Random Observations - Elections, Dog, Marriage, And Christmas

Midterm Elections

Reflecting on the midterm election results, I can only ask myself where the hell were these voters in 2012?

Anyway, the dems have already started whining and finger-pointing.

Democrats dismayed with the loss of the Senate are pointing the finger squarely at President Obama.

In race after race across the country, vulnerable Democrats were unable to shed the shadow of a deeply unpopular White House.

Voters appeared eager to punish Obama after two years defined by crisis and mismanagement, and Republicans saw consistent success by labeling their opponents as potential rubber stamps for the president.

As the dust settled Tuesday night, top Democratic aides and strategists vented frustration with an administration they say could have done more to help the party out.

“It was President Obama dragging candidates down across the country,” one Senate Democratic aide said...

“It’s an inescapable fact that this election was more about Obama and frustration with his presidency than any other factor,” said one prominent Democratic strategist...

On the other hand:

Obama to Democratic hopefuls: It’s your fault

... administration officials shot back at liberal critics and argued that any candidate who blames Mr. Obama’s low approval ratings for electoral defeat should instead look in the mirror.

White House press secretary Josh Earnest specifically singled out Democratic gubernatorial candidates, some of whom the president has personally stumped for over the past few weeks.

“Ultimately, it’s the quality of these candidates that is going to be the driver of success in this election … the president was looking to be supportive of these Democratic candidates for governor. But ultimately, it is these governors or these candidates whose record is on the ballot,” Mr. Earnest said.

The White House also maintains that Tuesday’s elections — including races for governor, Senate and House — are not a true referendum on Mr. Obama’s record and should not be judged as such.

“The vast majority of voters are making a decision on election day based on the merits associated with the candidates at the top of the ballot,” Mr. Earnest said.

Progressives shot back that Mr. Obama failed to “define any agenda” for his party. They also went a step further by declaring Democrats need to remake the party in the “image” of populist hero Sen. Elizabeth Warren, Massachusetts Democrat, and urged the president to move to the left in the final two years of his tenure.

... liberal groups also say individual candidates are to blame, mainly because they didn’t embrace a populist message passionately enough, or did so too late.

Whine, whine, whine...

In any event,don't get too excited about the GOP gains. IMO we've just traded one set of crappy politicians for another...

Dog-Porcupine Update

Our dog is doing fine (backstory here). She's behaving normally (which is a mixed blessing). However, while petting her last night I felt something prickly around her muzzle. Closer examination revealed two small quills. After I pulled them out I took a closer look at the picture of her quill-studded face. I didn't see any in the area where I pulled those two, leading me to believe that they were in under the skin and just recently worked their way out. They didn't seem to be bothering her, but I just wonder if there are any more embedded in her. Hopefully not.


Wedded Bliss

I am happily married to a wonderful woman who is way too good for me. She is, however, not my first wife. When I saw yesterday's Hagar the Horrible comic strip I almost strangled myself trying to keep from laughing out loud. Let's just say it brought back memories.

Speaking of wedded bliss, I stumbled across this photo (location unknown). No further comment is necessary.

Holiday Season

I saw my first display of Christmas merchandise back on Oct. 11. But yesterday I saw my first display of holiday beer, which means the holiday season is well and truly upon us.

Cheers!

Cost Per Pound

We had another late-night dog adventure Sunday evening.

Our normal routine is to let the dogs out one last time before bedtime. That's usually around news time, but the switch from Daylight Savings Time screwed up their internal clocks. They wanted out an hour earlier than 'usual.' I opened the door and let them out without giving it a second thought.

A couple of minutes furious barking erupted. We life in a semi-rural setting, so that usually means they have something treed - a possum, a racoon, a feral cat, etc. Sighing, I pulled on my boots, grabbed a flashlight and their leashes, and went out to drag them back inside.

This time, however, something was different. They were circling in the tall grass about 100 yards from the house. That's bad news. It means they've stumbled across a snake, a skunk, an armadillo, or a porcupine.

In this case it was the latter.

Fortunately, only one of the dogs got quilled this time. Last time it was both of them.

Regardless, it still meant a one-hour (one way) trip to the doggie ER in San Antonio. In a repeat of our last visit, the dog was anesthetized, the quills removed, and various medications administered. Since this is a fairly time-consuming process, we went home and tried to stay awake for the 'come get her' call.

That call came at 1:30 a.m. Being a gentleman (and not being a fool), I let my wife sleep on while I went to get the mutt - which means I got to bed around 3:30 a.m.

Combine that with the time change and I was one tired puppy all day Monday.

Not to mention a lot poorer. Emergency trips to the vet ain't cheap.

Since moving here 13 years ago we've had to take one Lab in to get her nose stapled back together after tangling with a coon, one of our current dogs to the canine orthopedic surgeon to get her ACL repaired after she tore it chasing a deer (here and here), and now two quill removal trips within the past 18 months.

Sigh...

This cartoon sums it up pretty well.

This Too Shall Pass

I've had a variety of dogs in my life. My first was a Dachshund named, cleverly, Brownie (hey, I was five years old at the time - give me a break). Since then there's been a number of mutts, a few Labs, and one German Shepherd who made Christmas 1961 memorable by chasing an abandoned kitten we brought home through the presents under the Christmas tree, up the tree itself, and then in laps around the living room. Fortunately, the kitten escaped. However, Christmas that year was in ruins. But we recovered and forgave the dog for being, well, a dog.

One thing they all had in common was that, at some point, they would chew and/or eat something they weren't supposed to. Which leads us to this story.

It took five months, but Wayne Klinkel was reimbursed $500 Monday by the federal government for his dog’s expensive taste.

“It all comes out in the end,” Klinkel said, laughing. “It was great to get the check after all the crap I went through.”

The saga of Sundance began last Christmas, when the elderly golden retriever and his owners, Wayne Klinkel and his wife were on a road trip from Montana to Colorado to visit their daughter and her husband, Amy and Coty Church, in Denver. The Klinkels stopped at a restaurant for dinner, and left Sundance in their locked vehicle. They also left five $100 bills, and a $1 bill, in a cubbyhole.

When they returned about 45 minutes later, the doors were still locked and Sundance, then 12 years old, was still inside. The $1 bill was lying on the driver’s seat. About half of a $100 bill was next to it.

The rest of the money was gone.

Wayne knew exactly what happened. Ever since they picked up Sundance at a Wyoming animal shelter, they learned he would eat just about anything in sight.

Based on his previous experiences, Wayne also knew paper wouldn’t fully digest. So for the rest of his vacation, whenever Sundance went outside to take care of business, Wayne donned rubber gloves and followed his dog, hot on his “trail,” so to speak.

Wayne retrieved quite a few fragments, but it wasn’t until his daughter visited Helena in March that she was able to give him enough remnants for him to piece together portions of all five bills. He thoroughly washed them — again with gloved hands —and let the pieces soak for about a week while he tried to get in the right frame of mind for the task at hand.

Eventually, he drained and rinsed the pieces, using a screen made for panning for sapphires. Once the bills were dry, he painstakingly pieced them back together, taped them and put each individual bill in a plastic bag. On April 15, the Klinkels submitted them in plastic baggies to the Federal Treasury hoping to be reimbursed.

“Ten days later I got a receipt back saying my letter was received, but that’s the only communication I had during the whole process,” Wayne said.

A Federal Reserve spokesperson said that it could take up to two years and nothing was guaranteed; but if more than 51 percent of the bills were there, the Klinkels could get at least some of his $500 back.

Late Monday afternoon, when he picked up his mail, Wayne noticed an envelope from the government. Inside was a green and gold check for $500.

“I opened it and thought ‘holy s—t,’” Wayne said on Tuesday. “I gave Sundance a pat, showed it to him and told him not to eat it.”

He said there wasn’t any correspondence accompanying the government check, but in small letters typed in the bottom left it said “MUT.CURR REFUND.”

They deposited the check with their bank the first thing Tuesday morning, since the government had shut down due to the budget impasse in Congress, and the Klinkels weren’t sure it would be accepted. They also didn’t want to leave the check anywhere near Sundance.

The bank readily accepted the check, to their delight, especially since they recently paid about half of its face value to a veterinarian to remove a growth in Sundance’s eye. The surgery left Sundance blind in that eye, but he’s still just as adorable as ever to the Klinkels.

And even though they had to jump through quite a few hoops to get reimbursed — including grossing out a couple of bank tellers — Wayne said it’s been an interesting experience.

                   Sundance, the golden retriever known for eating five $100 bills, rejects the taste of the check his owner Wayne Klinkel received replacing the funds consumed by the beloved pet.

I can identify. Although our dogs never ate cash (at least not paper currency - I did have one that swallowed a quarter) we've made more than one phone call to the vet asking about the possible consequences of eating something not generally considered food. And I've done my share of poking through dog crap to make sure the offending object passed through intact.

The most memorable occassion was when our Lab snatched a dropped popsicle in midair and swallowed it whole. The concern was that the popsicle stick would splinter and perforate her stomach or intestine. The treatment was to cram cotton balls soaked in mineral oil down her throat, the idea being that the cotton balls would wrap themselves around the stick and the mineral oil would facilitate passage throughh the digestive tract. The 'outcome' (hah!) was better than expected. Shortly after the cotton ball meal she threw up the whole mess -- stick, cotton balls, dinner, and a bunch of other stuff. Of course, she was inside at the time - in our carpeted living room.

Sigh...

Dogs - gotta luv 'em...

Dog Daze

Last night was ... interesting.

It started out pleasantly enough. Several couples in the neighborhood got together for a combination potluck/progressive dinner. We went to one house for a couple of hours where we basically had browsing food - heavy hors d' oeuvres, finger foods, and the like - accompanied, of course, by ample amounts of adult beverages. Then we moved on to another house for dessert, along with a few more adult beverages. Good company, good food, good conversation ... a good time was had by all.

The party broke up around 11:00 (hey, for us that's staying out past our bedtime). We arrived home comfortably full and suitably drowsy. That's when things went wrong.

Usually our two dogs meet us at the gate, where they jump up and down, turn in circles, and otherwise express their joy in seeing us again. This time, however, they were nowhere to be seen. I opened the gate, drove through, and closed the gate behind me. When I turned off the truck I could hear the dogs baying down by the back fence. Naturally, they didn't come when called, so I grabbed a flashlight and went stumbling down the hill in the dark (no moon, loose rocks, uneven footing, lots of cactus scattered around - wonderful terrain for a late night stroll).

I found the dogs in a brush thicket, scuffling with some critter. My first thought was "Thank God it's not a skunk." I crawled in there, got leashes around their necks, and hauled them out into the open. When I looked them over in the light here's what I saw.

Yes, the mutts had tangled with a porcupine. Evidently the first set of quills didn't deter them, so they went back for more.

I've picked up a lot of DIY skills over the years, but removing porcupine quills isn't one of them. So we bundled the mutts into the truck and headed for the nearest doggie ER. Since we live out in the country that meant about a one hour drive - one way.

After getting there and waiting for the vet to become available, we were told that the preferred treatment was to put the dogs under general anesthesia and then remove the quills. It also involves IVs, antibiotics, pain pills, and other expensive canine medical goodies, along with post-op monitoring and recovery time.

To make a long story short, we got back home around 2:30 a.m., then had to turn around and go back and pick them up at 7:30 a.m. So today we are tired, cranky, and broke. That vet was expensive - times two.

And today the damn dogs are getting all the sympathy...

In The Doghouse

Harper is having issues while dogsitting. We don't have to import dogs to have issues. Our own do that quite well enough on their own.

The standard morning routine around here is that our son gets up disgustingly early to attend to various school activities. He generally comes downstairs around 6:00 a.m., lets the dogs out, fixes himself a quick breakfast, and lets them back in around 6:15 on his way out the door.

Today, however, they decided to (1) chase deer, and (2) get into a fight with a raccoon, all the while barking and howling at the top of their furry little lungs. Our son chased after them, yelling at the top of his lungs for them to "come."

Of course, most of the action took place near our bedroom window.

After waiting in vain a few minutes for the ruckus to die down, I  stumbled out of bed, pulled on my robe, stuck my feet into a pair of flip-flops, grabbed a flashlight, and went outside.

Our property is fenced and cross-fenced. The area around the house is fenced, enclosing about 3 acres. The land slopes from front to back, has lots of small rock outcroppings, and is blessed with a lot of vegetation that defends itself with thorns, stickers, and pointy leaves (wait-a-minute vines, agarita, and of course cactus). That is not the best terrain in which to stagger around in the dark while wearing flimsy sandals. Great way to sprain/break an ankle/knee/leg.

The prevailing 'trees' are scrub cedars, which are better described as tall bushes rather than trees. That means the raccoon can't climb high enough to escape the dogs, and the dogs can shake the tree/bush hard enough to dislodge the hapless raccoon and get it on the ground.

Did I mention that a cold front blew through last night, with temperatures in the 40s and winds gusting around 30 mph? Did I also mention that I habitually sleep nude?

So I'm chasing two dogs who are chasing a raccoon who is dashing from tree to tree, but doesn't quite make it to the next one before the mutts catch up to him. The result is a few seconds of intense tumbling furballs punctuated by respites in the cedars. My robe is flapping open, forcing me to divide my attention between dangerous footing, dangling genitals, and battling animals.

The damn coon finally made it to the fence and escaped through it, leaving a pair of extremely excited and frustrated dogs.

And one thoroughly pissed-off almost-senior-citizen.

I had to use the belt from my robe as a makeshift leash to drag the dogs back to the house. Thank goodness it was still dark, because I was in no mood to worry about the neighbors getting an eyeful as my robe flapped freely in the wind.

My wife, of course, slept through the whole fiasco. Worse yet, she showed no inclination to help warm up those parts of my anatomy that had gotten chilled.

Damn dogs...

A Dogs Tale

Harper has prodded me to provide an update on our dog's recent surgery. To briefly recap, several weeks ago one of our mutts tore the doggie equivalent of her ACL chasing a deer. It required surgery -- four figure surgery -- to repair. The procedure went well. Two weeks ago the 24 staples holding her leg together were removed. However, she's still on restricted activity.

That means she has to be on a leash every time she goes outside so she doesn't take off running and re-injure her leg. Since her bladder is approximately the same size as her brain (think "peanut") we have to walk her about every two hours (which begs the question, how does she make it through the night?).

That's not too bad, but the worst part is getting up every morning at 6:00 a.m. and going outside with her. When she was healthy one of us would just stagger out of bed and open the door, but this routine requires the donning of clothes and shoes.

My wife does it during the week when I'm down in Laredo. She insists, somewhat unreasonably in my opinion, that I have the duty when I'm home. My eminently reasonable argument that she should continue to let the dogs out because she's used to the routine falls on deaf ears. So to keep the peace I make the sacrifice.

What's that you say? What about the kids? You know, the ones who begged and pleaded to get the dogs, who swore undying oaths that they would take care of them forever and ever.

Yeah, right...


Anyway, the good news is that as of this coming Monday, just two short days from now, she can go back to normal activity. That means we open the door and shoo her outside, where she and her sister can chase squirrels, deer, raccoons, and armadillos to their hearts content.

Unfortunately, the only thing they have ever caught is a skunk. I still have nightmares about that...

Dog Daze

In an earlier post I briefly mentioned that one of our flea-bitten freeloaders beloved pet canines had suffered the doggie equivalent of a torn ACL. Yesterday we had it surgically repaired. The process involves replacing the shredded ligament with, of all things, high-test fishing line. It also involves putting the animal under general anesthesia, shaving her leg from hip to toenails, and cutting a four inch incision along her leg.

The procedure went well, at least according to the vet. She's on pain meds and is pretty well doped up for the next few days. She's also not able to walk on it for a couple of days, which means you-know-who gets to carry her outside when it's time to take care of business. Funny how the we-promise-to-take-care-of-them brigade vanishes around that time.

She doesn't weigh that much - around 40 pounds or so. That's about the same weight as the duffel bag I lugged around on our recent trips. The difference is the mutt doesn't have handles or wheels, so it's a little more awkward. I also get to hold her up while she 'performs,' something I never had to do with my luggage.

The bandage stays on for 10 more days, then it's two more weeks of restricted activity. Finally, about four weeks after the surgery, she'll be allowed to resume normal activity.

Here's what she looked like right after surgery. She was still pretty groggy, so we held off putting on her Cone of Shame until she's a little more awake.

On a related note, both of our flea-bitten freeloaders beloved pet canines have long hair. We give them haircuts in the summer to help them cool off and to reduce the amount of shed hair floating around the house. I get a kick out of it because I swear they're embarrassed the first few days after they get trimmed. Here's the before and after pictures.

Okay, enough about the dogs. Normal blogging will resume shortly.

Dog Lover

I've had dogs since as long as I can remember, going all the way back to when I was five years old (a dachshund named Brownie. Hey, I was five. How much originality did you expect?)

As I got older the dogs got bigger. During my teen years there was a border collie named Gulliver. (We were a military family, and relocated quite often. Hence Gulliver, for Gulliver's Travels.)

After I left home and was on my own there was a succession of Labrador Retrievers. They have a lot in common with adolescent males. Enthusiastic, energetic, exuberant - not to mention pretty intelligent, but totally lacking in common sense. First was a black lab named Chump, who became impregnated by a German Shepard who possessed the ability to leap a six-foot high cedar privacy fence when the bitch next door was in heat. (The shepherd was named Sergeant, which I felt was appropriate, since he did to my dog what a succession of Army sergeants did to me - figuratively, not literally).

Chump begat Darlin', a yellow lab, who was named in honor of all the blonds I used to date, but whose names I could never remember, so I just called them by the generic term Darlin'.

Darlin' begat Josie, who was the sweetest, calmest, and best behaved Lab I ever knew. To compensate, she was also the dumbest. Josie had perpetual knots on her forehead from trying to chase rabbits and squirrels under our back porch deck. She never learned that a rabbit or squirrel, even running at full speed, could fit underneath the deck's baseboard, but a full-grown Lab could not. Do I really need to add that Josie was a blond?

We currently have a couple of mutts. I wanted another Lab, but was overruled by the wife and kids the day we went to the local animal shelter and saw these two. They're sisters, and also rescue dogs who were taken from an abusive environment and cared for until we adopted them. It's been interesting ... they're fine with women and children, but at first were very leery of men - especially men wearing baseball caps. Obviously they were abused by some asshole in a cap. They've come to tolerate me, but still are unfriendly towards strange men. That's not necessarily a bad thing, since we now have a couple of furry four-legged sentries.

We also have one other dog. This one possess special qualities that have resulted in a number of people asking if they could buy him from us.In fact, there was such demand for him that I was forced to put the following notice in the local paper.

(H/T to Bots for the picture.)

There Is Nothing So Uncommon As Common Sense

The wackos at PETA filed a lawsuit against SeaWorld a few days ago, claiming the whales there were being held as slaves.

Fortunately, there's a least one judge out there with a modicum of common sense.

Judge: SeaWorld's killer whales aren't 'slaves' — PETA lawsuit tossed

A federal judge in San Diego dismissed an unprecedented lawsuit seeking to grant constitutional protection against slavery to a group of orcas that perform at SeaWorld parks, saying the 13th amendment applies only to humans.

U.S. District Judge Jeffrey Miller stopped the case from proceeding two days after he became the first judge in U.S. history to listen to arguments in court over the possibility of granting constitutional rights for members of an animal species.

"As 'slavery' and 'involuntary servitude' are uniquely human activities, as those terms have been historically and contemporaneously applied, there is simply no basis to construe the Thirteenth Amendment as applying to non-humans," Miller wrote in his ruling.

Thank goodness that's over - for now. PETA has indicated it plans to take further action on the whales' behalf, but did not specify what it might do next.

If PETA had prevailed with the whales then there's no telling what they might have done next. Sought to free domestic animals kept as pets, perhaps?

We have a couple of mutts that don't do much but lay around, demand to get petted, and somehow turn one pound of dog food input into two pounds of processed dog food output. I doubt if they consider themselves slaves.

If anything, they are more likely to think of themselves as owners...

This Is Just Wrong...

... on so many levels.

Looking for a special Christmas gift for that hard to please someone? Or that hard to please canine? 

May I suggest the Love Doll for Dogs (H/T Doctor Grumpy)

This love doll for dogs is shaped to be grabbed easily by the dog’s paws like female hips. Hotdoll is designed in 2 sizes to be used by little dogs and by big ones! Its contrasted colors are made to be easily distinguished by dog’s eyes. The body is made by a plastic structure covered with a 1 cm technogel skin to create a soft touch. All orange parts are made of rubber, that way the doll grips the floor. The pink hole needs to be washed regularly for hygienic reasons. (insert your own joke here)

This should be of interest to the Kennedy and Clinton dogs hounds...

Can't Hear Myself Think

Our roof is being replaced this week. It was damaged in a hailstorm last April (!). After going 'round and 'round with the insurance company, appraisers, inspectors, and roofing companies, we finally got everything straightened out and work commenced.

It's a metal roof - fairly common in this part of the country - and a little less than 10 years old. Still, roofing technology has advanced in that short time frame (roofing technology - go figure...). The old roof has a layer of 30# felt between the roof decking and the metal panels. This serves as a sound and insulation barrier, and also sops up any minor leaks. The current technique is to use a waterproof poly-something membrane in place of the felt. No problem with that - technology marches on, and all that good stuff.

The problem is that the insurance company mandates removal of the felt before laying down the new membrane. Doesn't make much sense to me or the roofers - just layer the membrane over the felt. If the membrane's truly waterproof, and is installed correctly, then we end up with two layers of protection between the metal roof and the decking. But nooooo... the insurance company wants the felt removed.

That adds a couple of days to the process (and makes it more expensive). It also adds a bunch of trash to the ground below. The felt is removed by using a shovel-like tool that scrapes the felt off the decking. The problem is that the felt is held down by metal discs about the size of a beer can top - many, many discs, all with a nail through their center.

As the shovel-like tool scrapes off the felt, it also pulls up the discs and nails, which drift merrily down to the ground. Our lawn and landscape beds are littered with hundreds - nay, thousands - of these discs and nails. Of course, they also litter the driveway as well.

Top that off with little pieces of metal with razor-sharp edges that are generated as the new metal panels are installed and cut to fit.

To be fair, at the end of each day the roofers go around and pick up most of the debris. They also make a few passes up and down the driveway with a large magnet on wheels to zap up stray nails and bits of metal. But after working all day in the hot Texas sun their focus is getting to the closest ice house and grabbing a cold beer, not on picking stuff up. Can't say as I blame them.

So after they leave I get the wife and kids, we form a line abreast, and have police call around the house and driveway. We find a fair amount of debris left behind. It must be working, because so far no one's gotten a flat tire, and none of the dogs have suffered a cut paw. I thought I was done with police calls when I mustered out of the Army.

And did I mention the noise? Scraping, banging, crashes as the old metal panels are removed and dropped off the roof (think of the old sound effect days, when a sheet of tin was rattled to simulate thunder). It starts around 8 a.m. and ends around 6 p.m.

You can't hear conversations on the phone, can't hear the TV, can't hear the wife (mixed blessing, that). And it drives the dogs crazy. They usually spend a lot of time outside, and get their kicks barking madly at strange noises and strange people, so this is pretty traumatic for both them and us.

As a result of all this, I 'volunteered' to take the dogs up to our weekend place at Lake Buchanan. I needed to do some work up here anyway, so this is a 'two birds one stone' kind of thing.

So the dogs and I are here, the wife and kids are there, and the reunion is planned for Friday night.

In the meantime, peace and quiet - blessed, blessed peace and quiet...

Dog Days

We have a couple of dogs - mutts, actually - that consume time and other resources way out of proportion to their size. They're rescue dogs; we got them when they were around 1 year old. They had either been abandoned or run away. They were found living on their own and taken to the local animal shelter.

As might be expected, they came with a set of issues. They evidently had been abused. They were alternately fearful of or aggressive towards men in general, and men wearing baseball caps in particular. They were okay with women and children, although a little skittish at first. On the plus side (sometimes) they're very intelligent and learn quickly. That's a mixed blessing. They've made a lot of progress since we got them, and for the most part behave like 'normal' dogs (whatever that is).

They're sisters, although you'd never know it to look at them. One is blond, hyperactive, and quite insecure. She has to be the center of attention. If you're petting her sister she'll come over and shove her way between you and the other dog. She's also quite territorial; lots of barking, growling, and aggressive behavior towards guests, delivery people, repairmen, and other visitors. The good news is that she only weighs around 25 pounds, although she doesn't seem to recognize that as a limitation. She's become a little more tolerant in the two years we've had them. She now accepts repeat visitors that she's become familiar with, although she still isn't happy with new ones.

The other is black and quite mellow. She must have some hound dog in her, because her favorite activity is laying. Just laying. Kind of like Duke from the Beverly Hillbillies. Her second favorite activity is eating. It's like an on/off switch, from inert canine to whirling dervish whenever the food bowl appears. She also has an extremely mournful look that she employs very effectively. Picture Eeyore as a dog instead of a donkey and you'll get the idea. She plops down on the other side of the room and then stares at you with sad, drooping eyes until you get up and go over there and pet her. This excites the blond one, who then runs over and inserts herself in the middle of everything.  

The preceding is a long-winded way of setting up the following. I mentioned that they were pretty intelligent. Well, they're so smart that they've learned to read and write. Not very well - they're still dogs, after all. Anyway, we found a diary that they've been keeping. The handwriting (pawwriting?) was hard to read, but I think I got it right. I've reproduced it below.

Excerpts from a Dog's Daily Diary:

8:00am Dog food! My favorite thing!

9:30am A car ride! My favorite thing!

9:40am Going for a walk! My favorite thing!

10:30am Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!

12:00pm Took a nap! My favorite thing!

1:00pm Played in the yard! My favorite thing!

3:00pm Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!

5:00pm Got to play ball! My favorite thing!

7:00pm Dinner! My favorite thing!

8:00pm Watched TV with my master! My favorite thing!

11:00pm Sleeping on my bed! My favorite thing!

Next day: Repeat!