Getting even in a neighborhood

It appears that some neighbors are easier to live neighborly near to than others. Mom and Dad have a philosophy not to complain too much about the neighbors because 1. having social services visit a neighbor might come at an time when it would be best for US not to have social services in the general area. 2. heavens only knows what WE do to annoy the neighbors. 3. if neighbors bother you that much then go live where you don't have any neighbors.

That being said, there is a certain family that was quite prolific in producing male offspring in a short period of time. Four fine strapping lads. One might observe that Mom produced three, ah, lads. However, they were not produced in a short amount of time and well, while those fine strapping neighbor lads are leading the High School Football team to the Championship, there IS always a need for musicians to play "Hang On Sloopy" to cheer them on. And while the fine strapping lads are breaking yet another school basketball record, there is always a need for a lad with perfect pitch to sing the part in the school play.

Anyway, the house with fine four strapping lads creates a rather loud noise level. Two dogs live there as well. The dogs have learned to add their voices to the decibel level. It is noise in full surround sound as the house sits on a corner lot which has been completely fenced, front, side and back.

I find it not coincidental that the neighbors to the immediate right have not moved, but have now adopted a dog with a very loud bark. I would not have been surprized if they outright moved, but they lived in their house first, and completely renovated it.

I think they are finding a way to get EVEN. I don't know what the rest of the neighbors are going to do when the barking contests start full force. Other than go directly from heat to air conditioning. We already do that because Mom and Middle Lad have allergies. Oh, and not wanting Social Services to drop by unexpectedly.

Cantaloupe Recall

Oh dear, there is a Cantaloupe Recall. I am quite certain this is all due to the high price of gasoline. The wedding industry must be finding that too many couples can not afford to an extragant wedding and simply must follow the bride's parents wishes after all and settle for a hardward store wedding. Really, a sturdy fiberglass or aluminum ladder can last a lifetime and be used indoors and out.

Scarred for Life

Oldest Lad scarred me for life today. Mom was already scarred. Oldest Lad coyly lured me onto his lap to watch "Eight Below." Oh it seems innocent enough. Like all Disney movies, it lures one in as a "heart-warming" story of a man forced to leave his team of sled -dogs in the Antartic.

Of course, like all Disney Movies, in reality it is all about emotionally scarring the innocent viewers, especially any children, dogs, or women who should perchance to watch the show.

Bambi. Mom is quite sure that no one who was a child that saw the original release of Bambi has bought the DVD for their own children because like her, they still have nightmares of the scene of Bambi's mother being shot.

Snow White. Mother Dead. Evil Step Mother.

Alladin. Alladin an orphan. Princess Jasmine's Mother Dead.

Beauty and the Beast. Mother dead.

Lion King. Father dies, child responsible for his death.

Hundred and One Dalmations. Dogs kidnapped by Evil Woman.

Pocahantas. Mother Dead.


At least "Eight Below" did vary from the usual Disney theme of hatred of Motherhood and females. I supposed Disney decided just to scar children with the theme of abandonment instead. I supposed I am supposed to feel better that three quarters of the dogs survived, but now much counseling are they going to need to continue with healthy, productive lives?

Pupdate: Kirby sent me a pmail reminding me of another Disney Classic set to Terrorize: "Old Yeller." Sure enough Mom remembered being forced to watch that in school, no less, and she practically went into hysterics just in the terror of the memory, after all these years.

Cannot Insult a Girl this Way

I am still feeling rather out of sorts after watching "Eight Below." It brought back so many feelings of abandonment for me. Then I started thinking about all the other horrible Disney movies. Well, one just need read my previous diary entry. Then Saturday night the family watched "Letters from Iwo Jima." At least this was not meant as "Entertainment,"as such, and certainly not billed for children, but was meant as a meaningful lesson and interpretation of war from a different view point. Still, I did not watch, but sat with Oldest Lad with my body facing AWAY from the TV.

Well, last night was Mom's birthday. In celebration a beautiful gold chain was placed about my neck with a heart pendant hanging from it. I was carried, yes, carried, over to Mom for her to view how lovely I looked with MY New Golden Necklace. Obviously, the gift to Mom was ME, made even more gorgeous with my new adornment.

Imagine my surprise to discover that the necklace was really for MOM! I was just trying it on and wearing it as a box, a gift bag so to speak. One cannot do that to a Lady! I want my necklace back! I am no Gift Bag! One cannot stuff some tissue paper around me and expect me to prance around and give up my Bling!

Criminal Intent

I am a Stalker. When Oldest Lad is home, I stalk him. As soon as I hear his truck, I rush to the door and greet him. Then I follow him. Relentlessly. I sleep between his legs. When he gets up from a chair, I stand up. When he sits down, I try to be as near him as possible.

When Oldest Lad is not home, I stalk Mom. All day long, I go up and down stairs. When goes to the bathroom and shuts the door, I put one white paw under the door; just so she knows that I am there for her, if she needs my help. When she showers, I look in through the glass shower door, so she knows I am watching.

As a last resort, if Oldest Lad and Mom are not home, I stalk Dad. I lay on the futon in the basement where I can watch him while he works at his desk. If he goes upstairs for coffee, I follow him. If he goes outside to his personal garage; I follow.

If I am home alone, I am crated. I sleep or ponder my obsessions. Is that how I will end up someday? Crated permanently? Is that what happens to Stalkers?

Will this never end?

Nubby Puppy, Rajah, and Pongo, and perhaps others, who I hope I have not forgotten, came up with the brilliant idea of the Loo-vre Museum dedicated to canine poop. Then Pongo realized that archeologist's will someday discover Pongo feces, and wonder what sort of breed a Pongo was.

Anyway, upon this thread, I was thinking about landfills, and poop, and what exactly Mom does with my poop and Mulligan's poop. Mom is very careful how she packages it. Usually on walks she uses small bags meant for diapers as she claims they "leak" the least and hold odor the best. When cleaning the yard, however, she often takes two plastic grocery or store bags and places them in a bucket. Then she uses the scooper to drop the treasures into the lined bucket. At the end she neatly double ties it and places it in the trash. Mom knows she is not the only one who uses extra plastic bags for dog poop; she routinely sees neighbors walking with their dogs and using these bags as well.

What this brings to mind is this: What will Archeologists, 100, 200, 386, years from now think when they are unlayering the great Rumpke landfill and discover all the plastic bags of dog poop? Bags of CVS dog poop. Walgreens dog poop. Kroger dog poop. Target dog poop. Macy's dog poop. (Yes, even Macy's dog poop.) The list goes on.

Advocates of recycling make it quite clear to all of us that plastic bags last forever in the landfill. Which leads one to believe that those Archeologists may be led to believe that our society actually went to those stores to BUY dog poop. Now there are certain stores from which Mom never uses the bags for dog poop. For example: The Gap. The Gap has a really nice quality plastic bag that Mom always saves and uses for packing shoes in the suitcase when traveling. But Macy's, Walgreens, etc; perhaps all those stores with "cheap" plastic bags should start thinking ahead. Do they want Archeologists finding their bags filled with Dog Poop or with something "better," like a pair of shoes?

Please don't tell Mulligan that Mom throws away all his Poop. He thinks that she is neatly packaging and saving it in the attic.

Pennie Games

If left to my own devices I like to get into things. Usually I stalk Oldest Lad, Mom or Dad. When I go outside, I can't stalk them so I must find other ways to entertain myself. I like to play: Drag things out into the yard and keep Mom guessing.

The family has some view of the backyard from inside the house. The kitchen has a small window. The Boy's office has a larger bay window. Then there are the patio doors, but that view is hampered by the screened back deck.

My best was the garage mats. I dragged those out and played with those for about two weeks. Mom thought Dad took them out for cleaning. Dad thought Mom took them out for some reason. It wasn't until they finally got together and discovered the chewed off corners that they realized that I had dragged them out and was playing with them.

One morning Mom left the golf umbrella in the garage to dry off after escorting the lads to the bus under it's protective cover. Dad found me later in the day running about the yard doing my own version of "Singin' in the Rain!" The umbrella still works, with a few leaky spots.

Our house sits at a stop sign, which most people ignore, but the people that do slow down, naturally look over at our house. Mom and Dad know this, because sometimes people make comments about our Christmas lights, the Boy Scout trailer we had parked in our driveway for several weeks, etc. This makes Mom (not anyone else) self-conscious. I LOVE to drag trash bags out of the garage and dismember them. Pull-ups, dixie cups, feminine products, empty 2-liter bottles, empty milk jugs, oh I just love to strew those items about the yard.

Mom looked out one day and saw a large yellow flat object. She looked all day and couldn't figure it out. Finally, when she retrieved it, she discovered that I had fished Little Lad's inflatable inner tube sled off it's high perch, drug it out, played with it, popped it of course with my teeth, and then let it rest.

I can be quite entertaining to myself.

Maybe I like the smell

Mom has a very sensitive nose. It is apparently a female-thing. Like when the furnace was going she smelled gas. Dad didn't smell it. Sure enough when the gas company came the meter went off like lightening. The Gas Company Person said that when a female calls the gas company they always take the call seriously.

Nothing gets Dad evicted from the bed faster than eating lunch at his favorite Chinese restaurant. No sooner than he walks in the house than Mom can tell what he had for lunch. Dad spends the night on the couch.

Mom doesn't like Poop Breath either. I like Poop Breath. I am a Female. Why doesn't Mom like Poop Breath, being a female, too?

I suppose I should feel better that at least Mom is fair. If I have Poop for lunch, no sleeping with Mom. Dad has something like Chinese for lunch, no sleeping with Mom.

I could have dispensed with the situation out of paw.

Dad took Middle Lad and Little Lad to Cleveland this weekend to visit Grandma. I was not allowed to go. I wanted to go. I am sure I would have enjoyed myself in the Corn Beef Capital of Ohio. I was banned because there is a CAT. With pencity to consume mice, it was deemed that perhaps it was best to err on the side of caution and leave me at home.

Middle Lad is allergic to Cats. He and Dad spent the night at a hotel to let the Lad's lungs, nose and skin have an allergy break, while Little Lad slept at Grandma's.

OK, first thing. I could have saved the hotel bill.

On Friday Mom had neatly packed Middle Lad and Little Lad's items together in one bag, unaware of their separate housing arrangements. The outfits were stacked, rolled and only a MAN could not link them with the intended wearer.

It's not as if Little Lad was singing around Salzburg, I mean Cleveland all of today in Curtains, but when he came home to Mom, it turns out he was prancing about Cleveland all of today in the Oldest Lad's Pajamas.

If I could only have gone, then I would simply have dispensed with the CAT, and then the family could all have slept together (albeit in the same dog house), allergy-free, in their OWN clothes, neatly packed by MOM.

Of Mice and Moles

I have decided that following the great path of combatants before me I would like to have a Mouse or a Mole painted on my side each time that I catch and consume one.