Tag Archives: dogs

BB #63: In the News

Time for another Friday News Dump! The good news is that these are about quite recent news articles that caught my eye. (The bad news is that I might dump some older ones on you if there’s room.)

Usually I present them, more-or-less, in order of their interest to me… and apparently to my readers, since the comments seem to always involve the first article. So this time I’m going to save the meatier one (in my eyes) for last hoping the others get some interest.

So the lineup is: Dog brains, static electricity, quantum DNA, and free will.

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Ow!

Stung! Ow!!

I’ve been dog-sitting my pal, Bentley, the last few days, and when we began our early morning walk today, she was checking out an interesting hole in the ground. She’s noticed it before, sniffed at it, and then moved on, so I assumed it was just a hole in the ground worthy of smelling.

But today, suddenly she reacted — pawing at the air in front of her. Because bees! Or rather, yellow-jacket wasps, which nest in holes in the ground. Small ones, but equipped with stingers nevertheless. I whipped my hat off and started trying to clear the air (there were only three or so that I saw, not a swarm), swatted one off her side, and then we high-tailed it across the street as fast as we could run.

As we walked away, I noticed that my left hand hurt: one of them got me!

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OU812!

You may remember my pal, Bentley, the APBT:

Tired Dog

All tuckered out after a three-mile walk!

Last week the little dickens ate three-quarters of a cotton dish towel, which freaked her mom (and me) out.

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Dog Gone Delightful!

I’ve been mostly off-line for the last two weeks, because I’ve been dog-sitting my friend’s American Pit Bull Terrier, Bentley, which has been so much fun that I’ve just let it consume me. I’ve never had a chance to get to know a Pit Bull, so about all I’ve done is hang out with Bentley!

It’s a lot like when the grandparents (grandpa, in this case) sit the kids while the parents go on a long vacation. The two-edged sword is that, while the parents know the kids are safe and secure, they also know they’re gonna get spoiled all to hell and gone.

Or in this case, dog-gone spoiled by a loving grandpa who is a sucker for that ‘starving dog’ look. (Those hungry brown eyes; who could say no?)

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Sam’s Song

Father’s Day, 1994
(It really was June 19!)

Back in 1994, when Samantha and I first began living with each other, during our long walks together, I composed this little bit of “doggerel” (to the obvious tune of)…

This little dog, she’s a pup.
She’s got big paws and a tail.
With an arf, arf, sniff, sniff,
chew a rawhide bone.
This little dog came running home.
This little pup, she’s a black lab.
She likes running in the park.
With an arf, arf, sniff, sniff,
chase a tennis ball.
This little dog came running home.
This little lab, her name’s Sam.
She’s getting bigger every day.
With an arf, arf, sniff, sniff,
run around the yard.
This little dog came running home.

(I got a new laptop, so I’ve been going through a lot of old data deciding what to archive and what to transfer to the new machine. Among all those files I found the little dog ditty I wrote 24 years ago. (And I still miss that dog! One of the best I’ve ever known!))

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BB #56: Sour Bubbles

BrainFireLooking back over the trail of sour bubbles, obvious themes emerge: Society, Politics, Media, The Interweb. Important topics that affect and reflect us. Topics I find filled with dire signs and portents, chill winds carrying a hint of smoke that makes my neck hairs stand up straight.

For example, Vin Scully is retiring. If that’s not a sign of the coming apocalypse, I don’t know what one is. Adding insult, my Minnesota Twins are having a bad season of truly biblical proportions.

So a strange sour silly summer…

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Pluto Surprises!

Recent careful analysis of the early images from Pluto have turned up results that are astonishing and yet, perhaps, not surprising:

Pluto dog

This explains a great deal…

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Dog Tales: Games

SamanthaLast time I gave you the final chapter in the Story of Samantha — the repose of her ashes. Two years ago, I gave you an early chapter, the Tale of the Perfect Day (in part, a tale of a tail). This time, somewhat like a (long-delayed) wake, I’m going to share some random memories from The Life of Sam.

Actually, she was Samantha II. The first Samantha was a puppy I shared with a roommate. That Sam died very young when she lost in an attempt to take down  a passing bus. My roommate, who’d left the gate open, was utterly devastated. We buried her beneath a stand of Joshua trees far out in the Mojave Desert.

The puppy, that is; not my roommate.

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Sam’s Final Walk

trail leavesThe autumn leaves that litter the trail crunch beneath my feet, and dozens of flying insects — grasshoppers I think — flee the oncoming giant tromping through their domain. The late morning sky is a lovely cerulean broken only by lonely scattered cloud wisps. The October air is crisp — like a chilled white wine — dry, bracing, invigorating. I am given a perfect fall day to accomplish my task.

The trees that surround me, mostly oak and linden, a few scattered elms, give way to pines. Now the trail is covered in long pine needles and pine cones. Large birds — falcons perhaps — watch my passing with avian alarm. A brave one flies directly overhead to get a closer look at the encroaching human.

I’m seeking the “Cathedral of Pines,” the place I’ve chosen for Sam’s final rest.

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Four Days of the Dog

Rosie

Rosie The Dog

I cried a bit after she was gone. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect to miss her at all, let alone so intensely. The place seems much emptier than it did four days ago. You wouldn’t think a long weekend would be enough to form such a strong bond.

But dogs are simpler than people and much more honest and open. You always know how a dog feels about you, and the dog is never two-faced or a hypocrite.  And I think Rosie brought me back to Samantha (I even called her “Sam” a couple of times).

Monday night I found myself wandering aimlessly around a place that seemed too empty.

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