Hide the Kids, Owl on the Prowl

Ruhh Rowww.

Tell me this wouldn’t suck. You’re chowing down on a particularly tasty tree limb, perfectly aged, perfectly tender when out of the blue you feel the talons of a big bird grip your head and pull you off the ground.

Before you know it, you’re cruising through your neighborhood with a Google mapesque, bird’s eye view. The only thing missing are the street names. The unenjoyable part? A claw, with a hangnail, puncturing the hide behind your noggin.

Soon enough you’ll be dropped off into a bed of pine needles, sky high in a tree. Getting down from there is going to be a bitch. But you know not every day is going to be a cat chase.

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Loose Monkey Outsmarts Humans

As regular readers know, I’m an escape artist.

The technique I now employ differs from what I used as a puppy. These days I walk to the back of the yard to a spot outside of my parents’ view, and dig under the fence. My paw claw takes two or three strokes, then stops. I look around and make sure I’m not noticed, then continue on if appropriate. After the hole is sufficiently deep, I’ll gnaw off the bottom of the fence post so as not to scratch my back on the way to freedom.

This process may take a day or two since getting caught means my work was for naught.  Patience is what I preach. Well, when planning an escape anyway.

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City Squatters Forced Out

The big apple. New York City.

I drove through it once, with my parents, on the way to Georgia. It had lots of buildings, lots of big squirrels with thin tails and lots of pigeon poop.

Outside of the abundance of fire hydrants, I didn’t get the attraction to the place. But to each his own.

Like a bunch of chickens who’ve been hanging out in the city for the better part of twenty years. Yeah they got small brains, but what’s kept them there? A rooster pimp is all I can come up with.

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Squirrels Live on Coconut Grove

I’ve got a lovely pair of coconuts. Or should I say, I used to. Speaking of coconuts, let’s talk fruits and the best kind. Personally I like apples. My old man hand feeds me nicely sliced wedges. Apple cores need not apply. I think my father likes the way I chew them because he laughs while I eat. I just wish he’d let me dunk it in the caramel dip once in a while. Watermelon. I love watermelon. I get my supply of the watery goodness in the summer when it’s abundant, and cheap. It’s delivered rindless, cubed and seedless. That last part is important because my mother hates cleaning up the seeds I’ve spit out on the living room floor. She’s always careful about reading the label on melons. My father likes checking out melons too, but that’s an entirely different story. Read more

Hen Plays the Identity Theft Game

Cock-a-doodle-do. Good morning folks.

I start today with that intro because I love chickens, especially boiled. Nothing is better than sucking on the pimply rubber skin of a boiled chicken carcass. The dish is my mother’s specialty. Well, if you take the microwave away from her, and the telephone, that is.

My father? Not a fan. That’s why I get twice the helpings when she makes it. If he’d just do me a favor and keep the overcooked spinach to himself, it would be a perfect date night meal.

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Elephant Objects to Marriage

I’m not a fan of formal ceremonies, mostly because I’m never invited.

Informal get togethers are another matter entirely. Typically they’re held in the back yard of one my parents’ friends houses, with all matter of species invited. Well, dogs mostly and the occasional cat.

For the most part we’re all relatively well behaved. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we eat our hamburgers and hot dogs with knives and forks, but rather we don’t eat the little kids out in the open.

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Boozing Monkey Sent to Rehab

We all have our vices.

My canine sister Copper is obsessed with farts, my feline sister Mothball is fascinated by the cursor on this screen and, I hate to admit it, I can’t make it through a day without barking at squirrels.

These are heavy burdens to carry but it beats the one loading down my parents. In short, they’re addicted to love. Love of the furry kind.

Our house is now fur central with the addition of several new members. In addition to Copper and Mothball, they have added into the mix Patience and Goliath. Both are rescues from the Bernese Auction Rescue Coalition, and as the name implies, Bernese Mountain Dogs. There isn’t much space on the bed these days.

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Dog Turns Owner Over to Police

I’m not a snitch.

When my father rolls in at midnight after boys’ night out, I don’t bark to alert my mother of his arrival. I wait, knowing he’ll dig into the fridge for something to eat. Sure it might be a week old plate of spaghetti or a plate of tuna salad from an era long gone by, but like him I’m not proud, just hungry.

When my sister Moose captures a mouse, chews its head off and brings it into the house, I don’t bark a thing. It’s not my place. My place is in the corner, to watch my mother discover it and scream in horror. Why would I want to break up the surprise?

Speaking of surprises I don’t bark when my father comes home with Christmas presents either. Why spoil the heartfelt gifts of a swiffer, a toaster oven and a set of pans. Romance baby…the man is all romance.

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Cliff Diving Dog Survives Plunge

I jumped into a lake once.

Not on purpose, but by accident. You see there was this leaf, cleverly disguised as a big rock, floating in the lake a few feet below me. I thought it was a perfect place for a photo opp. Humans love those.

Let’s be honest with ourselves, is there anything more majestic than a beautiful mixed breed dog, dressed up in his best fur suit, sitting in front of a colorful landscape that only fall can offer?  Of course not. Especially when that pup is me.

So I closed my eyes and jumped on the ‘rock’. Much to my amazement my paws did not stop on a hard surface, but rather plunged into the depths of the lake.Water went up my nose and I gasped for air. It seemed an eternity until I resurfaced.

With oxygen back in my lungs, I swam back to shore and struggled up the two foot embankment. It’s a good thing I had my wits about me because my parents were too busy laughing to save me.

As revenge my father’s Chuck Taylor’s did not fare very well that night.

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Cat Thinks It’s a Chick

I’m not sure what I want to become when I grow up.

Yeah I know time is running out, with me being 17 and all, but once you give up on your dream there’s not much left.

So here’s a partial list of what I’d like to become:

1) Firehouse dog Read more

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