visor study

Presented for your viewing pleasure.

Etude du visors avec chiennes. Or, the importance of being earnest.

Chienne un. Doodle in red visor.

Chienne deux. Bichon in red visor

Chienne trois. Wiener in red visor. La sausage en chapeau rouge.

Faves?

I hear it’s almost Christmas. Time to get busy. Thanks for stopping by.

Sincere love to all.


the war on…..

What do you think about the war on……
1.  Fat?  Haven’t you read about the restriction of the use of trans-fats in NYC restaurants?  Wave good-bye to fried chicken and doughnuts.  Is salt still allowed, or is that outlawed too?  Vanilla and nutmeg….you’re on notice!!
2.  Light?  Those damnable compact flourescent light bulbs drive me batty.  Heard about the law to prohibit all incandescent bulbs.  (oh, George W..what did you do??)  The (enviro-friendly and cheap thrifty) Texan has installed the outrageously efficient, money-saving cf bulbs all over our home.  I grew weary of switching on the lights in my pantry and waiting 5 minutes to see the canned corn.  Same for my closet…lots of days I was wearing navy and black cuz I couldn’t see my clothes.  I gave up and changed back to the incandescent bulbs.  Light on, light off…easy enough.  Hoping the Texan wouldn’t notice my anti-enviro radicalism.  No such luck.  He just noticed the quick, bright light on the pizza box resting our kitchen island.  Busted!  Light bulb hoarding, here I come!

3.  Christmas?  This time of year we hear about the war on Christmas.  I don’t care if you wish me ‘Happy Holidays’ or you say a hearty ‘Merry Christmas!’  Whatevs.  I DO resent having to remove every Christian Christmas symbol from city, state and federal property in this great land.  The first amendment to the U.S. Constitution talks about not establishing a state religion.  I don’t think not establishing a state religion means we have to remove every last remnant of our Judeo/Christian culture at Christmas time.  I believe the U.S. is a Judeo/Christian country and our body of laws flows out of that particular cultural and religious mindset.  Last time I checked, the Senate of the United States has a Chaplain who prays every day before the esteemed body conducts business.  If the Senate can have a chaplain, can we keep the creche at city hall?

4.  Dogs??  China now has a new law.  Only one dog per family, please!  Makes me glad I live in the wilds of West Texas.  Don’t want anybody limiting my number of kids, dogs and horses and other things.

5.  Wiener Dogs?  I was astounded when I read this article about dachsunds being one of the most aggressive breeds of dogs.  Is nothing sacred?  Stubby-legged sausage dogs are the new pit-bull?  Protect your toes and ankles!  Run for them thar hills, people!!

6.  Fun?  I have laughed myself silly over San Francisco’s ban on Happy Meals.  This is excrutiatingly dumb and an outlandish intrusion into the lives of American families and American Happy Meal Lovers.  Most fast food restaurants are now offering healthier choices, such as fresh fruit and salads.  People seem to like these offerings and they are popular menu items.  When a city government instructs a restaurant chain in what they can and cannot put in a meal….a Happy meal…we’ve lost our marbles.  Can’t folks decide for themselves if they want to eat HAPPY?  Can’t parents decide if their kids can eat HAPPY?  In San Francisco, the sad answer is ‘no’.  Legalize pot, but good gracious…..don’t put fries and a toy in the Happy Meal!!  Can’t believe I just said that.  I’m ranting now.
What should we do about all this nonsense??
We should meet in the no salt, no transfat capital of NYC.  We can join hands and  gaily skip our way to see Pee Wee’s Playhouse on Broadway.  Now, there’s some fun….watching Pee Wee back in the Playhouse zanily interacting with Chairy, Miss Yvonne, Cowboy Curtis and Pterri.  We could even go out for a happy meal and a milkshake after the show. Pee Wee’s Playhouse runs through Jan 2nd.  Doesn’t look like NYC is in the cards for me this year.  Break a leg, Pee Wee.  I still love you!
Oh…and remember…the secret word for today is….tyranny!
Here’s wishing you fatty, bright, holiday, canine, fun love this week.

the saga of the offending hairball

Shoulda blogged about this incident a while back.   Fear tied my tongue, or in a blogger’s case…my fingers.  I’m upset.  I’m freaked.  I’m an upset, freaked lady.  But today, I am an honest, upset freaked lady.  Read on for the saga.

About a month ago, there was a traumatic incident involving a cat at my house.  Then, two days ago there was ANOTHER crazy happening.  I admit to not being a ‘cat person’.  Many of my fine friends are ‘cat people’ and they seem to live perfectly normal, happy lives with their cats.  More power to ’em….to each his own…live and let live…one fry short of a happy meal…and all that.

I’ve never had fun, fluffy experiences with cats.  Growing up…we never had one.  If I even so much as glanced at a cat, I was stricken with a raging, crusty case of ringworm over my entire body.  The disfigurement would last for months; people shunned me more than normal.  In my 20’s and 30’s I was unable to enter the homes of folks with cats.  I’d innocently saunter into the home blissfully unaware of the feline danger.   In a matter of minutes sneezing, hapless hacking, and Niagra eyes would have me stampeding for the door searching for relieving doses of Benadryl and Prednisone.
I did relent for a short time when the sprouts were small.  A cat moved in with us.  He adored all three sprouts.  He purred on the Texan’s lap.  He made an uneasy peace with our precious schnauzer (after he’d nearly clawed his eye out and we were left holding the vet bill bag).  He despised me-growling and hissing whenever I came near.  I’m not smiling on the inside.

Discovered he had been gleefully peeing on and over everything in our laundry room.  Who started the rumor cats do more than just paw around in litter boxes….that they actually URINATE and defecate in them?…I’d like to set the rumor-monger straight.  But, I digress.  One day the sprouts came home from school and the cat curiously wasn’t at our house anymore.  Where’s the cat, mommy?  Is he gonna come back, momma?  I patiently and earnestly explained the cat was using us all along….he was really a social climber. …he desired to live in a better neighborhood…..(cue Doris Day voice...que sera, sera…whatever will be, will be....).  Things calmed down over time.  I was back to blessed dogdom.

Spring forward to about a month back.  I’ve told you how we live in a rural area…we have neighbors, but we have some room.  Roxy-Doxy has a doggy door that enables her to go outside to our patio.  She has her own ‘poop garden’…but again, I digress.  The doggy door is plastic and has a couple of strong magnets on the bottom that help keep it closed.  She inserts her pointy doxy nose….and click-click she’s outside.

Sticks her head through again and click-click…voila!, she’s back inside.

Easy and efficient enough.  Here comes the scary part.  I started hearing the click-click in the dark of night….with the doxy snuggled warmly against my bum.   Click-click…what the hell?  Is it THAT windy again?!  Next morning….dogfood turned over in the pantry.  Soon enough…doxy was hunting and tracking INSIDE the house…showing us all the places the cat had been.  Cat hair on the back of my brand NEW sofa??  I hightailed it to Gander Mountain and bought a live trap.  I’ll spare you the details, but that haughty gray cat was a social climber as well.  Cats are always lookin’ to move up….humph!

Feeling smug and confidant our house was once again our castle.  Writing at the computer in the sun room surveying the hillside….did I see something?  A flash of gray, perhaps?  No, no silly…not possible.  Could the gray cat be slumming it?  One day I spied a tabby cat with white paws hunting on the hillside.  It’s a good thing the  tabby doesn’t know how to open the doggy door!  The other cat was really, REALLY smart….this one is probably of normal intellect.  One night, I’m startled from a deep slumber…..click-click.  Eyelids fly open.   Doxy is in her usual buttical zone.  Summoning the courage to get out of bed, I pad to the sun room and flip on the light.  I catch a fleeting glimpse of a startled tabby with white paws racing to another part of the house.  Texan….there’s a cat in the house…get up and grab a flashlight!  We’re gonna find it!  For some reason Roxy Doxy’s nose refuses to work at 1 am (union rules).   We are wandering from room to room, searching under every stick of furniture for the outlaw tabby.  Nowhere do we see the tabby and Doxy is quizzical.  We repeat our search.  No luck.  Maybe it darted back out the doggy door while we were looking for it?  We give up our brave kitty posse and fall back in bed.  I can’t sleep…what if the cat jumps on the bed and suffocates me?  Gives me a permanent case of ringworm….claws my eyes out?  About an hour later…(you know what’s coming)…..click-click.  Jumping out of bed, I race to turn on the patio light.  I spy a very self-satisfied tabby cat licking it’s white mitts.  Seems it’s made a very wholesome meal out of the dogfood it turned over in the pantry.
I set the live trap.  I was pissed.  I brought out the big-cat guns…tuna fish.  No cat.  The nocturnal bandit wasn’t buyin’ it.  Nothing brought him into the trap.  I made darned certain I padlocked the dog door every night.  I was keepin’ my breath, my eyes and my clear skin, thank you very much!

Fast forward to last Wednesday night.  I come home from church…there’s still daylight.  The Doxy is a lone sentinel in the bay window guarding us from renegade roadrunners and the fat, black pug from down the street.  The Texan is in the TV pit (yes, it’s a 1960’s house).  Suddenly, the wiener dog’s nose wakes up and realizes full potential.  She begins tracking INSIDE the house.  This involves the high-pitched hound dog bark and nose to the ground meaning Roxy Doxy is on the job.  The Texan hollers at me and we follow Doxy to our farthest back bedroom.  This is what greets me.  Avert your eyes.

What looks like a perfectly normal bed to the untrained eye is really a stray cat habitat.  This is made clear by the offending hairball.  See the hairball on my 800-count thread Egyptian cotton, unironed sheets?  Don’t be the ironing judge and take a look at the offending hairball.

This cat has loved our bed….looks like many, many times leisurely scratching it’s hairy back on this bed!  Doxy is half-out, half-under the stray cat habitat, formerly known as ‘bed’.  You are bright enough to envision the rest of this story.  Lots of barking, running, flashlight dropping and the tabby with the precious white mitts racing out the doggy door.  Click-click.  Trap re-set.  Still no cat.  Not much sleeping went on Wednesday night.  Roxy Doxy had trouble comprehending a sneaky feline had invaded her safe and what she thought cat-free home.  I’m still having trouble sleeping…..click-click….I KNOW he’s out there……...click-click
scary barn cat

a mountain walk-the dog’s eye-view

Went to the cabin over the Memorial Day holiday.  The Texan’s grandfather bought a cabin in the Pikes Peak area in the late 1940’s (?) and our family has been lucky enough to spend many summers up there. 

Don your hiking boots, grab a fishin’ pole and fall in line for our hike.  I’d love to show you the sights.  The Texan found his favorite fishin’ hole.

The Sprout on a rock fishin’ with the ever-present, helpful fishin’ dogs.

Hey,  you gotta bite GP? Sophie is lookin’ interested!

Sic ’em Sophie!

Run Reba, run! Is that Roxy-Doxy in the background? Whatcha sniffin’ Roxy? Is that a dead, smelly fish??!

No Doxy, no! Oh….&@#+*%$*^%!! You rolled in the smelly, dead thing! Lovely.

Hope you’re proud of yourself, wiener-dog. I see a bath in your future.

Shhhh…walk very softly. The Texan has laid his head on his tackle box. Getting a little shut-eye, huh? Long walk wore you out, Texan?  Altitude gettin’ to ya??

Doxy, Reba!!….don’t bother the Texan….can’t you see he’s trying to rest?

Shhhhh….Soph! Don’t kiss the Texan…he’s resting. You fishin’ dogs are out of control!

Where we see a resting Texan, the Sprout sees an obstacle for one of the fishin’ dogs to practice her mad jumping skills.

Jump Reba, jump!! MJ and LeBron in a goldendoodle body!

Does the Texan look like a log to you? Is this any way to have a peaceful mountain nap?

Can dogs smile? You be the judge…..

There’s lotsa smiles in the mountains…that’s just the way it is. Hope our mountain walk made you smile today. I’ll show you some other interesting mountain critters soon.
A fantastic weekend to all!

signs, signs, everywhere a sign

Signs bring out the rebel within us.  Admit it.  Here is a nice sign outside an arena at a local horse show.

This is a cordial sign….aww…’please’.

Some dogs were quite law-abiding…like this one….dutifully on a leash.

This obedient corgi was begrudgingly minding the sign. He was out-of-doors, but he wasn’t likin’ it.

Hey buddy, I don’t care about your opinion. Keep the tongue inside the mouth!!  Smart-aleck.

I am about to present damning photo-journalistic evidence dogs are rule-breakers by their very nature. Leave the blog now if you can’t stomach seeing these unsettling photos….I’m warning you!! These photos are EXPLICIT! OK….you’ve been warned.

This criminal is clearly inside the building with the sign.

Just because you’re polite doesn’t mean you ain’t breakin’ the law pal!

Caught this trio of gangstas FLAUNTING their disobedience!

These thugs were wily…..tried to slime the camera lens so I couldn’t take clear pictures of them.  Think they had been snortin’ something illegal. They had a helluva time breathing.  A posse would have no trouble tracking these culprits-could hear them comin’ miles away!

This dusty outlaw was the ring-leader. His name was Vinny. Kept sayin’ “C’mon, I dare ya. I dare ya. Just try an’ take my pich-ah!”  In your FACE, Vinny!

This crafty hooligan saw me comin’ and hightailed it outside. What a pathetic, artificial attempt to look innocent you…..you….you…..transgressor!  Don’t fix your steely gaze on me, partner…I’m not buyin’ it.

Oops….sorry….don’t know how this photo made it in. It appears to be the local dachshund with a…..uh..rock. Please exercise extreme caution. Keep your arms and hands inside the vehicle…could be an escaped prison inmate. Looks pretty experienced breakin’ rocks.

happy friday

Some things making me happy today.

1.  Looks like the sun is gonna shine today!  Hallelujah.  Shine on my pale skin and snow covered world.  Welcome back!

2. Cesar Millan.  Yep, star of the Dog Whisperer on National Geographic channel.  How many men greet you with, “How can I help?” and then sit at rapt attention?  I know…..that’s only one reason I love Cesar!  When a dog rips the flesh off Cesar’s hand or when he bravely intervenes with dogs going at each others jugular, he stays (in his words) calm and assertive.  He is part wise psychotherapist and kick-ass dog trainer.  His side-kick is a lovable…….that’s right…..pit bull!  He’s also muy caliente in his wetsuit.  Yes I have a big crush, and the Texan puts up with it.  He thinks it’s harmless…..heh, heh.  ‘Cesar…..would you like to meet my wiener dog, Roxy-Doxy?

She’s a good dog.  Most of the time.  How can you help??  (innocently)Uh….did you bring your wetsuit?’ (I am not affiliated with Nat Geo or C. Millan in any capacity….darn.)

3.  This sweeeet, classic dance.  The photo is of my son-in-law last Halloween.  There have been a million reincarnations of this dance on YouTube.  I had to learn it  for a program I was involved in last Fall.  I was recovering from a hysterectomy at the time and I had major doubts about my health and what I was going to be able to do.  I fanatically watched videos of the dance and the steps.  I did just a little at a time and faithfully practiced, practiced, practiced.  I learned it, dressed as Napoleon Dynamite (just like legions of others before me), and strutted my stuff in the spotlight.  It was six weeks to the day after my surgery.  I was liberated and healed at the same time!  Check it out and do it…..it’s guaranteed to make you giggle. (I am in no way affilitated with Napoleon Dynamite and received no cold hard cash for this endorsement.  Darn.)