Secret Service Dogs

Presidential Candidate Barack Obama's children are clamoring for a dog. In fact, our own esteemed Dogster is pushing this same issue.

Which brings to mind, the Presidential Dog Secret Service. There is a long history of dogs in the White House. The first question of course, is where does the First Dog take care of it's Business? On the White House Lawn? And who picks it up? I can well envision First Lady Laura Bush bending over with bagged hand to pick up a poop, but when Hillary Clinton was First Lady, can one really imagine her bending over to pick up after Buddy, when he was First Dog?

Of course, the ultimate question is the security of the First Dog, or Dogs. There must be an entire entourage of Secret Service Dobermans to take care of the First Dog, ready to mass atop the First Dog in a Giant Dog Pile at the first hint of danger. These Secret Service Dobermans must be all outfitted with dark sunglasses, ties, and ear pieces. For further security, other breeds, such as Pit Bulls would be perfect. A Pit Bull would make a perfect Under Cover Secret Service Dog as no one would expect such a dis-reputable dog to be part of the First Dog Protection Team.

If Candidate Barack Obama does indeed become President and succumbs to his family wishes what impact will a puppy have on the White House? Puppies are not exactly known for stellar behavior. Sorry, citizens of the United States, but the First Puppy had separation anxiety and ATE the entire Lincoln Bedroom.

PupDate: Dogster Kirby pointed out that perhaps a First Dog ate George Washington's Teeth. (eew!) That led me to wonder how useful a First Dog could be. Aren't some of Former President Nixon's Tapes still missing? Yes, a First Dog could be quite handy in a Crisis. Puts a whole new light on paper shredding.

Life Guard

Oldest Lad is a Life Guard at the YMCA. This is what he does most of the day: Yell at children to "WALK! on the Pool Deck."

That is why dogs can not be Life Guards. As soon as one Human Life Guard Yelled: "WALK!"
all the Dog Life Guards would abandon their Guard Chairs and run to the Pool Gate, barking and wriggling and clamoring to go for a Walk.

Meanwhile, someone would assuredly drown.

Creepy

OK, in the Utility Room there is a "Special Hook" upon which hangs the leashes of the former Canines, Samson and Tyler. It is supposed to be a Place of Honor.

Personally, I find it a bit Creepy.

I am TOLD that Samson reached a ripe old age of 13 and a half, quite old for a large dog. It was un-known how old Tyler was, but he was definitely old.

Apparently I am supposed to pay no heed to these two empty hanging leashes, but isn't this indeed a "Veiled Threat?"

I mean, one isn't likely to invite a living moose, or a living bear into one's home for a visit, if one is a hunter and the walls are covered in trophies of moose or bear heads. One would not invite a fish home to watch a movie if the walls were covered in large plaques of the biggest catch of the day.

So . . . what exactly IS intended by the hanging of these empty leashes?

Tent City

Little Lad has set up his own Tent City in the Living Room. Apparently he did not qualify for a FEMA Trailer as we live in the Ohio Valley and did not have a recent Hurricane, Flood, or other Natural Disaster. He was forced to make do with a Tent City. He has three tents and has moved most of his large family them. He is not married and I am not sure how he managed to collect such a large quantity of off-spring, but there are a lot of them. WebKinz, CareBears, teddy bears, each troublesome and demanding.

Anyhoo, in my natural role as Mother I have taken it upon myself to help take care of all these offspring. This of course add to my already burdensome role of caring for the rest of the family, since MOM is obviously inept. Most days I now spend in one of the tents, laying amidst the large heap of stuffed animals and blankets. When I came to the family I had recently given birth and my natural instincts are to protect my family unit.

Little Lad has been banished, grounded to his room for the day, for a terrible transgression. He did not have the opportunity to grab his animals before he was shackled and sent to prison and now I, Pennie, am spending my day caring for this large heap of soft furry-ness. A Female Dog's work is never done.

Confession

Hello. My name is Pennie. I have been clean or sober for 24 hours.

All is quiet is Suburbia tonight. I hear no Fireworks, I hear no Suburbanites trying to explode themselves or set fire to the mortgaged property of other Suburbanites. Last night I have to admit I kind of enjoyed the fireworks. I sat on Mom's lap, and contemplated the colors, the sounds, all under the influence of drugs. While Mulligan was pacing about and foaming at the mouth I was kissing everyone I saw and wondering at the amazement of my own Paw. I am really not quite sure what I did and hope that I was not an utter embarassment to myself.

I thank my Mom for supporting me, although she, yes, she led me down the path towards spending Independence Day under the influence of Drugs.

I have to take responsibility for myself. Although Mom put the Pill in the cheese; I willingly took the cheese into my own mouth. The cheese and the pill were in no way forced upon me.

Thank you to all my fans that read my Diary; I am ashamed that you had to find me in a drugged state. I assure you that I will do my best to be strong and always to check any Cheese offered to me.

Until next year's Fireworks.

She can NOT run things.

Yesterday Mom slipped me a little pill in a piece of Individually wrapped processed American cheese. Only she did take the wrap off first. The purpose of the pill was to "calm" me. It was a trial run for the Independence Day Holiday when it seems that all of Suburbia breaks loose in trying to liberate their various appendages from their bodies with explosive devices. If they are unsucessful in liberating their own appendages from their bodies, then they try to set fire to the houses of their neighbors.

For some reason the loud noise of all this mayhem bothers me. Mom got me a few Doggie Downers. Yesterday she gave me one to see if one would be enough; as the dose is somewhat subjective.

Oh sure, Mom thinks she is so clever. But put Pennie out of commission for just a FEW SHORT HOURS and already the house has gone to h#!! in a handbasket.

Middle Lad knocked over a large bottle of Dial concentrated foaming liquid hand soap on the utility room floor. The stock bottle; the kind used to fill the little bottles of soap kept at the sink. Instead of noticing the incident or reporting it; he just ignored it. As usual, the Shelter Dogs were first accused: "Did Pennie have an accident in the Utility Room?"

Mom went in to investigate. She immediately noticed no telltale color or odor of urine. (All clues Dad missed, as he is a man.) Looking beyond the rapidly enlarging scene of the crime, she noticed the large bottle of concentrated foaming liquid soap on it's side. She immediately picked it up to stop the flow.

A mat had absorbed some of the flow. That was taken outside to be faomed off, er, hosed off later.

Now the problem. How to clean up the mess. Mom cleaned up most of the actual liquid with an entire roll of paper towels. She did not use regular towels for she feared that if she then tried to wash them that who knows what would happen to all that foaming soap in the washing machine.

Then she set to trying to wipe up the floor. Impossible. Each wipe just creates more foam. Mom then just put some towels on the floor to think about the problem.

See? I was only out of it for a matter of hours and Mom is incompetent to run the house for just this amount of time. I shudder to think what shall happen on the Fourth if Mom truly goes forth with her plan to render me drugged.

better living through chemistry

Oh sure Mom I'll have a lovely piece of cheese. I feel so relaxed. I might just take a little nap. What's that you say, Mulli? How's the drug trial going? I dunno Mulli. I'd never take any of Mumzie's drugs. You know how she gets when she gets a migraine. It's nighty night Mumzie. And I said I'd never take a pill for the Fireworks. I think I'll just nap for aa zz zzzzzzzzz.

Mulli, you don't think Mom slipped me one of those sedatives, yawn, do you? I'll have to ask h e rrrr zzzzzzzz.


Pupdate: I spent the rest of the day singing Beatles songs and listening to the "Wall" album by Pink Floyd. Towards 9 o'clock Oldest Lad decided to see if I truly was calmer and set off a few fireworks. Fireworks, Schmireworks. It bothered me no more than the opening of a soda can.


Mom says I'll be ready for the Holiday, if the annoying neighbors try to set Suburbia Ablaze.

Two Females

I overheard Mom on the phone. She is going to drug me. Yes, I heard her ordering drugs for me over the phone. She claims that I have a "terrible reaction" to fire works and "was there anything that could be done." The Vet's office bought that story and tomorrow Mom is off to buy me some narcotics. Oh, I supposed it's not like she is going to illegally transport them from Canada. But I'll bet she'll have Little Lad in the car when she makes the drug deal.

I'll admit that I did get a little un-nerved when some fireworks were set off near my own place of residence just the other day. Perhaps I was just cold. And had recently drank a lot of caffeine. I then refused to leave the house the next day. Or the next. At least I have a bigger bladder than Mulligan, Mr. Belly Band drippy dog. (And that's AFTER whelping pups. Hey Mom -- see who stays dry after a good hard sneeze, me or you!)

Still, it's well known that Mom and I are at odds over which Female should be running things around here. Mom is just not competent to run the house without me. The evidence is clear: Little Lad with a broken arm. The house a mess. Mulligan attempting to be Alpha. Right now Little Lad is up past his bedtime because Mom forgot to put his sheets in the dryer. Me? I would clean them with my own tongue; forgoing the need for them even to head to the washing machine.

We'll see who ends up drugged on Independence Day, by Dog. It's not called Independence Day for nothin'.

In Suburbia!

Oldest Lad was at the YMCA today; a fine Christian establishment. He was outside, teaching swim lessons to small children. He was standing on the pool deck in his swim trunks, with no shirt on.

A Woman Drove Up and Slipped Him a TEN Dollar Bill Through the Fence!






Oh, yeah, it was Mom.

Maneuveribility Test/She said

When Mom drives into to driveway in the Van, if Mulligan and I are out, this is what happens: I become wildly happy. Then I step carefully aside, mindful that it is quite tricky to maneuver the van into the garage. If needed, I offer gentle murmurs of encouragement. I make sure Mom can see me at all times so that she doesn't have to worry about running me over as she tries to avoid running into the wall.

Now Mulligan? He makes a total @$$ fo himself. He gets as close to the van as possible. Mom is rather short, and even with the seat set at it's highest settings, doesn't have a great view. All she can see of Mulligan is the tip of his wagging white tail. She must slowly guide the van in, keeping an eye on the tip of his wagging white tail, to prevent running him over. In addition to trying to execute the proper turn to avoid hitting the side of the garage, she has to watch out for Mulligan, never sure where to expect his tail to appear.

Mulligan is such a Male about the whole thing. Mom is at the Wheel; not Mulligan. She can get the Van into the Garage without HIS help. But of course, being a Male, without any sensitivity, he must try to assume control of the situation and just makes it much harder for Mom. He offers no encouragement; just the knowledge that if Mom makes one little error she either takes out the side of the garage (and the van) or takes out one or more of his body parts.