Saturday, March 22, 2008

Welcome Home!


Welcome the newest member of our family, a three-year-old Pomeranian male who we've named Irish (no one knows his original name). We adopted him through a rescue organization, which in turn got him from a shelter that had him slated for euthanasia. He is extremely timid because (1) he was lost and had no tags, (2) the dog catcher grabbed him with a pole (he has the neck scars to prove it), (3) his fur was so matted they had to completely shave his body (so I can't show him full-body because he's naked), and (4) he had his manhood (doghood?) surgically removed on Wednesday.

The furball behind him is Molly, who finally has one of her kind since Punkers left us. It's going to take time for him to get used to his new home and humans, but we've already found out two things about him: He likes groceries, and he knows how to use the dog door.

He doesn't replace Punkers because no dog can replace her, but we'll give him all the "Irish" love and care that we can. As the rescue people say, it's all about saving one little animal life at a time.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008


LOST: Postage stamps ordered through the United States Postal Service’s “Stamps by Mail” program. “Save time and gas by having stamps delivered to your door,” the USPS advertises. Postage amounting to $14.12 was ordered on 1/19/08, the check was cashed on 2/4/08, but as of today my doorstep remains barren. If someone should happen to see $14.12 of stamps lying along a highway anywhere between Kansas City, MO and Chandler, AZ. Inquire within.

STOLEN: Will the asshole who keeps stealing the nifty fluorescent light bulbs from the fixture on the front of the house please fucking cut it out. Those things don't grow on trees, you know. The thefts appear to occur on Wednesdays, which is the same day the "undocumented immigrant" landscaping crew half-assedly scapes our land. If you are an un-neighborly neighbor, return the bulbs to our front gate; if you are an un-American, mail them postage-paid from Mexico—but don’t use the United States Postal Service. Inquire within.

Sunday, March 09, 2008


Martha and I thank all of you who expressed your condolences over the passing of our little dog Punkers. It’s been a tough five days—no, a really rough five days—and it seems like time has slowed down to a stop.

Molly, our terrier mixed-breed, is grieving too. She isn’t playing or eating (her two favorite things), and she sits by the door waiting for her buddy to come home. I can’t very well explain to her what happened, so she’s been getting a whole lotta extra love and tummy rubs instead.

Molly, waiting for her buddy

We got a nice card from out veterinarian assuring us that we did the right thing for Punkers. There is always that seed of doubt after telling the vet, "Put her to sleep," but this poem is reassuring. No, it isn't high art, but screw high art—this is the kind of poetry that moves me.

If It Should Be

If it should be that I grow weak,
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then you must do what must be done,
For this last battle cannot be won.

You will be sad, I understand;
Don't let your grief then stay your hand.
For this day more than all the rest,
Your love for me must stand the test.

We've had so many happy years—
What is to come can hold no fears.
You'd not want me to suffer so;
The time has come, so let me go.

Take me where my needs they'll tend
And please stay with me until the end.
Hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.

I know in time that you will see
The kindness that you did for me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I've been saved.

Please do not grieve - it must be you
Who had this painful thing to do.
We've been so close, we two, these years—
Don't let your heart hold back its tears.

Author Unknown

We love you, babe

Tuesday, March 04, 2008


In memory of
September 1, 1996 - March 4, 2008

After all the years of love and laughter
Now come the tears