SOMEONE CALL THE DOGGY PSYCHIATRIST

 I should have known it was a setup the first time I saw Cubby, the jet black miniature poodle.

The people at the home for wayward dogs brought him out of a pen and sat him on a table before me, and then his handler looked at him and winked.  The sly dog instantly tried to look forlorn, drooping his head and then looking up weakly and shyly, licking my hand on cue. I figured it was my imagination.  After that, I asked about him.

“His he well behaved?”

“Oh sure, absolutely!”

“He doesn’t have a problem going outside.  I mean he’s house trained right?”

“Oh sure, Cubby is very smart.” Then he looked at the little dog and winked again.  I don’t think he had a nervous twitch; he only did it when talking about the dog.  I naively accepted and they very quickly handed him over to me. When I asked about payment they said he was special and there was no charge!

That should have been a sure sign.  Why was he the only free dog there?  But I ignored this anomaly and signed papers stating something about their release of liability, and a no return policy for special dogs like Cubby. They smiled sweetly and assured me that this was standard.  As my new friend and I pulled away from the building, I swore I heard cheering.

When I got the little bugger home, I provided him with all the essentials and then let him sit on the sofa next to me so we could watch T V together and bond.  After an hour of bonding, just us guys, I noticed there was a big piss spot where he was sitting. I admonished him sternly, but he just yawned and looked at me. Then I considered that he may just be upset and was adjusting to his new surroundings.

 However, after several days of continued accidents I considered that he wasn’t as house broken as they stated.  I started taking him outside and then rewarding him with dog treats after.  My positive reinforcement treat program did not work as planned, and after time he just jumped around looking for a treat after pissing on my carpet.

Besides our incontinence issues I also discovered Cubby was paranoid. I would give him a bone as a treat for no good reason. Yes, I spoiled him, you know.  I basically rewarded him for bad behavior.  I can’t imagine why that didn’t work out better for me!  However, Cubby did not eat the undeserved bone.  No, instead, he held it in his mouth and paced back and forth across the house looking for a safe hiding place. Click, click, click, his toe nails would sound on the wood floor as he walked past me. First left and then right and back again across the house again with the bone firmly held in his mouth. Then after an hour of pacing he finally hid it. But wait, he has retrieved it again and has now started his pacing all over again.

They told me he was smart so I assume he has ascertained that he is the only dog here. And that I have no interest in stealing his bone. So I’m guessing he has deeper issues then I can resolve.

In addition he enjoys games!   Because he is black and impossible to see at night, he enjoys hide and seek.  About one out of fifteen times I will let him out to ‘go’ in the side yard and after he will usually run right back for his treat. But that fifteenth time he does not return and I have to grab my flashlight and go search for him. The funny thing is, he is not innocently sniffing around lost as you may think, as if he may have just accidentally wandered off.  No!  I find him purposely hiding behind a bush just his little head jutting out to see if I am coming! I swear, I’m not making it up! He does this purposely so I’ll have to find him. I guess he gets bored just sitting around pissing in the house all day.

However his ultimate revenge is saved for when I leave him in someone else’s care. Then he turns into an Olympic skater. He will go into my bathroom with the white tile and poop. Then, because it’s fun, he’ll step in it and then slip and slide gliding across the bathroom floor until every possible inch of tile is covered with long brown skids. I’m sure after he surveys his handy work and laughs knowing I will have to clean it up, as his temporary caregiver have run off vowing never to return.

 After all, who do I think I am?  Leaving him alone with some stranger?  He will teach me!  Next time, I’ll think twice about going anywhere and leaving him behind!

So, this is how it is with my new friend. I’m hoping that a doggy counselor will read this and intervene giving him much needed therapy and counseling.  As a post note, my alcohol consumption has gotten out of control and I’ve joined AAA for that.  The funny thing is I never drank at all until receiving Cubby the poodle.  I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.  Thank you in advance for your help.

  Desperate, in Florida.

  

SHE LOVES THEM MORE THAN ME

I am driving down State Road 70 in Bradenton, Florida, and my girl is with me.  As we near my house we pass a big open field where cows are grazing;  this field is right next to my neighborhood and we pass them almost daily.

“Look at those poor cows, standing there in the sun with no shade, I bet they are so hot!  They should have an air conditioned barn so they can stay cool.”

“Uh huh, sure honey.”

“I am going to report that!”

“To who?  The Bureau of Cow Abuse?”

“Somebody!”

“Don’t worry there are some shade trees, they’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to do something, you’ll see!”

“Oh I know, you could start your own group.  How bout, Concerned Cow Crusaders of Bradenton?”

                She gives me a dirty look and soon after we are in my living room watching one of those catastrophe movies on T V. There is a scene where fifty innocent people are brutally killed in a hail of bullets and all fall to the ground dead.

“Oh that’s so terrible!” she says distressed.

“I know those poor people… this is based on a true story!”

“No, no, not the people… look in the back ground, there, see, behind the bodies, the little dog, he’s limping.”

“So you aren’t really concerned about the slaughter of fifty innocent people, but the limping dog, that’s upsetting?”

“Sure, and I bet he is hungry too.”

                A week later we go to a movie, and during one scene hungry wolves surround this wounded man.  They are sure to eat him but just as they lunge he shoots one and the rest run off!  My girl is so upset about the injured wolf that she runs up the aisle and waits in the lobby until the movie is almost over then returns.

“Is that part over now? I just couldn’t watch.”

“You know they don’t really kill the wolf, right?”

“Yes, but it is still upsetting!”

“So does that mean I can finish your popcorn?  Ouch!  What was that for?”

                A few days later she asks me the following question.

“You think we can take the dog to the grocery store?”

“Why?”

“Because he gets lonely here all by himself.”

“How do you know?  Maybe he’s a loner and loves solitude, Ouch, that hurts.”

                So far I’ve been able to convince her to leave the dog home, but I fear the day is coming when the dog will replace me.  I’m not sure what to do about this, apart from reminding her that I don’t urinate in public…usually, and I’m conversationally more interesting than the dog.

 “What do you mean not really!  And I talk too much?  Well he just barks, and besides he has bad breath!”

                 I think I’m winning the argument, but I can’t be sure.  Lately Fluffy has been cuddling up to her more than usual, I think he knows it’s a competition.  I just hope he doesn’t start a fake limp because then it’s all over for me…..

He’s not that smart is he? 

BOWLING WITH DAD

One of the fond memories I have, is bowling with my Dad on the men’s league.  Dad was very competitive and took it all quite seriously.  I never shared his zeal for winning at all costs, and I think we may have both learned something about each other from those times.  Good old dad used to add pressure to any important bowling situation; if the game was close and I had to do well he would give me the special talk just before it was my turn.

            “Ok it’s all up to you the team is counting on you,” he would tell me adding greatly to the pressure I was already feeling.  

            Well, as you might guess I tried my hardest but my nerves got the best of me and I missed the shot. However, being the understanding fatherly mentoring type he would say something like.

            “Because of you we lost, you let us all down.”

            “I know that’s because you reminded me how important it was, it makes me even more nervous. If you just wouldn’t tell me I’m sure I would do better, please don’t remind me!”

            “You need to know how important winning is I’m helping you.”

            ‘No dad, actually you’re not.”

            But I’m afraid he never got it and continued to remind me nonetheless.  Furthermore, once our team was way ahead he would coax me to miss some shots so my handicap would stay higher and we could use the extra pin I might receive on my average another night.  I refused explaining that we were all there to have fun and try our best and that cheating was unacceptable as far as I was concerned.  He would scowl at me and call me a baby.

             In addition, when it came to an important night and we were bowling one of the best teams, he would actually ask me not to bowl so he could bring in a substitute to bowl in my place.

            “We can increase our chances of winning,” he would plead.  

            I thought he was crazy asking me to pay for bowling and not bowl.  Plus, I thought the whole bowling thing was him and I having fun together and sharing camaraderie.  Evidently he didn’t share my view.

“You’re no son of mine… my son would take one for the team.”

“Why not just get rid of me and hire professional bowlers to bowl with you, then you could win a lot more games.”

“Don’t be silly,” he would say, but I always thought that he was actually tempted.  However, I’m sure Mom would have stepped in reminding him that I was his son and that winning was not more important than family.

            I never understood him… or him me.  Winning was just not a big enough deal worth scheming and cheating, and at best what benefit would he enjoy?  A little trophy that tens of thousands of other men also possess?  We never agreed but we had fun nonetheless and I wish that he was still able to bowl today.

            Unfortunately, now he is confined to a wheelchair and I take him to the alleys to watch me bowl.  I know he enjoys time out of the house and talking with the guys.  And, when it comes time for that all important final shot and the score is even, he still gets me aside and says. “The team is counting on you, don’t let them down.”  And, like always I get up there and miss.  But now, instead of getting mad I’m just glad that at 85 yrs old he is still there to rattle me at all.

             

WOW, IT’S GIGANTIC

When I was about 13, all the other guys advised me that I needed a rubber.  Evidently according to them, now that I was older, girls would soon be begging me to have sex with them and I needed to be prepared!

            Knowing nothing about rubbers or horny older girls I was advised to go to the local drugstore and discretely purchase from a male pharmacist. Evidently women weren’t supposed to know about ‘man’ things like this.

            So, wanting to be prepared for the coming onslaught of suitors I did as suggested and went to my local drugstore and asked the pharmacist, a man around 60, for rubbers.

            “Really… are you sure your old enough?” the nice man asked.

            “Sure I am,” I told him.         

            Actually I didn’t have a clue about the minimum age for buying rubbers, which I had never even seen before.  He went off to the back and after a long while returned with a handful of little rubber circular cylinders and put a bunch in my hand.  They looked like tiny tan colored balloons and appeared entirely too small to possibly fit as the boys at school had described.  The Pharmacist was grinning widely and when I asked him about payment he said to merely give them to the cashier and she would ring them up.

            I knew the cashier was a women, but I guessed that it would be ok as she probably didn’t know what they were used for, and so I tossed them on the counter and indeed she rung them up and placed them into a paper bag without comment.

            When I got home I locked my bedroom door, poured the bags contents onto my bed then grabbed one of the rubbers and tried mightily to stretch one over my manhood.  I was entirely too big!  Not one would begin to stretch wide enough to wear.  I tried for a half hour using every possible stretching technique and all my strength pulling as hard as possible but finally gave up.  I assumed I was just so well endowed that a regular size just wouldn’t do.  Evidently, I would require extra, extra large!

            The next day I brought the rubbers to school and at lunch discreetly showed them to the other boys who knew about this subject.  They laughed heartily at me and asked if the pharmacist was laughing when he gave them to me.

“Well he was smiling,” I recalled.

            They finally explained that what the pharmacist had given me were little page turners that one would place over the tips of your fingers for reading books.  

            I was the laughing stock at school for the rest of that year!

WHAT IS THAT?

They say art is subjective, but like so many things those hip people say they’re usually wrong.

            Art may be subjective up to a point …   Let’s say you think that an artist’s painting featuring ripe apples in a wooden bowl is extremely boring, whereas someone else may salivate at the same artist’s rendering of those juicy fruits.  Or, an artist’s ocean painting on canvas may look calming to you but remind another person of the time they almost drowned.   Naturally that person would be reluctant to appreciate the calming effects of that ocean scene and hang it on their wall.

            So, different subjects in art are subjective but the real question is…  What is art and what is not?  To me, and I may be no scholar, but, if someone makes something that requires rare talent and is recognizable, exceptional and beautiful, then that is considered professional art.  If a person doesn’t know how to make something but they try and it turns out as an unrecognizable blob, then that’s probably not talented art!

            After all, anyone can make something that looks like nothing!  Any grade school kid can construct some unrecognizable blob out of clay claiming a likeness to his dog.  If that was the standard for art then every human would be a great artist, right?    I think most folks in general wouldn’t be considered professional artists and their creations worthy of notice!

              However, according to those enlightened types; those guys with scraggily beards and ponytails and braless women with hairy underarms… today, anything at all, no matter how awful, is considered art! Why?  Because those art critics told you so! And after all… they know best!

            Today, we regular folks are bombarded with contrary notions that rival our common sense.  If you do not agree with these hip enlightened ideas forwarded by these geniuses on TV, radio and print, then you’re just an old fashioned dinosaur and are not open minded.

            My almost daily commute takes me along beautiful Sarasota bay where the city has placed about ten large pieces of art in front of the water.  This art sits in the grass alongside the road and is an eclectic group of the following…   There is a blob that is brown with soft rounded curves.  I won’t be gross with my interpretation of what it reminds me of.   Next, a series of welded metal shapes at least one I can recognize as two balls connected together.  There are also random sticks welded into no recognizable pattern and another that looks similar to a melted triangle!  Several other blobs of no particular shape are also featured that I cannot describe.

            Then, alongside the various shapes there is a thirty foot high replica statue of that famous photo of the sailor kissing the nurse upon the announcement of the end of World War Two.  The likeness is exact and the colors perfect and every time I drive by there are several people standing in front taking pictures alongside this famous icon.

            I understand that the statue is famous and people come from afar to see it… surely, a wise decision by the city of Sarasota to have it featured there. While people both young and old snap their photos in front of this war time reminder, what about those artsy blobs alongside also prominently displayed? 

            Well, I am happy to report that in the hundreds of times that I have driven past I have never seen even once someone alongside a blob taking a photo!  Evidently, even the enlightened types in the media cannot convince you regular unenlightened citizens that a blob is not just a blob!!

            And to you I say bravo!  If they enjoy those blobs so much then let them stick them in their living rooms where they can have ‘love that blob’ cocktail parties!  Or, even better yet carrot juice parties!  After all, regular folks do not appreciate obscure desires like carrot juice parties, and really that’s what it’s all about, showing everyone how different you are!  If you’re enlightened and ever so smart then you celebrate bazaar things that those dinosaur people just cannot appreciate, because frankly they are just too prehistoric and dumb!! 

It must be great to be enlightened because it means you never have to make sense ever again!

Post note:  The City has removed the blobs, and yet the WWII statue remains!  Could it be that they realize that a blob is just a blob?                               

WE’RE SURE GONNA GIT OUR CULTURE!

It all started innocently enough with the Van Wezel auditorium catalogue.  My girl handed me the brochure which listed all their upcoming shows.

“Take a look and check any that look interesting,” she suggested.

 Over the course of the next few days I checked any shows that looked mildly interesting, and gave her back the brochure figuring that together, we would go over my suggestions and agree to see a few that we would both enjoy. A few days later she called.

“I got us tickets.”

“Oh good.  Which ones did you pick?”

“The ones you wanted to see.”

“But I didn’t tell you which ones I liked.  I just checked off anything that was a possibility.”

“Oh, I wondered why you picked so many. I thought that was an awful lot of tickets to buy, it was really expensive!

“You bought them all?”

“Yeah sixteen shows!”

So there it was, we were about to become extremely cultured.  Over the following months we saw two big band shows.  We were almost the only people under seventy. Then there was ‘Girls Night Out’ where I was one of two guys in the entire audience, and they forced me on stage and placed a pink feathery wrap called a boa around me, and then sang and danced around me while I stood there looking stupid! There were comedians that had shows designed for women and gay men, and the comedian announced that any straight men were not going to understand the show! I didn’t, and waited in the lobby as I found it torturous. But there was also a great Christmas jazz show and some very enjoyable plays as well as other comedians, musicians and celebrities.

 By the time we were finished we were so cultured we considered changing our names and appearances. Debbie could become Dina and smoke from one of those long cigarette holders while wrapped in a mink stole. The only problem with that is, she doesn’t smoke and in Florida it’s almost always too hot for mink.

I could change from Nick to Nigel, I could smoke a pipe and walk around the house in one of those smoking jackets.  Furthermore I could sit at my desk and contemplate world problems while puffing away on my expensive hand-carved ivory pipe. However I’m sure my A.D.D. would kick in and I would be up and bouncing off the walls in no time. I think contemplating is supposed to take a long time, so I guess I’ll have to find some other way to express my new found culture. As of now we are still working on our new cultured identities.  I’ll keep you posted.

I'm Just Not Hip!

If I was young in today’s crazy culture, I’m sure I just wouldn’t fit in!

I’ll start with my technological abilities or more accurately my lack of.  Let’s say some hot young women after meeting me decides to text me explaining how irresistible I am and how bad she wants me, I’m afraid we would both be out of luck.  I only know conversation! It’s an old style form of communication, but very effective. People have successfully used it for centuries and it offers unlimited minutes, all for free. It’s really much faster than texting and you don’t have to use abbreviations.

 To make matters worse, I don’t network socially, well not on twitter or facebook or that kind of thing.

Instead, I meet with people and we have conversations in person, face to face! Imagine that!  Sometimes my friends plan big networking sessions we call party’s. 

Also, I’m afraid that I am sorely out of style as well. Let’s see, first, I have no tattoos, not even one!  And even stranger, no piercings either. I’m definitely not putting anything thru my tongue, naval, eyebrow, nipple, or nether regions! Ouch!  And putting metal slugs in my ear lobes to stretch them out? Isn’t that reserved for carnival side show freaks?  Plus, I wear my underwear under my clothes and even own a belt and wear it!  And, as a bonus, I know how to tie my shoes.

Furthermore, I do not consider ghetto-trash yelling insults angrily into a microphone as talented folks expressing themselves or entertaining in any sense. I’m sorry that they never learned how to play a musical instrument and are mad and frustrated about having no talent. I can’t play professional sports! But, if I was to yell and rant about not being athletic into a microphone, I would not expect people to be entertained!   Perhaps they are good at gardening or some other endeavor.

I reminisce about television programs of doctor’s, policemen and detectives solving problems and helping people. Not halfwits who had twenty babies or bimbos who live in New Jersey or any other reality show where nobodys are followed around as if any rational person would care what they do.

Furthermore, my chances of impressing some girl with my car is in doubt. I’m pretty sure today’s girls are not any more impressed with my station wagon then they were in my day. And imagine, I have a radio with only a factory speaker! Gasp! How could I turn it up and deafen everyone within 50 yards!  Why I’m no fun at all!

But, maybe I am too fast in my assessment. I may not have any of these modern desirable traits but, I do have a job! That puts me in elite company within today’s modern guy. Why, I can afford to actually take a girl out and spend money on her. Not hang in my car with my penniless buddies lamenting our poverty.

And I have my own house so if we did hit it off, I could bring her back my house for some ‘Boodie- licious’ hooking up or whatever they call it now. Not try and sneak you in while my parents are sleeping.

So perhaps I might not be as unpopular as I imagine. But then again, I wouldn’t be able to show you even one tattoo and that makes me a real square. Guess I’ll stay in my own age demographic and just imagine from my computer. Besides theres a sale on Geritol this week.  Better run right over there and get some. Oh wait, I’m only fifty.  I may be too young for that and too old for rap.  Guess I’m stuck in between.

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND!

Joey felt exhilarated while the clerk was handing over the money from the register.  Dumb bastard working here for peanuts all night, you’ll never get anywhere that way!  His way was a lot faster!

           He clunked him one good blow over the head with the butt of his gun and the clerk hit the floor hard.  Then he ran out the door of the liquor store and burst out onto the street.  He immediately saw a cop standing there gunning for him.  Joey wondered how a cop could know he was holding up the place… he was only in there a few minutes, and even if the clerk was able to press an alarm there was hardly time for the cops to respond and be waiting for him.  It must be bad luck; something Joey always knew would catch up with him eventually.  He had been lucky up to this point pulling off seven robberies in this hood without getting caught, but it looked like his streak was ending.

            Joey thought briefly about stopping and giving up, but he had a lot of priors and knew if he was caught he’d go back for a long stretch, something he wasn’t willing to do as he hated jail and just recently got out.  Joey raised his gun and got off a shot, but he must have missed because the cop returned fire and Joey’s chest exploded and he was falling to the cement.  Putting his hands out to break his fall, the gun flew from his grip on impact.  He saw the cop over him as he lay there and he knew he was probably going to die as there was a lot of blood coming from his chest and it was difficult to breathe.  Then, all at once, Joey was gone from the ground and floating through a tunnel.

            It was unbelievable as there was no sound or the sensation of movement… yet he was definitely sailing towards something!  Soon he arrived on what appeared to be a cloud.  

            After his initial shock Joey stood up and orientated himself.  He noticed right away that somehow he was now wearing his favorite clothes including his black leather jacket that he loved.

            To his amazement there was no blood coming from his chest or anywhere else, and he felt great… really great!  He looked down at his feet and saw they were firmly planted on a smoky cloud.

            “Huh,” he wondered amazed then looked around to see other clouds with people on them and called out, “Hey you, over there!”  

            But they didn’t respond.  They must be too far away to hear me he thought and then slapped his own face just to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

“Ouch,” he definitely felt that, so it must be real.

            He figured that he was dead and this must be heaven… after all, he was standing on a cloud!

“Geez, did I make it to Heaven. I can’t believe it!”

            After standing awhile Joey walked a few steps to the edge of the cloud and looked over the side. It was not much bigger than his car just big enough to walk a few steps in any direction.   He peered below and saw something that made the hairs on his arms stand up! It was a red fiery glow and the faint sound of terrible screaming like people burning alive.

“Oh crap! That’s hell!” Joey knew at once. “I’m sure glad I’m not down there with those suckers!”

            He was relieved to be on his cloud far above. There were other clouds below his, but above the fiery agony, and he wondered why they were down there hovering just above Hell.  Then he looked above and saw other clouds above his and above them a beautiful glowing light that made him feel peaceful and joyous when he looked at it. Was that heaven? 

            He sat down on his cloud and after a time noticed that the different clouds seemed to be moving. He couldn’t tell in which direction but their position to his cloud seemed to be slightly different over time. Joey peered over the side again and saw that another cloud was close to his about ten feet away and ten feet below. Joey was very excited to see a man on this cloud.

“Hey buddy, Hey you!”

“Hello there.” The man answered.

“ Boy am I glad to see you.Where are we, were in heaven right?”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid not.”

“No, then where the Hell, I mean, where are we then?”

“I don’t know what it is called, however, talking to other folks I have ascertained this is the place between Heaven and Hell.”

“So what’s that mean, I’m stuck here…in between?”

“Perhaps… let me explain.”

But before the man could start Joey saw the man’s cloud rise upwards to be about level with Joey’s.

“Hey, how come yours is moving?”

“That’s what I’m going to explain.”

“We’ll tell me then.”

“I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that Heaven is above us and below is Hell.”

“Yeah, I guessed.”

“It’s a genius system really. After you die and someone on earth thinks of you positively, a person that you’ve impacted in a good way, then each good memory of you moves you up slightly towards Heaven.”

“So you’re moving up then?”

“Yes, thankfully I knew this day would come and I always tried to do the right thing.”

“And the people down there?”  Joey pointed down towards the screaming.

“Poor souls…” The man stopped and looked somber a moment then continued. “Every time someone thinks badly of you then you move down a notch.”

 Joey suddenly realized the gravity of those words and their ramifications.

“So, what about me?  I don’t seem to be moving at all.”

“Well, there is a third possibility, which is no movement either way.  If you hadn’t impacted anyone much when you were alive, well, then you’ve been forgotten altogether, which means you stay here awhile in Purgatory.  Eventually you’re sent back to earth to live another life all over again, until you make a difference one way or another… if you know what I mean.”

“Son of a bitch! Oops, all that crap about Karma was true?”

“Oh yes absolutely, Karma, Reincarnation, Heaven, Hell, even the clouds! All that stuff that the religions taught us was true, obviously!”

Joey looked worried as he pondered the man’s words.

  “It’s perfect really. Every person is judged by how they affected the other people around them while they were alive.”

Suddenly the man Joey was talking to rose a level above him. Joey broke out in a panic!

“You just moved up right?”

“No, I’m sorry my friend I did not… you moved down!”

Joey’s eyes grew wide and his mouth opened.

“May God have mercy on you,” the man said to Joey sympathetically.

Joey was in a panic, he ran and tried to jump up to the other mans cloud, hoping to knock him off and take over, but despite his best efforts he could not leave his own cloud.  Joeys cloud moved still further down.

“I’m sorry,” the man said.

Joey screamed as loud as possible, “NOOOOO… PLEAAASSE,  NOOOO!!” then started sobbing for himself and all the bad he had done to others.  

If only he had another chance… if only!!!