, legs etc.  Be calm, stay collected, and don't lose your cool.  Some people are just waiting to watch some fireworks for their own personal entertainment.  And by the way I love my little sister with all my heart and I would not have wanted her be any other way because there might have been an occasion when I might have crawled into her bedroom on my hands and knees under the cover of darkness and I might have slid quietly up against the side of her bed and I might have thrown my left arm over her forehead to pin her head against her pillow as she fell asleep just to hear her scream.  But I'm getting old and my memory isn't as good as it once was...He He He...Until the next adventure God bless you.                           
           

Stuck In The Middle With You

When you were growing up did you ever get the blame for something you didn't do or get in trouble because of someone else?  I think we all have at one time or another and I remember an incident that happened during my senior year of high school in math class.  My good pal Devery, who was well known as the class cIown, was goofing off in the class when our teacher Mr. Laverty told everyone to get back to the lesson after allowing us a little cut up time.  Well my old pal Dev had apparently lost his capacity to understand English which did not sit well with Mr. Laverty.  Now don't get me wrong, Mr. Laverty was one of the coolest teachers at our school but when he said it was time to get to work he meant it.  This guy was about six foot four and in pretty good shape (especially for an old guy).  During Summer breaks he was a steer wrestler or bull dogger (as it was called back in my day) and he farmed and ranched all year long. So there wasn't any need for him to spend time at the gym.  He was as strong as an ox and could swing a paddle harder than anyone else in the free world.  Every student in the school was well aware of this fact including Devery but for some reason he just couldn't shut up this particular day.  As Dev kept on jabbering, I was in complete compliance with the teachers previous instructions and had my face deeply planted into the math lesson as did everyone else. We all knew the consequences for disobeying his orders.  Suddenly I heard Mr. Laverty tell Devery to go to the principals office and every one of us knew what that meant..Two Super Sonic licks from Mr. Laverty's paddle.  A hush fell over the classroom and that's when I had a lapse in judgement.  I looked up from my work to watch Devery walk out the door and that's when Mr. Laverty saw me rubber necking and said "Howard, you aren't doing anything so you go with him".  Those words still echo in the deep recesses of my brain and I'm nearly fifty three years old.  Well to make a long story a little shorter, we both got a valuable lesson in physics and thermal dynamics that day. (Note to the reader: When a wooden paddle travels at super sonic speeds it doesn't burst into flames until that sudden impact against your rear end).  I found out many years later from my dad that Mr. Laverty told him what had happened that day and that I wasn't doing anything wrong that fateful afternoon but he knew I had got away with a couple of stunts earlier in the school year without getting caught and thought it was a good time to "catch me up" as Mr. Laverty put it.  WHAT!!!  I was innocent (of course I knew that already) but still punished for a crime I never committed or at least never caught doing!  Where was Perry Mason or Ben Mattlock when a guy needs a lawyer?  I think both my dad and Mr. Laverty still laugh about this little life moment today or at least my dad does.          
I tell you this because my heart went out to ole Red Dog the other day as he had to take one for the team as well.  As I mentioned in my last post, we now have a new Rhodesian Ridge Back by the name of Rosie.  She is a two month old pooping/peeing machine.  More water comes out of this little girl than a rain bird sprinkler and the odorous little gifts she leaves laying around the place are just plain gross.  How can so much "stuff" come out of one little body? I guess that is a question parents and dog owners alike have asked many times over the years.  I'm sure you have figured out by now that the potty training isn't going so well with Ms. Rosie but my wife Debbie has been a trooper through this whole messy ordeal and is working hard to teach Rosie the proper way for a young lady to potty.  Just when we think things are getting a little better we stumble across more rain puddles and mud slides if you get my drift.  Debbie has tried just about everything to get this little girl's attention but wow it's been tough.  She even volunteers Red Dog to go outside with Rosie in hopes he will teach her proper potty protocol (PPP) but at this point everyone is getting a failing grade.  I came home the other day to Debbie working her tail off cleaning every floor in the house in hopes of ridding the place of Ms. Rosie's special scent.  She was exhausted by the end of the day but watching Rosie like a hawk in hopes of having a potty free night. This morning around 6:00 am all seemed to be well in Potty Land when Debbie got up to let Rosie and Red Dog outside to take care of their morning chores and calisthenics then she let them back inside an hour later.  This is usually plenty of chore time for Red Dog but apparently not for Rosie.  As I am getting ready for work I heard a groan from the living room as Debbie caught Rosie doing a little splish'in and a splash'in on the tile floor.  As Debbie was scolding Ms. Rosie and putting her back outside Red Dog was making his way back to his bed at warp speed in an attempt to avoid any friendly fire but to no avail.  I heard Debbie call to Red Dog "go outside" and keep Rosie company.  Poor Red Dog still can't catch a break with the new mutt around and as I walked past the back door on my way to work there sat poor Red Dog with this sad pitiful look on his face like "what have I done'?  "I ate all my breakfast, drank all my water and took care of my morning business outside just like I was supposed to and I get stuck out here on this cold damp ground paying for Ms. Rosie's mistake".  It was at that moment in the early morning light of this cool winter morning that I had one of those "I understand your pain" like moments for Red Dog.  Mine came at the end of a math teachers powerful right arm and Red Dog's came at the end of a little furry four legged water sprinkler named Rosie.   

So I guess it goes to show you that life can be unfair to both man and beast but I think the key to survival is to be sure not to hang out with people who can't stop joking around or peeing on the floor.  This may not be life altering advice but it could help you avoid people with a bladder problem and poor sense of direction.  I think I will file this life lesson right behind the one where you shouldn't chew your fingernails after cleaning fresh chicken eggs.  Until the next adventure, God bless you all.                          

Hanging With The Big Dogs

I would like to introduce you to Rosie.  The newest addition to the DMZ.

Many years ago when I was little I used to love staying at my Aunt Peggy's farm house out in the middle of nowhere in the Oklahoma panhandle.  There were only two t.v. stations to watch from a 20 foot antenna and depending on the weather we might accidentally get a fuzzy picture from a third station in Ensign, Kansas so a person had to use their imagination to make the day pass by and my cousins Randy, Billy, and Terry were experts in this particular field of entertainment. 
Up in the Oklahoma Panhandle there aren't very many trees across the rolling plains and if you see a clump of trees out there you can just about bet one of two things are going on.  The first would be that many farmer/ranchers planted them around their houses to use as a wind break for those harsh panhandle winds that blow through the land or to provide shady cool refuge from the scorching panhandle sun.  The second reason you might see a clump (and I use the word clump because forest or grove would over exaggerate the number of trees that actually exist in that part of the world) of trees such as Cottonwood or Chinese Elm  that could be seen across the landscape was only because there was a pond, creek, or river near by.  Well it just so happened that my cousins Randy, Billy, and Terry lived within 200 yards of the mighty Kiowa Creek which trickled into the North Canadian River (or Beaver River as we called it) which runs through much of the Oklahoma Panhandle and this is where many adventures took place daily.  Randy lived on the west side of Kiowa Creek with Billy and Terry living on the east side.  All three boys were older than me so I saw it as a great privilege to hang with my older cool cousins.  How lucky could a five year old get to hang out with such wise and experienced individuals.  I was mesmerized by this fact and would have walked through fire just to hang with them.  I followed those guys around like a little puppy excited to see what the adventure of the day looked like.  I don't quite remember the details of how we planned out each adventure but we sometimes had top secret meetings in the old storm cellar north of Randy's house which jumped the whole experience into the "Mega Cool" category because none of my other five year old friends had an under ground fort (insert your Tim Allen "man grunt" now).  I don't even remember Uncle Bob and Aunt Peggy having a telephone in the house and we cousins must have communicated with each other by Morris Code, Smoke Sign, and probably Mental Telepathy because we all seemed to find our way down to Kiowa Creek at the same time each day and didn't go back to the house until late in the afternoon.  I can remember being so excited as I stayed in Randy's hip pocket as we made our way down to the creek.  Man those were fun times.  We would fish, hunt turtles, tell stories, have stick and dirt clod fights and even wade around in the creek when we got too hot.  I'm sure that I got on Randy, Billy and Terry's last nerve much of the time and they probably tried to ditch me a time or two but my brain just refuses to remember those occasions in order to keep all of those Kiowa Creek Adventures in that "Mega Cool" category of my five year old life.  

The reason I tell you this story is that Debbie decided the day after Christmas she needed a new Rhodesian Ridge Back puppy added to here DMZ (Debbie Mini Zoo).  Her name is Rosie and we aren't sure at this time how old she is because our vet wisely chooses not to work over the holidays but she is a short chubby red Rhodesian pooping machine right now and she has driven every ounce of holiday fragrance out of the house if you know what I mean.  She is mesmerized by everything Red Dog does and follows him E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E.  She is his officiall "Mini Me".  Red Dog's world has been turned up side down and now has to share the "Good Life" at the DMZ with someone else.  I don't think he is very happy, happy, happy about it.  When poor old Red Dog goes to eat there's Rosie.  He goes to drink there she is again.  He goes outside to take care of some personal business and who is there climbing all over him...You got it, Ms. Rosie.  I thought yesterday might had been the final straw as Red Dog headed into the bedroom for an afternoon nap on his new Christmas bed but guess who beat him there....Rosie.  Red Dog has taken the presences of his new friend in stride but when he found Rosie sleeping on his new bed that was ENOUGH of that.  Red Dog snarled and Rosie wisely darted under our bed to avoid any retaliation for using his stuff.  It was about an hour later when I walked back into the bed room and there lay Red Dog fast asleep with Rosie snuggled beside him.  I guess a comfortable bed and a good nap can fix a fellow's attitude.  So later that afternoon with a good nap in the books Red Dog started showing Rosie the ropes.  He began patrolling the indoor parameter of the house as usual with Rosie close at hand watching every move Red Dog made and during the course of his patrol a situation suddenly arose that caused Red Dog to spring into action...There were strangers near the front door...Although the holiday has started to wind down some of our neighbors still had family visiting and were unaware of Red Dogs primary patrol rule which is that any person who has not been identified by Red Dog as a regular neighbor will be sternly warned with multiple "SONIC WOOFS" until they return to their appropriate side of the street and with no questions asked.  So as Red Dog monitored the situation out the front window he had no choice but to enforce that rule as strange children played near our driveway.  So the warnings went out very loud and clear to move away from the premises with "WOOF WOOF WOOOOF WOOOOFFFF WOOOFFFF WOOOOOFFFFFFFF".  I don't think that Ms. Rosie was quite ready for such a loud warning and immediately took cover underneath a chair in the living room but after a few moments she was back at Red Dogs side ready to help do her part to defend the property.  Once all of the "SOINIC WOOFS" were over and the children moved back to their own yard I saw Rosie walk up to the same window Red Dog was looking out of and not being able to see over the window sill started this low grumbling puppy growl.  Suddenly she squirted out two little "mini sonic woofs" and went to following Red Dog throughout the house once again.  Rosie successfully survived her first training session and walked away feeling ten foot tall and bullet proof.  Although the mission was successful Rosie has a lot left to learn and I can almost bet it won't be the last time that Red Dog gets annoyed with his new colleague.  But the neat thing was that this whole episode stirred up some great childhood memories of a time gone by when I was a little goober much like Rosie hanging out with my "Cool Cousins" having adventures on the old Kiowa Creek.  I'm pretty certain that my cousins remember the details as more of an annoyance than an adventure but they were still nice enough to put up with me anyway.  I laugh to myself when I think back on those days and how I must have acted alot like Ms. Rosie following Red Dog around.  I learned many things hanging out with them and I must give credit to my "Cool Cousin" Randy who taught me how to talk like Donald Duck and my first cuss word which nearly got my five year old head slapped off by my mother when I used the newly learned slang in front of her friends one day.  I won't repeat the word because of younger readers but I will tell you that the soap she used to wash out my mouth tasted nothing like chicken.  When I think back to that time I was probably way more annoying to my cousins than Ms. Rosie will ever be to Red Dog but those wonderful childhood memories live vividly in my heart and I will cherish them "FOR-EV-ER" to quote one of my favorite lines from the movie "Sandlot".  I can't wait to see what adventures Red Dog and Rosie get into as a new year begins and if they are anything like the ones I had back in the day with my cousins, it will be an interesting year.  I hope that each of you have a great 2013.  Until the next adventure, God bless you all.      

Gone With A Bang

Well as we all know, dogs come in many shapes and sizes with most dogs having a specific shape and size in order to accomplish the task of the breed.  For example Beagle's and Jack Russell's are bred to hunt rabbits and foxes (and not the two legged kind that wear bikini's. Just want to make that clear to the male readers.),  Labrador's are bred to swim and retrieve ducks from the water, Huskies for the endurance to pull a snow sled, Brittney's to hunt and retrieve quail and pheasant, Australian Shepherds to herd and sort cattle, German Shepherds for personal protection and to eat criminals, and poodles to wear dumb looking hair cuts and prance around some old ladies house.   You can probably tell which breeds I like the most.  Each dog has a specific purpose for existing and ole Red Dog is no exception.  I don't really understand why but I am absolutely fascinated with the fact that Red Dogs blood line is bred to track and hunt lions.  If nothing else it just sounds cool that his ancestors hunted down something so majestic and lived to tell about it so to speak.  A fox or rabbit will always run away. A quail, pheasant, or duck will fly away.  But the thought of Red Dog's ancestors chasing down a critter that could turn and eat them just captures my imagination.  I've seen a rabbit stop to stand his ground when he is being threatened by a coyote but that didn't last once the coyote decided it was lunch time and I've even seen cattle chase Australian Shepherds out of a corral when I used to work for a rancher.  I have never seen duck, quail, or pheasant make an organized aerial attack on hunters unless pooping before take off is considered to be some kind of ugly symbolic gesture on the bird's part, however I have witnessed a Yellow Billed Starling dive bomb my oldest daughter multiple times when she was twelve years old and that just made me laugh till I cried.  But to think that this big red muscular smart stout handsome looking animal known as a Rhodesian Ridgeback could hold his own with Mr. Lion, the cool factor is off the chart in my mind and I own one.  It makes me want to stand tall with my hands on my hips, look skyward and do the Tim Allen man grunt "ARARRARRARR". It's so cool.  That's why I like my Red Dog so much but today I found out something about Red Dog that I was hoping not to be true so let me tell you about it.  
Many months ago I decided to get back to shooting my guns that I haven't shot in many years.  Since crashing my Harley at seventy miles per hour 6 years ago, (and not being able to get the wreck out of my head) I have been looking for a way to fit some quick stress relief into my busy schedule.  Shooting my old guns and buying some new ones to shoot seemed to be the way to go.  So that's what I have been doing lately, burning up ammo every chance I get.  Well this afternoon as I gathered my gear for the firing range I thought I would take Red Dog along and he could enjoy it with me.  Red Dog, being the observant fellow that he is, noticed that I was no longer in my work scrubs but in my play clothes so to speak.  He began watching every move I made, following me from room to room in order to see what I was going to do next.  Finally Red Dog heard the jingling of my truck keys as I grabbed them off the table and he went into full alert.  His ears flew skyward, his eyes locked on to me like a missile defense systems, and began to wag his tail around and around as though he was rapidly cranking a World War II warning siren alerting everyone that something was up and Red Dog was pretty sure he knew what it was or at least he thought he did.  The jingling of my keys and a wardrobe change could only mean one thing to Red Dog..."ROAD TRIP!"...and I told y'all in the last adventure how much Red Dog likes to go for a ride and he was "RED DEEEEEEEEE" to hit the road.  Out the door he went, with the excitement of a six year old headed to the Toy Store.  He jumped into the bed of the truck and immediately moved to his favorite riding spot (which is the front right of the truck bed so he can enjoy the view of the country side) and off we went.  He likes sticking his head outside the bed in order to catch a cool breeze but once we hit sixty miles per hours his face looked like Tommy Lee Jones face while in the G Force machine in the movie "Space Cowboys".  Red Dogs ears are flapping like a flag in the wind, his tongue is hanging out and flying straight back touching his ear, his face has that distorted G Force look to it and he is smiling from ear to ear the whole time.  Sometimes I swerve around in my lane because I'm trying to watch Red Dog in the rear view mirror.  We finally make it to the firing range to see that we are the only two out there and have the whole place to ourselves.  Yippee!!!  I decided to let Red Dog stay in the truck for a while since he has never been to the range with me and let him get accustomed to the gun noises from a distance.  So after thirty minutes of sighting in one of my rifles I walked back to the truck to get Red Dog who was patiently lying down in the truck bed.  I opened the tailgate and he jumped to the ground with the excitement he had before leaving the house.  He was "Happy Happy Happy" as Phil Robertson from Duck Dynasty says.  We walked back over to where the guns and gear were and I told him to sit down beside me.  Now that he was in a safe place I was eager to see how he would react to the report of the rifle and I would soon get my answer.  I continued to pet Red Dog as I fired the first round and oh my goodness he wasn't ready for that.  He gave a full body jerk and started to slowly walk away like "holy crap what was that?".  You could tell he didn't care for it much but he tolerated it none the less.  I called him back and he obediently came and sat down beside me but the excitement he had only minutes ago was immediately gone.  No more perky ears.  No more tail wagging.  I was hopeful that after shooting for thirty minutes prior to letting him out of the truck might have better prepared him but that just wasn't the case.  As Red Dog sat there beside me I fired a second shot down range.  He didn't flinch near as much as he did the first time but he was done.  He started walking off and would not come back at my command.  As I continued to call his name he would stop for only a few seconds to give me a look like "go jump in the lake, that's enough of that business" and walked away with as much dignity as he could possible muster.  With his tail down between his legs he slowly headed back to the truck.  As I watched him walk away it reminded me of when I was thirteen years old and forgot to take out the trash one evening.  It was eleven o'clock at night when my dad noticed I hadn't done what he asked me to do earlier so he told me take it out now.  It was pitch dark and we had no back yard light to brighten my path as I walked to the alley.  When I reached the trash can I began to throw the sack inside when suddenly the neighbor's cat jumped out of the barrel.  I jumped ten feet in the air while my heart leaped three feet out of my chest and simultaneously wet my britches.  In those few seconds I felt more terror than any human should ever have to experience.  So I gathered up what wits I had left and slowly made the walk back to the house just like I saw Red Dog doing. But in my heart I was running like an Olympic sprinter expecting an ax murders or the boogie man to grab me at any moment.  I completely understand what Red Dog was going through with him trying to calmly walk away from a situation with your dignity intact and your is brain screaming "RUN SUCKER RUN".  So I gathered up my gear and headed back to the truck.  When I got there Red Dog was sitting in the bed in his happy place looking at me like "what the heck were you thinking, I'm a lion killer not a bird dog.  My ancestor's owners used spears and bows to hunt with not nuclear bombs".  I don't think I could have baited him out of the back of that truck with 10 racks of ribs at this point so I shut the tailgate and we headed to the house.  
Don't worry about Red Dog, he completely recovered and was back to his old self by the time we arrived home.  When I opened the tailgate and he jumped out with the same swagger that he left with.  He Immediately headed over to his water bowl and take a big long gulping drink like he really needed that after this little adventure.  Although Red Dog is a big strong loud lion killer of a dog I think he might be getting a little soft or "Yuppiefied" as Phil Robertson would put it by living indoors in the lap of luxury.  I don't think I will take him back to the firing range anytime soon because I still want Red Dog to use his "Sonic Bark" to scare the pudd'in out of those uninvited guest who might come snooping around our place.  As far as home security goes, I think Red Dog will just continue to use his God given "Sonic Bark" to guard the place and won't be pack'in heat anytime soon. Until the next adventure, God bless you all.