Who Is The Master Now?

So, Hondo (my dog) had surgery to remove some skin tags; this left him with two stitched incisions, one on the hip, the other on his paw. The vet (and everyone I spoke to) said I should have him wear one of those cones that limits the dog’s movement. I caved to popular opinion.

I put the cone on him Wednesday morning. I cleared the chairs from the kitchen, moved his bed downstairs under the kitchen table and tried to get him to lay down. He wouldn’t. He tried to back away from the cone and walked right down a stairway, backwards. He kept bashing the cone into doorframes, my legs, kitchen cabinets, food dish, water dish, windows, etc. He was trembling and scared of it, and I felt like a jerk when I had to leave for work.

I got home last night, Hondo was downstairs under a big oak table; all I could see was his eyes. When I called him he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at me, coneless. I still have not found it.

He has not fussed with his stitches.

Total Combat Awareness

Just got back from riding my bike around the Lake. Many dead bugs lay caked in my eyes, as I was riding at dusk. Note: get goggles. And now, a report on this last weekend!

Friday night: Thaa Rev and Broken Little Person Sitting On A Tree Limb were watching the second season of ‘Lost’ on Big Plasma II. From the kitchen I heard, WHACK, then glass tinkling. The three of us sprang up and rushed out the door. As we stood on the stoop, I looked back and saw a small hole in the front window of my house, the kind of hole a small caliber bullet would make. I exclaimed, ‘Excuse me gents, I say, I believe we’re under attack!’ or something like that. To their credit, both comrades did a smart about face and headed right back into the house. They did not stay on the well-lit stoop while live rounds cracked about our heads exclaiming, ‘I say! Bullets? Well, what do you mean? Do you think we’re actually being shot at? Do we have enough information to act? I mean, what if they’re not bullets at all? Eh?’

We turned the lights in the house off, called the cops and kept a keen watch on the now sinister (but formerly really pleasant) street that I live on. A closer inspection determined that the window was not hit by a bullet, but probably was hit by a pellet gun. The first pane of double-pane glass was penetrated, but not the second. The cops showed up, the hound barked and barked, and no culprit has been found. There is no justice; there is just us.

So, now I wait. If no further acts like Friday occur, I’ll assume some goofball kid with a pellet gun is to blame. If my house gets shot at again, I'm attacked by masked men, or a horse head ends up in my bed, I’ll have to assume I have an enemy. Not much of an enemy… One too cowardly to show himself and too ridiculous to use a real weapon, like a chainsaw or trebuchet. Why can’t I have a nemesis with some flare?

The remainder of the weekend was excellent! Saturday at the Great Dane I played pool with The Broski, Mrs. Broski, Ted, Rik, Deeeeeej, Thaa Rev, Bruno, The Dancing Giese and BLPSOATL. Then Sunday: rode the bike around Madison’s lakes, watched most of the Packer game, napped on the couch with the hound, then went back to the Dane for more pool (which was free because the waitress decreed it so) and beer and Dr. T’s birthday party. Much fun was had by all.