Sunday, November 29, 2009

Erin is the Pup of the week November 30, 2009


Some weeks Foley and I have to debate about who will be our Pup of the Week but this week it was simple.

This pup spent her Thanksgiving working on our site. Her initial efforts were stymied by the Ning elves but she would not be denied. She used her big, beautiful brain, and now, we have smiles everywhere, on our comments, on our replies, in our personal messages, everywhere.

We like to think that the Tanner Brigade is the best dog social network site on the Internet made up of the best dogs. One of the things that make it so special is all the smiles and there is one pup we have to thank for that.

So for giving us our smiles back, and for always being there whenever we become confused about the series of tubes that is the Internet, Erin is our pup of the week.

Congratulations Erin on a job well done.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Pocket tells the tale of how she and Foley Monster crashed the White House State Dinner

Of all the embarrassing situations my sister has got me into last weekend was the worst.

I should have known, given the problems Foley caused when she nipped the kitty, and the current administration’s pressuring me to abandon my independent run for Massachusetts Senate since I will not support a universal health care bill that does not include dogs, that we were not invited to a State Dinner.

But Foley insisted we were. Since she is an administer of a web site she has been given the codes to travel through the series of tubes which is the Internet and can pop up anywhere that has an Internet hook up. Because there are many such computers at the White House she insisted our access to the dinner would be a snap.

The actual invitation though, that proved to be a problem.

We went to the Groomer and Foley told her about the State Dinner and she laughed and scratched her head and told her she had the best stories. Foley huffed and spent the rest of her grooming in a snit. As for me, I sat very still, let them work their magic, rolled my little brown eyes at Foley’s impatient sighs, and eagerly snapped up her portion of the treats.

That night Foley arranged for our Mommy and Daddy to have their own special dinner in exchange for free advertisement on her Twitter page, and, once they were gone, Foley furiously began to pound her paws on the keyboard. She then barked at me to hop on the laptop. I did, and the next thing I knew we were being sucked through a series of tubes and popped out in a circular office with a blue rug and a beautiful American flag.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Foley as we hopped down on the floor.

“You want to mark the carpet?” Foley said.

I nodded and together we sprinkled that blue carpet, and, who ever uses that round office, and whoever may use it in the future, needs to know, we marked it and it’s ours.

We went through the door and Foley told me that we had to run to the front doors so we would go in with the crowd. I wondered why, if we were invited, we needed to go through the line, but Foley, that old girl, is quite fast, and it was everything I could do to keep up with her.

We weaved through the people, who were too busy making sure their noses were held appropriately high to notice two little, well-groomed Yorkies, and took our spot at the back of the line. When we reached the front Foley said: “Foley Monster, accompanied by her sister Pocket Rocket Dog.’

The man in the suit flipped through the pages and said we were not on the list. Foley stood on her back legs and began to bark that this was discrimination, that the administration was anit-dogites, and what happened to the change we could believe in? Fearing a scene with so many media in line behind us, the man in the suit called in his supervisor who bent down, smelled us both, stated that we smelled like the rug, and let us in.

Do you know what we found out are alike? A State Dinner and a doggy park filled with six month old male puppies who have not been spade because they both have lots of humps.

I think Foley and I were the two prettiest Lollipops there because everyone wanted to have their picture taken with us: The Chief of Staff; the Vice-President (who is all hands, my tail got stroked more than it did at the groomers) and even the President himself who said Foley looked familiar, but my sister hurried us away before the jet lagged President could remember.

Then they announced it was time for dinner and I panicked because we did not have place cards. But Foley said our place was under the table where the good food always ends up. Made sense to me. We hunkered under the table and were getting great bits of fumbled portions. I told Foley the Indian Prime Minister ate like a pig and she laughed and told me that was ironic but I didn’t know what none of that meant.

Everything was going great and then little Malia came walking in and she started looking under the table. Foley and I were trying to hide under whatever the Indian guy was wearing when Malia looked under the table and said “Look it’s Foley Monster.”

The President stood up and said “Foley Monster, we did not invite Foley Monster.” I turned and looked at my sister and I swear there was steam coming out of my little ears. Foley didn’t let the steam bother her, she just grabbed me by the paw and said “run.”

We ran from under the table, and all these big guys, with ties, sun glasses and radios began running after us while the President yelled that he can’t even put on a State Dinner without it getting screwed up. As we ran down a long hall the men were getting closer and then we saw Bo the Presidential dog at the end of a hallway.

Bo ushered us into his office and locked the door. (No, I don’t know why the President’s dog would have an office but you’ve stuck with me this far, so why start asking questions now?) He asked how we got there and Foley told her about the computer codes. Bo asked for them. Foley refused. The bad men were banging on the door. I begged Foley. She told me she didn’t know if she could trust Bo. I nipped her. Bo said he was First Dog and if he couldn’t be trusted who could? The men said they were going to shoot off the knob. Reluctantly, Foley surrendered the codes, Bo typed them in, we jumped on the keyboard and were transported just as the bad men came through the door.

We got home and Foley put me in my crate and lay in her blanket just as Mommy and Daddy came home. We had to act like we had been sleeping all night and jump and bark when we really were just exhausted. Luckily, we thought, we had got away with our adventure.

Until the next morning when the newspaper arrived, and on the front page was a story about the couple who crashed the White House dinner with a picture of us with that grabby Vice-President.

Well, Mommy and Daddy were not happy at all, and Foley has been banned from the computer until further notice, which is why I am telling you this.

Foley is on her blanket. She’s ordered her own Blackberry so she’ll be back on line soon. She always has a way to find her way back online, and into trouble.

Some good did come of our escapades. Bo is now traveling around the world. While humans in different countries continue to fight, dogs live to love and to all be part of the same pack, and, since we have such control over our owners, this may be the best chance of ever having peace on earth for the holidays.

And you can bet Foley and I will be traveling again. So if you feel little paws under the table, or a little bit of warmth in your bed at night, just drop a bit of food, or enjoy the snuggle because it’s just Foley and Pocket having traveled through the series of tubes to your house.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

We were invaded

On Monday we had a good day because Mommy couldn’t go to work because her blood sugar was high and she had to go to the doctor, so for most of the day we spent snuggled with her on the couch, until she had to go to the doctor, who told her the rise in blood sugar was due to stress. You know how to cure stress? Sit with two Yorkies in a recliner.

Then Daddy came home, and he was sitting on the couch, and Mommy was telling her about her day, when a door slammed outside, and Pocket went nuts, jumping up and down, barking and crying. Daddy looked over his shoulder and said, “we’re being invaded.”

I jumped on the back of the couch, and there was daughter #2 and granddaughters #3 and #5. Now I love all the grandchildren, I do, but I prefer #1 because we’ve grown up together, and #2, because she’s a sweetheart, and they know how to stroke and pet a puppy.

But #3 and #5, well one of them is fairly new, and one of them is almost brand new, she’s walking new, but new, and they tend to treat Pocket and I like we’re stuffed toys.

But I still have those dog tendencies I can’t control, like that creepy vampire dude who is in love with but still wants to kill the boring Goth chick, and I jumped off the recliner with my tail wagging and my tongue all curled up sniffing, jumping and barking just as bad as Pocket, who, as we have discussed, is unprofessional.

I was jumping, sniffing, crying, wagging, and then I realized I was acting the fool. Pocket meanwhile was caught up in her puppy enthusiasm getting under foot and licking everyone like she was an over caffeinated Adam Lambert. I retreated to Daddy, because, to Granddaughters #3 and #5 Daddy is grandparent #2, and for awhile he would be safe ground.

Pocket did everything she could to get #3 and #5 attention, but after they assaulted Grammy with the high blood sugar, they moved over to the Barbies. I don't have much use for the Barbies, and neither does Pocket really, but she has a secret shoe fetish, and Barbie boots often become Pocket play things, usually found between her teeth, and, when #3 and #5 discovered it, they did not take things well at all, yelling and screaming up a storm.

This scared Pocket off and she joined me on top of Daddy. Of course, with Barbie's unable to properly strut down the runway #3 and #5 found a new play thing, Daddy and his two stuffed Yorkies. But Daddy saved us and allowed us to slip back over to Mommy by doing what he does best, acting like a complete ass and entertaining the small minds of #3 and #5.

Then #5 found Pocket's green ball, and she tried to throw it, but she throws like a Browns quarterback. Pocket, who would chase the green ball into a burning building, took off after the ball, which dropped behind #5, causing her even more confusion. A confused Pocket is a barking Pocket, and then she starts being told to be quiet, and like any politician she hates being told to be quiet, and she argues, and I further sneak behind Mommy in the recliner.

Finally it was time to leave and #3 and #5 gave us kisses. #3 is a pretty good kisser but #5 puts her whole little mouth on us and just drools. It isn't much, but it is love. Then they are all gathered in their car seats and leave and Pocket and I curl up next to one another shaking and reviewing all the horrors we had just seen.

On Thanksgiving Mommy and Daddy are going to Daughter #2 house. Pocket and I can't go because daughter #2 is not much of a dog person. As much as they make me nervous I am going to miss playing with #3 and #5 tomorrow, and most of all #1 who I don't get to see as much as I like.

So Pocket and I will be sleeping most of the afternoon, maybe coming to see some of you in our dreams. You all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, and you humans, if you feel little Yorkie paws at your feet, it's just Pocket and I having popped out of your computer in search of a little turkey.

Have a merry and a bright

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Shadow is Pup of the Week for November 22, 2009

First, some business to take care of: There have been some Internet problems on all sites lately, I know those who use Facebook are having a terrible times with gifts and other applications. I know many of you have experienced problems here on Tanner Brigade and we are doing what we can. If your blog posts twice, you can delete one of the posts without deleting the others. I deleted some double posts last night, but left the ones that had been modified, like Hobo’s blog where a photo was added, or duplicate blogs that each had a comment. Foley is going into cyberspace for a mass meeting of social network groups to figure out a solution. If she pops out of your computer please put a stamp on her forehead and send her to us.

Now, for this week’s Pup of the Week: This is one of our sweetest little dogs. He knows how to take care of his Mom. When Mom had a bad back, this pup knows the best medicine: to sit with her and give her sweet loving.

Despite giving his Mom round the clock care, this dog has been able, not only to keep us posted on her health, but to take time to thank those of us who wished her well. Such thoughtfulness at times of personal sorrow is the sign of a special dog for sure.

Finally,this poor pup has been disrespected by Doggyspace, as so many of us have, and, this pup has come to realize that the place where happy pups come to play is here. So, while those on DS may not realize how wonderful he is, here he is our pup of the week.

For taking good care of his Mom, for taking time out for us, and for being one of the most special dogs we know, Shadow is out pup of the week.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

An excerpt from Pocket's new autobiography "Going Rougff"

This is an excerpt from Pocket’s soon to be released best selling book “Going Rougff.”

When I announced my candidacy for the Senate people who were tired of “the same old political games” came to visit me to help with my candidacy. First they began to shuffle through my outwear. I was told my buffs, bandanas and jackets were not stylish enough (even my Tanner Brigade bandanna) for a candidate to wear. They wanted to go to a stuffy English dog store and buy me expensive, designer clothes.

I called Hattie Mae and she told me that my clothing was beautiful, and to snarl at, and bite them. But I can’t snarl and bite anyone, so Foley did it.

Then they sent in another consultant who recommended a tail extension, contact lenses to make my eyes blue, and a weave to wear so, instead of going out in public sporting my usual puppy cut, I would go out in a show cut with all my “hair” sweeping the floor. I talked with my groomer, Jen, from Groomingdales in Lakeville MA, and she said these extensions could ruin my already perfect hair. I had to tell the consultants I would not heed their wishes, and they stormed out of the house to meet with a Shar-Pei in Chelsea.

And then, get this, they had this man come in and say that they had done research and that I had a high approval rating with men because they liked my tail. They liked the way it swayed back and forth while I walked. What a bunch of sickos.

Then it came time to take my picture for some publications, and the photographers kept asking me to turn and I realized they were trying to capture the curve of my tail. I am a serious political candidate, not some sex symbol, and I stormed out of session asking Foley to have the room cleared. When I returned they were taking pictures of the curve in Foley’s tail. Old age makes you do some odd things.
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So my backers were furious with me, and it was that point that I decided to go rougff. I would, win or lose, do things my way.

Next excerpt: Pocket’s Katie Couric interview.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Josie is our November 15, 2009 pup of the week

Well this was a tough week to pick our Pup of the Week. Pocket and I spent most of the day discussing the candidates.

We are very worried about our friends Pepsi and Ladybug. We are praying they are going to be fine. Also our hearts are breaking for Roland and Savannah who lost their beloved kitty Oreo.

Pocket kept coming back to one of her favorite candidate, a Yorkie with a bad tummy who is running for Senator. I had to keep saying “Pocket that’s you.” She kept saying “Who is you?” I said “I’m Foley,” and then we’d go around again in a big mess like the Cowboys offense.

But we finally settled on a pup for several reasons. (1) Her Mom did a wonderful thing; (2) while she may not have realized what a wonderful gift she has received I’m sure she will soon; (3) We chose the older of the two pups because she has had lots of change in her life recently.

So, our pup of the week is Josie the Grouch. (This also dovetails nicely with the 40th anniversary of Sesame Street.)



First, kudos to her Mom: While in her local police station she saw a poor, unloved, starving pup, and brought it home, to give her love, and a life. Now Josie and her brother Koda did not react well when this pup, beautifully named Bella, was introduced to them, but there are many reasons humans don’t understand that trigger this behavior.

Dogs carry so many smells, of other dogs, of fear, of pain, that sometimes when we’re introduced to that smell we react poorly. I am sure the more Josie is around Bella, and the cleaner and more pleasant smelling she becomes, she will fully welcome her as a sibling, and teach Koda to do the same.

And, as an added inducement, may I say that Pocket and I have awarded the second Pup of the Week to Josie, and if she doesn’t accept Bella as a sibling, we could end up looking really bad. So, if you can, think of your two sexy little Yorkie friends and remember our sterling reputations.

But I know you won’t have to do that. You may be grouchy, but you are a beautiful and smart dog, and you are our Pup of the Week.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Pocket Update: Bland rice diet and firming up the Vick

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my wonderful friends who have sent me the warmest get-well wishes over the last week. Each one has made me feel a little bit better.

I am still on my bland mostly rice diet, and I do not like it at all, but Mommy gets so concerned when I don’t eat that I scoff it down. Plus it is supposed to firm up my Vicks. Daddy says rice is the main staple of many culture. I seriously doubt that’s true. I checked Wikipedia and no country has a gross national product of excellent poo.

I so miss regular food. Friday night I was in position on the couch, and began to bark when the pizza guy arrived, but, when Daddy went outside, the pizza guy told Daddy it was the wrong order and had to go back to the pizza store. Then I had to get back on the couch and stare out the window, do the barking thing all over again, and I did not even get a taste! Man! You telling me they couldn’t order rice pizza?

I haven’t had the rumbly tumblies since I began eating the rice. I don’t like the rumbly tumblies at all. When I get them, I curl into a little ball, and don’t want to be touched, which makes Mommy and Daddy want to touch me. I just want to tell me to leave them alone. Then I start leaking. It’s just so embarrassing, and it takes a lot to make me embarrassed.

I have also been forced fed this ugly pink stuff called pupto barkmo. Mommy cradles me like a baby, which I love, but then puts this tubey thing in my mouth and squirts the barkmo into me and I hate it! But I kind of like licking it off my fur afterwards.

I am hoping to get back on normal food soon. I think my vicks have been better. I wanted to take pictures of them and put them on line but Foley said no. She’s less fun every day.

I will keep you posted on my health but I think I’m getting better and should be back making my public appearances for my Senate campaign soon. I think I can stay in the race with the wonderful help of all my friends. I hope to see you at my events.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Pocket's Stomach Illness May Cause Her To Withdraw From Senate Race

AP (Affenpinscher Press) TAUNTON MA: Massachusetts Senatorial candidate Pocket Gay may have to abandon her independent candidacy after a bout of stomach unrest has made her and her family question if the stress of the campaign is too much for her delicate intestinal system.

Pocket first become stricken on Sunday night after spending a typical Sabbath of chasing balls, eating bacon, laying on laps, and strategizing with her campaign manager Foley Monster. Ms. Monster said that they were all enjoying a meal of hamburgers and soup when Pocket left Liquid Vick on the rug behind her Mommy’s chair. It was at that time that Mommy put her on a chicken and rice diet.

Steve Pagliuca, Democratic candidate for Senator, and managing partner of the Boston Celtics, questioned exactly why a candidate for a major office would live with, and take direction from, someone called Mommy insinuating that Pocket was not experienced enough to gain the seat. Ms Monster countered that Pagliuca signed Stephon Marbury, who subsequently produced Internet videos of himself eating Vaseline, to be back up point guard, contributing to the Celtics early exit from last year’s NBA playoffs, and insinuating that Paglicua did not have the acumen to be a successful candidate. Pagliuca could not be reached for a retort because he was curled under his bed crying for his Mommy.

By Monday morning Pocket insisted she was over her unrest and hit the campaign trail hard, going from one end of the flexi leash all the way to the other. She continued on this vigorous pace Tuesday, and had resumed her normal diet, but by Wednesday morning the Liquid Vicks had returned.

But despite her internal distress Pocket insisted on going to an assisted living center in Norton MA to put a smile on all the faces of the Seniors who had gathered there, and in turn they promised their vote. Democratic candidate Martha Coakley was unimpressed with Pocket’s Senior Center endorsement saying she doubted if any of the Seniors could either understand the ballot or had the strength to push the little pin through the card.

Her busy day got the best of Candidate Pocket last night as the Liquid Vicks returned, and then this morning she would not take food. Her Daddy lives by one rule, if a dog is eating, a dog is fine, if a dog is not eating, its time to panic, which Daddy does so well. He made Mommy call the vet and even came home at lunchtime, where he took Pocket out, and she formed a slightly better Vick, ate some food and even played ball for a short bit.

Candidate Michael Capuano tried to take advantage of Pocket’s illness bringing into question who this Daddy character was and insinuating that he was the elusive Big Papa who is involved with the wicked weave wearing Kim on Real Housewives of Atlanta. But Pocket’s Mommy scoffed at Capuano’s suggestion saying that no one would ever describe Pocket’s Daddy as “big.”

Republican candidate for Senate Jeff Beatty also weighed in on the subject, but this being Massachusetts, and he being a Republican, no one is interested and no one cares.

Pocket is going to be falling the three R’s for the next several days: Rest, relaxation, and rice. She will then discuss with her family her political future. Since in recent polls Pocket has emerged as the front runner in the race all the candidates are waiting for this important decision.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Our Visit with Auntie Bev

Guess what Pocket and I did today? We went to the assisted living center to visit Auntie Bev!

We haven’t seen her since she had her stroke and went to live in the nursing home. We knew she was sick and each night when we said our prayers at the foot of the bed we prayed for her to get better and guess what? She has gotten better.

She now has her own nice big room with a private bathroom. She has some pictures from home on her bureau, a nice painting her daughter did on her wall, some books, a TV, everything you could want. And she is very happy, of course she was even happier to see the two of us.

Daddy carried Pocket in while I went with Mommy. Daddy’s Daddy was there. It was nice to see him. Mommy doesn’t get along sometimes with Daddy’s parents. I don’t know why all I know is they’re wrong. But I wanted to thank him because he is a veteran and it is veteran’s day. He spent time in a prison in Italy. It was during the Korean War. He was a really bad solider and invaded the wrong country. No, I’m joking, about the Italian prison. He did serve in Korea. His Daddy served in World War I. In fact Daddy’s family has fought in every major war going back to the Civil War and the Revolutionary War. We are very proud of all of them, except no one could ask them their last name and they couldn’t tell.*

Pocket and I were so happy to see her. Auntie Bev’s eyesight isn’t very good anymore so she didn’t realize that Daddy was carrying a dog until Daddy held Pocket out to her and when Pocket began to squirm she let out a little shout of surprise because she didn’t realize Pocket was real. Sometimes it’s tough for us to accept too.

Pocket was a bit of a bother all day. From the time we got leashed, through the car ride, and even with Auntie Bev Pocket kept whining. It sounded like Mariah Carey with her foot caught in a wood chipper. It gets very trying after awhile.

I, of course, was perfect. I did struggle with Mommy because I wanted to get down and mark the floor because that is what I do whenever I go to a new place but Mommy wouldn’t let me. It’s an assisted living home. I’m sure they are used to cleaning up things like that.

So I sat on Mommy’s lap and did a lot of panting, with my tongue out of my mouth and curled upwards. I was panting harder than Rush Limbaugh after trying to tie his shoes. But I know I delighted Aunt Bev by going to see her. She stroked me and scratched me while I smiled my widest smile. I think she was happy to see Pocket too, but that’s what happens when you get older, you mistake annoyance for cuteness.

We began to talk about one of my favorite subjects: squirrels. There was one on my deck this morning, just sitting there chewing his nut and looking at me and I barked and squeaked but it just sat there until Daddy turned the door knob and scared it off so I was eager to hear a good squirrel story.

Uncle Bob was a master engineer, and he wanted to keep the squirrels away from his feeder, so he created a small electrical charge that would be activated if something tried to cross the wire leading to the feeder. When he got up the next morning he found a little pile of squirrel genocide. After that Uncle Bob left the squirrels alone.

Much too soon we had to leave, and on the way out we went to the dining room where she eats and we got fussed over and scratched by some of the other guests. I know I will be going back soon but Pocket could not get herself settled and a couple of times let out noises of stubbornness that put the nursing staff on high alert so if Pocket goes back Mommy and Daddy said they would have to try and exhaust her first.

I want to thank all my Tanner Brigade friends and Mommy’s Facebook friends who have taken such a interest in Auntie Bev’s well being. We will keep you posted on how she is doing. Thank you so much for caring.

Auntie Bev still owns her house so Pocket and I are going to break in there tomorrow. When we find Uncle Bob’s design for the electrical squirrel charger we will post it online and then we can get moving towards ridding the world of those pesky critters forever!

And the next time I see her I will give Auntie Bev a lick for you.

*My Mommy’s and Daddy’s last name is Gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Nase is out Tanner Brigade Pup of the Week for November 8

Pocket and I have decided that it would be really cool if each week we awarded one of our dogs the title “Pup of the Week.”

We are going to be looking for a pup who did something special that week, or had something bad happen to them, illness or accident, and either the pup or their family need a little pick me up.

There isn’t going to be any set rules about what you can do to win, and can’t do, to win. Pocket and I are going to go through the blogs and comments during the week and pick a winner. We will try to spread the wealth a little, we don’t want the same dog winning six times a year, unless they’re a very special dog, but we can’t promise everyone will win either. As always we will do our Yorkie best.

Unfortunately there is no prize for being Pup of the Week except the love and respect of your fellow dogs, and the recognition of your achievements, which, I am sure, is prize enough for our friends.

So for this week, the inaugural winner of the Tanner Brigade Pup of the Week for the week of November 8, 2009 is…….Nase.

For the wonderful work he has shown in obedience school, for at five months learning how to sit, stay and come, for doing it the best of anyone in his class, and for implementing that knowledge by coming when his Mom called him even though he was far away and it was dark, Nase is our Pup of the Week.

To go from nothing but a Blob to the valedictorian of five month old obedience school is an achievement well worth celebrating, so congratulations to Nase.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Beauties and the Geeks

For the past two weeks the laptop I use to run the Brigade and do my blogs has been acting erratically because of a frayed power cord. I sent Mommy and Daddy to Best Buy two weeks ago. I had purchased the protection plan with the computer so all I needed them to do was get a new cord.

Well, sometimes I think I need to talk to Hobo about hiring some cats because they didn’t come home with a cord, they came home with a slip, saying they would send a cord in five to ten business days. I didn’t get angry. It was my fault. You can’t send a human to do a dog’s job.

On Thursday my laptop just stopped working, but Daddy said it would be fine, that the new cord had come in. I ripped open the box, pulled out the cord, and it was the wrong one!

I dropped the improper cord at his feet, and stormed into the fuzzy condo where I spent half the night. On Friday Daddy dressed me in a business suit and took me to work with him, saying I was an exchange student from Guam, and allowed me to sit on his lap and get some work done but wouldn’t work every day.

So today the Monster Brigade invaded Best Buy to make some Geeks squirm.

When we entered the store the door Geek stopped us with his totally racist opinion that dogs cannot enter Best Buy. My Mom was carrying me so I stood in her palm and told the Geek to turn around and look at his clientele: Two glasses wearing, white shirt sporting, teenagers play Doom II on the Play Station model; a fat guy watching the Notre Dame game on the wide screen while his wife slipper shopped at Macy’s; two small chested, thong exhibiting, tramp stamped, pimply, high school girls who struck out with the boys at The Limited and were slumming for Geeks; and two Haitians arguing with a Geek about a steam cleaner. The Geek allowed us access.

My Mommy said that she would handle this. Of course if she had been able to handle this from jump street Pocket and I wouldn’t have to be here. She explained to the Geek that they got the wrong cord, and the Geek told her that there had been an adapter in the box, that we must have thrown it away, and they would order us a new one.

“Will we have to wait two weeks to get it?” she asked.

“No only five to ten business days,” the Geek said.

I stood on the counter and glared at him with my brown eyes. “Hey Stephen Hawking!” I said. “Ten working days is two weeks. What’s the square root of Duh?”

The Geek told Mommy there was nothing he could do and she asked to talk to a manager. When the Geek left to get the Geek in Chief I nodded to Pocket and we each jumped down. Pocket ran to the video games section and I heard a Geek yell: “Oh, this dog just went pee next to the Wii!” Meanwhile, I began to hump the Season Three Box Set of “The Office,” (I would not hump Season Two, it’s not hump worthy); Pocket moved over to the digital camera section, leaving more water, and causing the high school audio visual teacher to have a slip and fall accident while I chased a Geek with Yorkieaphobia through the cell phone area.

The Chief Geek came running towards Mommy and Daddy, his pocket protector bouncing like Pam Anderson’s chest used to bounce on Baywatch, and he asked Mommy what was going on and Mommy said that this would continue until she got her cord. “I’ll do it, just tell that dog to stop peeing!” he said.

I had returned, looked at Pocket, and said, “That is not her peeing position,” and then the Geeks ran out of the store like the High School football team had just arrived.

Suddenly, they had a cord, and an adaptor, and let us keep the cord they sent us too, then ushered us happy group of Monsters out the store before we could cause any more damage.

So I am back, up and running, as you can see and read, ready to manage and blog. Meanwhile, if you go to our local Best Buy, beware of trembling geeks, and don’t step there, there, or most importantly, there.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

A Blake Bear Tale About The Kitty With The Plastic Poo Tail

When I was a pup and first came to live with Mommy and Daddy there was already a dog here, the much beloved Blake Bear. Blake was a Shih Tzu who could have been Gracie’s Mom. Every time I see that pretty baby she reminds me so much of Sister Blake.

She taught me so much. Everything I know about being a dog I learned from Blakesie. She only stayed with Mommy and Daddy a little over five years, a much too short time, but there were mountains of stories she accumulated over that time, and, with no puppy sites to blog them on, she just barked them down to me.

This is one of my favorites:

You may not believe this, but the first pet that Mommy and Daddy had was a Siamese cat named Gizmo. Now don’t think too poorly of them. They were young and in love and susceptible to making grievous errors, thankfully none of them involved breeding.

Gizmo was a good kitty, but as he got older, he got meaner. He would hide behind furniture and jump out clawing at anyone who had the poor sense to pass by, attack naked ankles, hide in the linen closet and pounce out when the door opened, and snarl and hiss at everything that invaded his space.

And he had one fatal flaw that would eventually lead to his early exit to the bridge (and his parents longing to get Blake a playmate who would turn out to be…you guessed it, a Mini Monster.) Gizmo liked to eat plastic.

And not just sandwich bags. Gizmo once ate an entire trash bag. This didn’t buy him a ticket to the bridge, just to the vet where Mommy and Daddy left lots of money. It also made them hide the plastic, but Gizmo was good at opening drawers and ripping open boxes, in his thirst for plastic.

It is from here I will let Blake take over

“Gizmo used to Vick in this sandy box upstairs, which was great. It was like getting extra crispy chicken from the Colonel. Mommy and Daddy really tried hard to keep me away from it but I still found ways of sneaking in, like the morning I woke Daddy up early to pee, then snuck away from him while he was getting a treat, snacked on a little Gizmo Vick, then climbed back into bed with him and snuggled up, and a half hour later that Vick came back in the most disgusting thing you ever saw.

“Now this one morning, Mommy and Daddy and my human sister Kellie were all rushing about getting ready for their job when we heard a screech and then saw a blur, which was Gizmo tearing down the stairs with a long piece of trash bag attached to his butt. He had eaten a trash bag the night before, and had spent several minutes trying to push it out, but it had gotten stuck when she ran out of push, and now she was trying to out run it with little luck.

“Now for me, this was the greatest gift of all, a running kitty trailing a bright piece of plastic covered in poo. Mommy, Daddy, Kellie and I all looked at one another and shared the same thought. ‘Get that kitty.’ All four of us then took off after him. Mommy tried to coax him to her, but if you’ve ever been trailing two feet of plastic that you just pushed through your intestines you know, you have no interest in being coaxed; Kellie, who did not have much experience with kitties trailing two feet of poo covered plastic, was trying to grab hiscollar, but Gizmo had more moves than Adrian Peterson, without two feet of poo covered plastic coming out of his butt; Daddy tried to stomp on the plastic but kept missing; while I tried to grab it in my teeth, but it was flipping around like Eyeore’s tacked on tail on a blustery day.

“I must give credit to Gizmo, who kept darting, dashing, jumping and swirling while the four of us tripped over one another like a game of Twister if Twister involved a cat with a tail of plastic poo.

“Finally Daddy and I worked together. I ran beside him and nudged him towards Daddy and he stomped down his foot, and it landed on the plastic, and Gizmo kept running and another foot of plastic slipped right out of him as he let out a yell like Bernie Madoff spending his first night with the Aryans.

“Gizmo ran up stairs and the four of us stood around this truly magnificent piece of trash bag trying to decide who would pick it up when I decided on the obvious choice. Me! I got my mouth on it before Daddy ripped it out of my mouth and put it the trash, which was kind of silly because that’s how all this began in the first place.

“Then Mommy and Daddy went upstairs with the kitty travel bag and I heard an ferocious fight as Gizmo clawed and hissed and spit and bit until they corralled him in the bag and took him to the vet who gave them a wonderful piece of advice: Stop letting him eat plastic.

”Well they were never able to stop him. He started figuring out how to get in the closed trash bin, and then snuck down to Chad’s room and ate another bag, which did him in. It was sad, but really, the cat was mean, plastic eating mean. And anyway, when he went to the bridge to eat the plastic trees, I got to meet my bestest friend, Foley Monster.

And I got to meet my best friend too, Blake, even if I didn’t get to know her for long, so all my friends at the bridge, keep you eyes and ears open for Blake and give her a big kiss, and for the kitty trailing the long plastic stand covered in poo.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Who laid the Vick?

Foley: Well, as our loyal followers know, I have free run of our bedroom while Pocket is confined to her crate during the day. Well today Pocket took this big Vick right in front of the TV in the bedroom and let me tell you, it smelled very nasty and I was disgusted.

Pocket: Excuse me. If you know our history, and read the above paragraph you’ll know that I was, and usually am, in the crate when Mommy is away, so I could not possibly have left the unidentified Vick in the house.

Mom: I got home from a miserable day at work where I didn’t even get a lunch break and I walk in the front door and said “Oh Mama” then hurried up the stairs to see what Pocket had done in her crate.

Pocket: Really? That’s what your first thought was? What Pocket had done in her crate? Really.

Mom: I opened the door and sweet fancy Moses there was the Vick lying on the floor and I looked down at my precious Monster and said “Foley, what did you do?”

Foley: I looked up with my deep brown eyes, pointed at Pocket and said “Jah accuse!

Pocket: I’m not sure what Foley said because I was saying “Oh my God, you’re home, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, I think I peed a little, let me out, let me out, let me out.”

Mom: I told Foley it was impossible for Pocket to Vick on the floor when she was locked in the crate.

Foley: Oh, I told my Mommy, Oh, that Pocket, she’s a magician, a real Einstein, as soon as you leave she’s using those little paws to open that crate door and then she’s all over the place, on the bed, pooping here, pooping there, I follow her around with the steam cleaner, then, just before you get home, she hops back in the crate. Today I followed her around so much I fell asleep and woke up and there was the Vick.

Mom: I told Foley I needed to get something to clean the Vick.

Pocket: I’m not sure what happened next. I think I blacked out. All I now is Mommy left and I was still in the crate and I was barking “Hey, I’m still here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

Foley: I went out to the crate, looked Pocket in her glazed brown eyes, and said: “Look here, see, this is how it’s gonna go, you’re gonna take the heat on the poop you understand, or it’s gonna be big trouble for you understand, big trouble!”

Pocket: “Hey, hey, hey, I’m here, here, hey, hey, hey, hey I’m here.”

Mom: I came back in the room and let Pocket out and she jumped into my arms. I brought them downstairs and took them outside and told Foley we would not talk about this until her Daddy got home.

Foley: Ah hah! No problem. I got that slope nosed in my back pock….uh, back…pack.

Dad: I got home and Marsha told me that Foley had laid a big Vick by the bedroom television.

Foley: I said “Honest to god she’s been drinking all day.”

Pocket: I was jumping up and down at his feet saying “You’re home, you’re home, you’re home, throw the ball, throw the ball, throw the ball, I think I peed a little, throw the ball, throw the ball, yup that’s pee, throw the ball, throw the ball, throw the ball.”

Dad: I told Foley she should have gone in the morning when I was walking her but she was too busy sniffing the leaves.

Foley: It’s the whole standard time/day light savings time thing, it throws off my whole schedule.

Mom: I told Ted that Foley tried to blame the whole thing on her little sister.

Pocket: I told Daddy and Mommy that I didn’t Vick on the floor and they could trust me because I’m a politician.

Mom and Dad: Hmmmmmm.

Foley: I might beat this yet.

Pocket: Oh for the love of god throw the ball!