Dog-ly Duty

Mom insists that I get up when she gets up with Middle Lad.

I think it is ridiculous for the Public School to force teenagers to start school so early. I protest by staying in bed.

Mulligan? He was like a General; always supporting the troops, up, fresh and ready for action when it was time to send the Lads off to school.

Mom says it is my "Dog-Ly Duty."

I, Pennie, headed off and hid in another part of the house and went back to sleep.

Pennie in Print

I, Pennie am one of THE Featured Past Rescues in the latest edition of my Shelter's Bi-monthly newsletter!

The photo is my famous "Explorer of Suburbia" picture!

Mom: "Er, Pennie, you do realize that League posts pictures of ALL former rescues, don't you?"

Public School Terrorists!

I, Pennie, am growing in my concern over home-grown Terrorists, right here, in: America's Public Schools!

Yes. While American Politicians have been posturing over "Border Security" and "Homicide Bombers," Middle Lad's Public School has been busy cultivating Terrorists!

As usual, no one will listen to the Shelter Dog.

Last year, I alerted every dog that Middle Lad had joined the Terrorist Group Al Gebra. Every school day he dutifully attended Public School, armed with his Weapons of Math Instruction, including an Advanced Calculator.

This year it has only gotten worse! "Gulp!"

He is now Multiplying Radicals!

I saw the Multiplying Radicals Worksheet with my own eyes!

This is all funded by: American Tax Payers! It is not even hidden; one can go to the County Auditor's website and find out how much Property Tax goes to fund the Public Schools and their Insidious Terrorist Plots.

I shall be sleeping with one eye open and one Canine Tooth Bared when Middle Lad is Home.

R.I.C.E. Nurse Pennie

On Sunday, Dad did a "stupid thing."

The downspout that drains half the attached garage was spewing it's contents all over the side walk, and subsequently overflowing into the garage. And sometimes the basement. The Gutter itself was clean. The downspout was clean. Dad determined that it was actually the underground drainage.

Seems some insidious roots, no longer content to stay inside their own borders, "the yard," had decided to invade the drainage pipe territory! Oldest Lad and Dad dug a long trench in the front yard to find those Invasive Roots.

I, Pennie supervised. I did not dig. Oh, sure I love to dig, but as "Supervisor Pennie" it was not my JOB to dig, but to Supervise!

Dad finally found the offending roots who had launched the invasion and, well, he gave them an "all out assault" so to speak by chopping them to bits.

Then Dad commenced with the laying new drainage pipe into the ground.

Dad bent over the drain pipe to cut it in an "awkward position." In his own words: "I would have yelled at one of the Lad's if they used a Utility Knife while hunched in that position."

Dad proceeded to Jab a MUDDY Utility Knife straight into his Ankle Bone. There was actually little blood as Dad keeps his Utility Knife razor sharp.

Soon enough Dad came into the house, with "Sprained Ankle" symptoms.

Here's where Nurse Pennie comes to the Rescue!

R.I.C.E. Rest Ice Compression Elevation.

ALL competent nurses know about rice!

Dad, being a MAN, was NOT a compliant patient.

I, Pennie, lay on the couch with Dad, encouraging "R."

I could not provide "I," but there is an ice machine inside the fridge, so Dad could get that easily.

Then came the "C" and the "E." Oh, I did my best! I alternated between laying upon Dad's ankle to provide Compression; and allowing Dad to put his ankle ON me to provide Elevation.

Dad criticized me at every chance!

He was a most non-compliant patient!

I am charting in my nurses log that Dad was "Non-Compliant."

Eventually Mom took Dad to the ER, still thinking the ankle was sprained. It turns out that when Dad jabbed the utility Knife into his ankle, it jabbed into the bone. That sent his ankle nerves into over-drive, giving the same symptoms as a sprain. The ER was glad that Dad came in, for they said that "jabbing a MUDDY utility knife" into one's bone can rapidly set up a bone infection. Dad was started on strong antibiotics and given a Tetanus Shot.

Pawsonally, I am done with the "RICE" of Dad. Obviously he cares little for the Nurse Profession. I have logged Dad's non-compliance in my Nurse Pennie Notes, and will testify as such if there is a lawsuit.

Who are they trying to trap?

Target has a new line of products. One is a "Pop Up" Dog Kennel. It's just like one of those stupid hampers that come in a zip bag, and then when the pawrent opens the bag, the hamper leaps out and stabs the poor Dog in the snout!

OK. So what dog is going to be "crated" or "kennel" in something as sturdy as a Pop-Up Hamper?

Not Me!

I, Pennie, managed to pull the metal door of my plastic clamshell crate INSIDE the crate. That finally convinced the pawrents to take apart the crate and put it away for fear that I would injure myself. Instead, if I get severe separation anxiety, I can always chew a door or some of Little Lad's favorite toys.

I will not be contained by some stupid Pop-Up Kennel Hamper.

I was thinking that perhaps it would be entertaining to put the Wee Lass inside the Pop Up Kennel. Oops, did I really say that? Better xxxxxxxx that out before Mumzie notices.

Where's the Status and Glamour?

Just last week I, Pennie, had the unique opportunity to spend an entire 24 hours representing all of Dogdom as one it's Daily Diary Picks. Then today, I discovered that once I again I was selected as one of the chosen few allowed to spend the day in that glorious spotlight.

What do I get for it?

A cake?

A fancy gift, perhaps a fancy take-out hamburger from one of the local fast food establishments?

No.

Mom did not even snap a photo of me, last week, OR today, to remember the momentous occasion.

All Mom has done today is "check my stool." Last night the family ate dinner on the back porch. Suddenly, I RACED off the back porch! The back yard was dark, preventing the family from determining what I was doing.

I came back to the house licking my lips, obviously having "eaten something." Oldest Lad searched the back yard. He found an old Diaper Delite, which I had obviously retrieved from the trash and enjoyed previously. He found a naked Ken doll and a naked Barbie doll underneath the swing set; he was not sure what they were up to, but left them to their privacy.

Oldest Lad and Mom never did find what I "ate," but from the smug look of satisfaction on my jowls, it was good, and shall remain my secret. Unless my digestive tract gives me away.

I don't think my family will ever appreciate me or perhaps they are just jealous.

Casserole and Pennie To Go!

I am exhausted! Last night I had another Collegiate Sleepover. Officially classes have not started at Oldest Lad's University, but I was invited to spend the night at The Structure, Oldest Lad's Rental Home.

Oldest Lad took me for a walk on Campus and we played Fetch on a practice field!

Mom spent part of the day making a Paula Deen Recipe Casserole for a family from Church. Normally when Mom makes a dinner for another family, she doubles the recipe and makes: one for the Other Family, and on for US.

When Oldest Lad got wind that Mom was making a Paula Deen Casserole, he dropped off an empty 9 X 13 dish at the house. Later in the day, he grabbed a now filled Casserole dish, and Me, Pennie!

When Dad came home, he immediately smelled Chicken Pot Pie cooking in the oven. He began to salivate. Then Mom announced: "Don't bother. This one is going to the Church Family and Oldest Lad took the second Pot Pie."

Dad was not happy. He murmured something about it being bad enough that Oldest Lad was taking all his money, but when it came to taking his Pot Pie, that was getting to be too much.

Eventually, Mom left with the Chicken Pot Pie, Fruit Salad, and Cookies, to deliver them.

Mom got a call on her cell phone.

Dad: "Where's Pennie?"

Well. Now I know how I stand with Dad. It took 15 seconds for Dad to realize that he was missing out on a Paula Deen Recipe Chicken Pot Pie. It took OVER ONE HOUR for Dad to realize that Me, Pennie, was missing!

I still enjoyed myself AND I certainly enjoyed that Pot Pie that Dad did not get, and in my view, did NOT deserve!

Pennie foils crate again!

I, Pennie, lived this past weekend as a Collegiate Dog, once again. I spent the entire weekend at The Structure, Oldest Lad's "house," while Mom and Dad took Little Lad and Wee Lass to a Water Park. Mom and Dad, ever the cheap skates, got discount passes, because they were "with the band." The Public High School Marching Band spent the weekend at a Water Park, and an Amusement Park; ostensibly as part of a "Marching Band Contest." Pawsonally, I, Pennie, see no connection between a Water Park, an Amusement Park, and Marching Bands, but regardless Zero Public Tax Money paid for the trip, and the Band was announced Grand Champion of the event.

I, Pennie, was not invited.

I think I would have made a Champion Chaperone. Yes. As soon as one of those teen tricksters attempted to leave their hotel room after curfew, I would have barked and barked, and chased them down the hall. Oh, threaten a teen with suspension all one wants; threaten them with forty-two gleaming teeth in the arse?

But I digress.

Instead, my crate was un-laddered from the attic and sent with me, Pennie, down to "The Structure." Oldest Lad brought the crate for he was afraid that I would be "upset" at Mom and Dad abandoning me.

Well, yes, indeed I was upset!

The last time I was Crated, I managed to escape by pulling the crate door actually inside the crate! Mom bought a new crate door (there was still a replacement crate door available for this circa 1986 crate, how embarrassing!)

Oldest Lad went out Saturday night, and did not invite me! Instead, he left me locked in the crate, and locked in his bedroom.

Guess who was NOT in the crate when Oldest Lad returned? No, I pulled the shiny new door inside the crate, and spent my evening worrying comfortably on Oldest Lad's bed.

When Oldest Lad returned me back to Suburbia on Sunday night, Mom insisted that the crate be reassembled and then Oldest Lad got INSIDE the crate, shut the door and attempted to get out!
He could not.

Oh, I know that I shall not reveal my secret, even under the greatest of torture. Waterboard me all night long, and I shall not reveal the secret to my escape.

I am quite confidant that I, Pennie, shall never be crated again.

Unbelievable.

After all I have done for him . . .

I have been putting up with Other Woman for a long time now. I have even come to accept her on limited terms; we are "frenemies."

Oh, do I even need to explain all I have done: nursing Oldest Lad through two Knee Reconstructions. AP Physics. University.

Well.

Oldest Lad now has "Other Dog."

Yep. I first met "Other Dog" over the weekend. One of Oldest Lad's Structure-Mates brought Other Dog down with him. Seems Structure-Mate's Mom was moving to an apartment, and Other Dog was being evicted. Structure-Mate brought Other Dog to live at The Structure. Seems perfectly plausible, perfectly fine, on the outside!

Unfortunately, Oldest Lad has an inherent attractiveness to ALL Dogs. Dogs are just crazy about Oldest Lad. It's like Oldest Lad is some sort of Dog version of Elvis Presley. Naturally this Other Dog has become crazed about Oldest Lad. Lays upon his bed. Snuggles with him on the couch.

Oldest Lad "claims" that Other Dog "sleeps" with Structure Mate, but, "sigh," I am just not sure what to believe . . . .

Squirrel Patrol Pennie

I am almost ready to admit defeat in my battle against that Rodent of all Rodentia: Sciurus caroliniensis. The common gray squirrel.

I cannot enter the 0.23 Southern Acreage of my 0.46 Acres of Suburbia without crunch, crunch, crunching on ACORNS! The giant Oak Tree in the Southern Half has expelled millions, if not billions of Squirrel Kibble all over my domain.

The split second the back door opens, I race my Squirrel Patrol Pennie body out towards the Oak Tree. Squirrels scatter. Then they sit upon their little Squirrel Hineys and peer down at me, taunting me in their little Squirrel Chatter.

I am certain if I could only obtain a Warrant to plant listening devices in the trees, I would uncover some fiendish Squirrel Terror Plot those Rodents are chattering about. Unfortunately, the Squirrels always proclaim their First Amendment right to Free Chatter.

Alas, I have yet to catch any of the little gray fiends. My yard is a virtual Squirrel Smorgasbord: so covered in Squirrel-enticing Acorns that even the gleaming teeth and salivating jowls of Patrol Pennie are not enough to keep the fell beasts away.

Someday, squirrels, someday . . . .