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Big Brass Ones

Bird shadow, bird shadow

Well, Littermates, I believe the great black and tan hunter is starting to look pretty good to the bipeds, who once scorned him for his apparent lack of true "birdiness." Because, you see, whatever else you may say about bird shadows, you cannot deny that they are neat and clean--no muss, no fuss, no messy clean up. Whether you catch them, or whether you don't, you don't get a mouth full of feathers. Or a house full, either.

Whereas, little Miss Phoebe, the indoor/outdoor catch-and-kill hunting phenom, has become quite "birdie" indeed. Two straight consecutive nights in a row, while all sane bipeds and their ever-faithful Gordon setters have slept the sleep of the just, she has ventured out through le catdoor, as she insists on calling it, captured one of our little feathered friends, brought it inside to toy with it (whether alive or dead at that point, we do not know), left the grisly remains on the living room floor amidst a sea of feathers, and then--no doubt with a well satisfied grin on her evil little face--retired to the bedroom, curled up atop the bipedess, and slept the remainder of the night away in dreams of feathered mayhem.

So yours truly is looking like the good pet these days. I'm banking it.

Back by popular demand

Well, the biped's latest birthday has come and gone. As has Flag Day. And here it is the one-th anniversary of the kickoff of the 2008 PupPal Tour. And what are we doing to mark the occasion? Not a thing, Littermates, not an arfin' thing.

I haven't even been in DexCorp 1 in a month of Sundays. Granted, the weather here in Greater Metropolitan Spreckels has been pretty abysmal lately. But that's all the more reason to hit the road and head for more salubrious climes, is it not? Apparently, it is not.

Unless, by hitting the road once means driving the Subaru up to Oregon in a couple of days. And by more salubrious climes one means staying just about as close to the ocean but going much further north. And I don't think I do. Mean either one of those things, I mean.

The biped just turned 58, which, as he never tires of pointing out, is "practically 60." I think his strategy is to get used to being 60 early, so that he'll scarcely notice it when it actually happens.

Meanwhile, I am just over 5 1/2. The biped tells me that makes me somewhere around 38 in human terms. Still in my prime of course, but no longer a pup. He likes to tell me that in another four years--if we're both lucky--I'll be older than he is.

Won't that be just arfing lovely?

PS: Thanks once again to all the great folks who put us up (and put up with us) last summer. You're all welcome here any time (though perhaps not at the same time).

I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid.

Well, Littermates, it has been an excellent day so far.

The biped and I got up at a little before six this morning. The first thing we discovered--to our unanimous amazement, I assure you--was Phoebe, that young hussy, pacing back and forth on the outside windowsill next to the back door. Apparently, she had been locked out all night, owing to a... ahem... wardrobe malfunction. It seems that she had misplaced her magnetic collar somewhere--left it in some Tom's litter box, I shouldn't wonder--and without it, she cannot enter through the cat door!

When the biped opened the back door to let me out--thank you, my good man!--Phoebe rushed right in without so much as pausing to hear my sincere condolences on her misfortune. Cats!

Once the biped and I had taken care of our respective morning duties, we hoped in/on DexCorp 1 and headed for Garland Park. Where at least one of us had a positively delightful morning chasing red-wing blackbird shadows.

Now then, I may be dumb, but I am not stupid. Or have I already mentioned that? No matter--you just cannot be too repetitious when you are dealing with simpletons. Not that I'm saying you are a simpleton. Necessarily.

Anyway, I am fully aware that birds and bird shadows are related phenomena. What with one being both causally and temporally connected to the other and whatnot. And if I do not know precisely which causes which, or which came first, or why either might wish to cross the road... well, I am in very good company, I assure you. Some of your best wheelchair-bound cosmologists admit to not really knowing which way is up. And not even Sir Isaac Newton every succeeded in discovering why the philosopher's chicken crossed the road.

So it is not the case that I am not aware of birds. I have even been known to flush a bird or two from time to time. It is just that I am interested in birds only to the extent that I know birds to be inextricably linked to their shadows. A bird just sitting on the ground, or in a bush, is of interest to me only to the extend that I know that, if I persuade him to take to the air, he will then produce a very chasable shadow. And I love chasing shadows.

So the biped was having a good laugh at my expense this morning (little does he know I’m using his credit card!) because, he says, he had never seen a dog so enjoying being dive bombed by blackbirds. The birds, he says, were attempting to drive me away from their nesting area. And I was loving it! My tail-wagging muscles will be sore for a week! By repeatedly diving upon my very dogson, the blackbirds kept me supplied with a veritable flock of shadows for upwards of half an hour. I must have run a dozen of them to ground.

Birds are so stupid!