Saying yes...

Because we're suckers

What some people would say you shouldn't do when your family has outgrown your house and your existing dog is Clifford-sized? Take in another dog... so it won't have to go to the pound. I, the one who would have 100 dogs if I could, was actually attempting to be the voice of reason on this one, but Grizzled caved. I can only be strong for so long... besides, this pooch is smaller. He's only 65lbs... a mere lap dog.

*** Update per Kathleen's request***

These were attached to the original email announcing his need for a new home.

Summer Flashback

I watched "Jaws" the other night. It reminded me that somewhere in the house or garage was an embarrassing musical purchase from my youth. Oh heck, most of them were embarrassing... but Dickie Goodman probably ranks up towards the top of my youthful musical/humor indiscretions.

Have a good weekend everyone! Enjoy the summer... sans jaws.

Imagine a world without fish

No! Not that fish... these fish...

Take a look. They're not anti-fishing... they're just trying to enforce responsible fishing. If we don't enforce responsible fishing... we won't have to worry about it because no fish will be left.

one per cent of the world's Industrial fishing fleets account for 50 per cent of the world's catches. CNN

Illegal fishing is worth up to $9 billion a year. - Illegal Fishing.info

We're cutting off our noses to spite our faces.

Letting the cat out of the bag...

We were up at the lake this past weekend. By Sunday morning, everyone who was left was rather subdued... well except for Grizzled, who was off tending to something... Assorted children were in the basement and a couple of friends and I were upstairs drinking coffee, reading various things, and partaking in off and on chatting. And then the doorbell rang. The doorbell doesn't ring that often up there so I had no idea who to expect. When I looked up from my book I saw the face of a perplexed young man. I expected to hear him say, "Can I park my boat here?" or "Can anyone play tennis over there?" but instead, he sputtered out, "I've got a situation at the marina... I found a cat with a plastic bag on its head and I don't know what to do..."

He rambled on for awhile about how terrible he felt and how he knew it had to be dealt with, but as he had said, he didn't know what to do. While he was rambling, my head was rambling on its own... imagining any number of scenarios, trying to make sense out of it and what would need to be done. Was the cat dead?? If so, did he merely want help disposing of it?? And, why on earth was there a plastic bag on the cat's head?? Thoughts of the recent cat killings in Florida came to mind. I wasn't sure I wanted to see that cat.

After a bit of mumbling on both our parts, I discerned that the cat was still breathing and would definitely need to have the bag removed... this had my mind shooting off in another direction. I'd been bitten by a cat once. I had no desire to repeat the event, but still... it was an animule in need. I offered to go help. I suggested gloves and asked if he had any extras other than the ones he was wearing. He did not, but was more than happy to let me borrow those. Surely we'd need an extra pair, for some reason I kept imagining a bag tied around the cat's neck... that would take at least two people... with gloves... and long sleeves... and a drink.

With thoughts of evil people racing through my mind, I headed off with the young man, my at-the-ready friends in tow. It was with great relief that I finally saw the cat did not have a plastic bag tied around its head, but had merely gotten its head stuck in a snack-sized potato chip bag. This was still dangerous. The cat was lying on its side and its breathing seemed labored, and while it was unsettling to see, it wasn't gruesome. I leaned over, grabbed the tiniest bit of corner and gently pulled. Within a half a second, the cat was off and up the hill. The rest of us stood there motionless a bit longer until the silence was broken by the young man's thank yous and his confessions of being a bit freaked out and not knowing what to do.

As my friends and I walked up the hill, we discussed how old he was. We were guessing he was probably in his late teens/early twenties, but how when we saw him looking through the door, his eyes looked so big and so young. We kind of chuckled at the fact that he didn't attempt to remove the bag himself, but were very happy he went looking for someone who would. One of my friends said something like, "Yeah, he's old enough to be working at a marina, but it's obvious he's still young enough to need a parent." You could almost hear him calling, "MOM!!!!"

I'm still young enough to need parents, but it was also kind of odd to realize I've firmly crossed over into the stand-in parent role for someone who could be 20... Other observations gleaned from this bizarre turn of events? I'm old enough to be willing to do the *mom* thing without panic or too much hesitation... "Sure... I'll remove the toad from his nose" or "Yes, I'll clean up all of the vomit, but we really need to find the tip of that finger first and get it on ice..."

And while in that *mom* mode, I would like to remind everyone to dispose of their trash in a proper manner... maybe even rip it up a little bit before throwing it away, just in case a little cat needs an air hole...

Still Makes Me Smile

More Bubbles

Inspirational Words of Wisdom Passed on by Dan Leo

random randomness about snags

-- Because I am so not blogging right now, today I'm going to post two! I feel like Ernie Banks.

I am a big fan of the random conversation... the stream of consciousness conversation... the conversation that takes on deep importance even though the subject matter is quite bogus. Maybe that's why I like any number of comment threads around the internets. They just take off into parts unknown and everyone is on board, treating it as though it were a serious matter.

My lamblets are naturals at the random bogus conversation, as is Grizzled. Grizzled didn't realize it though until he met me. I've built up his ignored RBC muscles whether he liked it or not. The lamblets though have been steeped in it since birth. As soon as they were old enough to talk, I went from spelling everything and naming everything to asking random questions. Car time was perfect for this. While driving, I'd ask, "Ok, if the dogs could drive, what type of car would they drive and why?" It was decided that Argus (RIP) would have driven a big Kleenex box of a car since he loved to eat Kleenexes. He'd also have a convertible. Wilson (RIP) would not have a convertible. He hated thunder and was not fond of wind, however he did love the sun, so maybe a sun roof, but he'd need the reassurance that a partial roof could bring...

And off we'd go, discussing what music they would listen to and why. What destinations and why. There were many conversations like this. Still are. They seem so normal I rarely notice them, but every once in awhile I find myself stepping outside of myself and observing, wondering what a fellow traveler might think if his car window had been down and he'd heard a snippet of our chat.

Today, after leaving the pet store, the eldest lamblet said she had been checking out the "Snags". I asked if she didn't mean "ferret". She said no... it was a Snag, she was sure, because Snags will eat anything-- they're part goat and part ferret, but the goat gene is recessive, which is why they look like ferrets-- and this one was apparently chewing on a cage-mate's tail, therefore it was really a snag... Conversations about Snags continued until we were in the car and listening to Bruce Springsteen's "Adam Raised a Cain". The lamblet was certain he was singing "Oyster Pig" during the refrain. I assured her he was not singing oyster pig... besides, what was an oyster pig?? A pig covered in a shell? Would it live on land or in the water?  She said she thought it would be an oyster shell that when opened, had ham inside... they were found in fresh water.

Fresh water??? I was skeptical because ham is nothing if not salty. I would seriously doubt the existence of oyster pigs in fresh water... which led to the question of would a fresh water oyster pig hold pork while a salt water oyster pig would hold ham??

It was about this time that we were pulling into the driveway and I was discussing what needed to get done before the day was over...  thoughts of oyster pigs leaving my mind while wrestling with the large bag of dog food, I heard the lamblet say, "Fresh water or salt water, I'm guessing a snag would eat them...".

I think she's right, but preferably wrapped in bacon and drizzled with bourbon.

When the universe allows you to be gifted in so many ways...

...it tends to get even by slighting you in other... umm... areas... apparently drawing isn't one of them, at least not where fish is concerned. I'll leave it up to you to guess where fish paid dearly (even if he says otherwise... 3 ft... pffft).

fish is inviting everyone up to see his etching. Apparently there's only one that was spared the dumpster of doom. He says it's not his best, but I beg to differ. Best doesn't always mean technically perfect. I got an earlier sneak peek so have already discussed it ad nauseam. I'll say no more so as not to ruin your own impressions. Go look. fish doesn't often lift his scales and share.

Sly Songs I Never Hated, Part 85