Skip to main content

Fur-balls rule, humans drool

Harley Davidson Todd-Niederpruem (front), his brother Pip (Squeak-middle) and sister Winnie (back) all love their canine big sister Hopps.  Hoppsy loves them too. They look a little like her.  I think she thinks they're puppies.  She's a good mommy.

Ah, but they grow up so fast. (Sniff)

Missed my ukulele lesson tonight because I had to pick Ron up at the airport, coming from an abandoned root canal in Honolulu.  Turned out he didn't need one.  That's the good news. The bad is that he sprained his toe a few days ago, so had to hobble around, negotiating airports, hotel, etc.  Hopps has this bad habit of getting up as you try to step over her. That's how he injured it.  Last night and today I think he just drank beer and hung out in his room or the pool.  Of course, I'm the nimrod who scheduled his flight and could have had him back soon enough for me to make the lesson, but I forgot about it when confirming.  I'll just have to practice extra to catch up.  It is the intermediate class, so no slacking.

Last night, Doc slept in the bed with me.  Mr. Sox too, of course.  So I wasn't cold.  Not that I would be here.  I miss snuggling under a thick down comforter on a cold night.  Sounds weird, huh?  I suppose a few days of that would have me cured of that nostalgia.  Six months of that might wear thin.  

My doctor doubled the dosage of my asthma meds and already I'm breathing easier.  It's amazing what a little oxygen can do to lift the spirits, ya know?

A hui hou.  Aloha! 


 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Born and bred

The creature stared at me, wide-eyed through the florescent glare, Saran Wrap stretched tight across its broad back. Alone in the seafood cooler, he was the only one of his kind, there among the farmed, color-added Atlantic salmon and mud-flavored tilapia, perched on a blue foam tray, legs tucked 'round him like a comfy kitten. He didn't blink. He was dead, red, cooked and chilled, ready to eat. Such a find is rare in the City Market fish department in Gunnison, Colorado. What if nobody takes him home? I thought. This beautiful animal will have died needlessly, ripped from his home, family and friends (Dory, Nemo, Crush and Gill?) only to be tossed in the trash when his expiration date came and went. I lifted him for closer inspection, checked that date, felt the heft of him, scanned his surface for cracks and blemishes. The creature was perfect. I lowered him back into the cooler, nodded farewell, turned to walk away, took one step, and stopped. Shoppers strolled past, stud
4 comments
Read more

General goofiness

I was driving home from an abbreviated shift at work last night when I turned on the radio and heard Bob Dylan singing Everybody Must Get Stoned .  I was reminded of a placard I once saw at a Dairy Queen in Colorado that read, Everybody Must Get Coned .  So it occurred to me, there navigating through the misty darkness, that with a slight modification, this could be a great slogan for a number if different businesses.  Here's my list. Telecommunications company: Everybody must get phoned . Cutlery shop and knife sharpening services: Everybody must get honed . Credit Union: Everybody must get loaned . Brothel: Everybody must get moaned. Winery: Everybody must get Rhoned . Fitness Center: Everybody must get toned . Local planning commission: Everybody must get zoned . Bio-research company: Everybody must get cloned. Doggy daycare: Everybody must get boned. Manufacturer of modern, unmanned spy planes: Everybody must get droned . Reader of corny mottoes and slogans listed on a chees
2 comments
Read more

Re-writing Twain: Adendum

The best thing about rants, at least among the civilized, is that someone smart always makes a valid point to the contrary. My fellow University of Alaska Anchorage classmate, Wendy, directed me to this column, written recently for the New York Times by a writer I admire, Lorrie Moore . She's on both sides of editing Twain issue, and for good reason, posing the notion that maybe Mark Twain was never intended to be children's literature and that that is the problem. Give it a read, then tell me what you think, if you're so inclined. It was Flannery O'Connor who said, "The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information to last him the rest of his days."  No matter how idyllic one's childhood, no matter how hard grown ups try to protect their young charges, trauma happens, sometimes the likes of which no child should endure. Stories that reflect this are often the fodder for great literature, stories not necessarily suitable for y
2 comments
Read more