Cocoposts

Big Dog Christmas Toy

 

Piano Cat

Defends the bench.  Meows and attempts to sit on my lap and hands, obstructing annual practice of Christmas music. Furry critic.

Little Cat on the House

Intertubes Trouble

 My cable is out. I'm not sure what happened but I expect the cable guy will find that trolls chewed clean through it. Those little lights on that little black box aren't blinking - or they aren't blinking properly, or in the right order, or at the right time.

The black box teases me - all the lights suddenly blinking on at once, acting like all is well, and then going out again, one at a time.  Down to just one light again - staring out from the black box.  Like Hal.  So I just packed up the computer and took it away.

But it is hard to write in an unfamiliar place and I blog better with a big dog at my feet.

Houseguest Hell

Not really.  My girlfriend brought her husband and devil dog to visit this weekend. Devil Dog Dolly is young and energetic.  Her mother reads this blog so I can't really discuss her bad points.  Suffice it to say she enjoys leaping around my old house, her sharp claws digging into vulnerable surfaces.  She is frequently yelping - high pitched barking  that sounds like a coyote in the living room.   

Big is madly in love with her. He expresses his affection in the same way that “Humpy” the chihuahua does.  All three of them went at it in the backyard and living room.  The cat, thoroughly disgusted by such displays, has completely disappeared.   

Big taught Dolly his fence digging technique, natch.  She already knew it and she tried to teach him to jump as she favors leaping over fences.  They both got out a couple times, together and separately.  At one point early Saturday morning they were barking at the front door to get back in.     

Devil Dog Dolly, aka "Clawdog Dolly", also went to the Farmers Market this weekend, where she got into a singing contest with a Welsh Corgi and was nearly asked to leave, much to everyone's delight.   

Last night I had a dream she was off her leash in the open space chasing a whooping crane and, in turn, I was being chased by open space police on flying bikes whose shadows looked like griffins or flying monkeys.     

The Big Dog

The dog, Big, plays games with my head by refining his technique for escape from the backyard. Since my vacation he has proven he can't be caged for less than $18.50 a day plus grooming and two daily "playtimes" during which I imagine him practicing tai chi with the girl who does his nails.

I spent all weekend making a Macmovie of my Perugia vacation with which to better bore my niece and nephew at Thanksgiving. They find my Spinster Aunt adventures highly humorous - though not for the same reasons I do. Whatever. I'm still hip in a 1070's kind of way. Whoops, typo. I mean 1970's. But same thing to them.

While I was otherwise engaged with iMovie, Big hooked up with the puppy and the chihuahua for a party on the ditch. Again. The cat helps him find the weak spots in the fence that have the best potential to be widened and deepened with his well-honed excavation techniques - which he has, in turn, taught the puppy next door. Watch this! If you dig a little here and turn yourself sideways and wiggle just so you can fit. Come on!

While I was at work last week he actually escaped out a window . I had locked both dogs in for the day, confident they would be there when I got home. Wrong. Where's Big? The door was still locked. Yellow dog looked innocent but glanced at the laundry room where the cat's window had been opened all the way. The laundry appeared to have been moved aside (maybe folded.) He had climbed out the window like a grounded teenager so he could be with his posse. Where did he learn that? No doubt the cat coached him.

A Big Get Well to Burque Babble's beast who we hear is recovering from surgery.

Big Meets Little Dog

   

Big Dog Lake

Joyriding

Last post of the week as we make-up another 3-day weekend for Vernal Autumnal Equinox.  See?  I do need another 3-day!

On a drive up to Santa Fe the other day I was thinking that if all the cars were much smaller and only a little slower, you could fit twice as many and double roadway capacity without construction, just paint.  Minis instead F-250's.   The average European city street.   Tractor-trailers could have a dedicated lane or something (called a railroad).

On the neighborhood scale, we make a lot of room for big-rigs.  New local streets  have plenty of space for cars, firetrucks, moving vans, service vehicles and tractor-trailers.   Entire subdivisions are "designed" with them in mind.  Wide streets are presumed safer for the emergency event that could happen once or twice in your lifetime.  That event might require multiple large vehicles to pass each other and turn around.  All at once on moving day for everyone. 

Meanwhile,  daily life for residents is subjugated to vehicles.  The bigger the better.  Other stuff that might take place in public right of way, like kids on bikes and street trees maybe,  are sacrificed.   

Trucks and cars and firetrucks should get smaller instead.

Try telling that to the fire chief.    

Big Dog Reads

My dog, Big, can read.    At least he can in my dreams which explains why he takes papers into the backyard almost every night to chew on.   He selects newspaper sections, envelopes, magazines and paperbacks for perusal after I've gone to sleep.

In the dream I go in the living room to find him in my favorite chair with the Albuquerque Tribune and a glass of scotch.  He has on my reading glasses and is finishing the New York Times crossword puzzle.

I'm waiting to see if he'll pick the latest Katherine Martinez mailer out of the junk mail pile for critique.     I also printed out the AKC coloring book in the hopes that he'll learn something.   

I've always had dogs.  The most at one time was 15 which included a litter of 13 pups in 1967 when my Pop thought he would breed and train bird-dogs.    But he discovered his prize German Short-haired Pointer bitch, Angie, just hated water and birds.    He hunted ducks.    Angie passed this aversion along to all her puppies - along with an unfortunate bloodlust for cats.

For years we never had cats.  The barn had so many mice that a bull snake moved in and grew fatter and fatter until he was stomped to death by a mare who preferred mice to snakes. 

But back to dogs.  I wrote this today over on the Fix.

Updated aat 5:46am - Yes, I do need an editor.  C