I Hope He Doesn't Try To Bury A Smart Car

I just got back from taking Chandler for his walk and I am lucky to still have an arm and a dog. It seems that he has picked up some very crazy behavior, and it might be my fault. When he was young, he would try to chase down bicycles, and skate boarders, then one day he tried to catch a school bus. I thought it was funny and kind of gave him a little extra leash. It seemed to amuse the kids on the bus, so the next morning I let him try to catch the bus again. Whatever the hell is going on in his mind when he does that is anybody's guess, but I'm sure he wouldn't know what to do with the bus if he did catch it. Unfortunately, he now wants to run down everything that passes us as we walk down the road.

This evening, As Chandler was pooping in his designated spot on the church lawn, a small car quietly rolled by. It was so silent that I didn't hear it until it was almost right next to us. Chandler, however, heard it. He immediately stopped his pooping, and tore off after the car, barking wildly, and in the process wrenching my arm almost out of the socket. Amazingly, he actually caught this one, and scared the hell out of me as he bounced off the door. Chandler is fine, and the car and it's driver have recovered, but damn, what am I going to do if too many of those new silent electric cars start showing up? I'll have to get Chandler a helmet.

Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts

Sometimes Mark cracks me up, that is when he's not making me fat or driving me crazy. Today he was trying to keep Chandler from gutting the new toy that he had bought for him. Mark just doesn't understand that it's in a dogs DNA to catch and gut small critters, and to Chandler the little yellow elephant that Mark brought home is just another critter. No matter how much Mark tries to stop it, it is just a matter of time before the living room is filled with puffy white stuffing, and the lifeless form of yet another kill. I think Chandler might even like his toys better after they have been disemboweled. He has a whole collection of carcasses that he has gutted over the last year, and they aren't just some kind of sick dog trophies. He likes to play with them. Never an evening goes by where he doesn't bring me a saliva soaked hunk of cloth with it's eyes torn out, for us to play fetch with. Maybe that's why the cats are so wary of him. After all, they aren't much bigger than those toys. Today's toy is actually a stuffed animal that Mark got out of one of those claw machines that they have in the bars. It is of relatively low quality, and I have given it a life expectancy of just an hour or so. Even when Mark has sprung for the big bucks and bought Chandler one of those toys that are 'made for dogs', he has managed to gut them within a day or two. The funniest part is when Mark scolds him for being the dog that he is. Chandler just gives him a quizzical look, then goes back to the task at hand. Ripping the head off his new toy. Sometimes I think that if Mark didn't occasionally give him food, Chandler would probably just look at Him as another critter. Albeit, a very large skinny one, but oh what a trophy carcass he would make.

 

He Really Is A Son Of A Bitch

My job, when Mark is cooking out on the grill, is to start the fire. It is the one thing I am really good at. ( Check out me and fire here http://tinleytime.blogspot.com/2008/05/fire.html ) Once the grill is going, I get to just sit back and watch television while Mark makes magic in the kitchen. For the last forty five minutes the aroma of grilled meat, and savory spices has filled the house. Every few minutes I hear the door open and shut as Mark shuttles back and forth between the grill outside and the side dishes cooking in the kitchen. Tonight we are having fajitas with black beans and rice, and the smells coming from the kitchen have the promise of another great meal by Mark. There is one final door closing, followed by what sounds like an angry screech-owl, and a dog running from the kitchen for his life. "It's gone, It's all gone, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!! He ate it all, that crazy dog ate it all!!!", squealed Mark at the top of his lungs. I sneak a peek around the corner, and see one small morsel of steak sitting on the counter where a whole flank steak should be. I am amazed that Chandler missed even that little bit.

It seems that Chandler has discovered that he can now reach the top of the kitchen counter, and that spells trouble for all of us. This has happened before with my previous dog, Molly. She only did it once, and after unleashing the wrath of Mark, she never even considered doing it another time. In addition to Mark's ear splitting screeches that only a dog can totally hear, I realize that I must imprint upon Chandler the gravity of eating daddy's dinner or there will be many more evenings of scouring the refrigerator for leftovers. After a good bawling out, Chandler gets to watch me eat what is left of my dinner through the bars of his prison/crate. "Mmmm, yummy black beans and rice.", I taunt him. "Oooh, such a tasty tortilla with beans.", as I pretend to be enjoying my dinner. But, I don't think it's working. Chandler is laying in his crate, calm as could be, with an entire flank steak digesting in his belly. It makes you wonder, who's training who?