New Dog on the Blog

One hummingbird, one chipmunk, and one bunny was today's count. Always keeps a running tally of what we see. Don't know why. Just weird.

Except the squirrels. Never counts the squirrels. Perhaps he can't count that high. Whole lot of squirrels out there. They're evil. Evil squirrels. I bark at every one that I see. Every. Single. One. Hey, it's my job.

Roxy, the
Pomeranian

About five days ago, he counted 13 bunnies. Hey, he said, that's our PB as per our usual 2.5 mile jaunt. I wasn't sure if he was communicating or just stringing meaningless syllables together!

It's his job to walk me. I expect two walks every day -- a long morning and short evening walk. He fell down on the job yesterday. Refused the evening walk. Lazy bum said, it's raining. Whatever.

Talks nonstop to me during walks. When he's not counting bunnies, chipmunks, hawks, and hummingbirds. Talks about trucks. Talks about cars. Oh, hey, chipmunk number three! Talks about flowers. Talks about yards, distance, time, temperature.

Just don't get him started talking to neighbors! When he swipes or taps the thing on his arm, it's gonna be a long talk. Next time I have to wait like that, might give that exposed ankle a nip. No talk, just walk.

Tune most of it out. Listening for Good Job, Roxy, Good Girl, Roxy, and Proud of my Roxy Girl. He sometimes mentions treats. That usually gets my full attention.

Since he hasn't formally introduced me, I'm Roxy. The new fuzzy, blonde dog. The runner chick, he calls me. Ask me how much I hate that joke. Ask me.

Y'all might hear from me from time to time, when I can get a word in edgewise. 

Remember, always take time to smell the poo. 

Power Washer Ruins July 4th Fun

It started with the appearance of a most compact, simple device. And, yes, it has a name. It's called a power washer. Specifically, it's called a Greenworks Electric Pressure Washer. 

Actual photographic evidence
of the offending item.

I didn't purchase this pressure washer. If memory serves me correctly, this mechanical monstrosity came to me via my son. Having said that, it's possible that I did in fact purchase the pressure washer.

How does it work? I have no idea. What I do know is that it takes a small stream of water (from a garden hose, of course) and magically transforms it into a torrential, intense jet of water capable of stripping dirt and gunk from wood, bark from trees, paint from cars and fur from dogs and cats. The warning diagram on the paperwork shows a severed finger! Yikes!

I'm merely conjecturing. No dogs or cats have been harmed for the express purpose of this blogpost.

The warnings in the paperwork failed to mention other harmful side effects one may encounter by using this product. "This product may ruin vacations" was not listed as a danger.

I went to my parents quaint lake house for the Fourth of July. My plans included a few beers and a lot of fishing. My mother's plans, however, veered off in different direction.

"Why don't you bring your power washer," she suggested. She and my father thought it might be nice to clean up the boat dock "a little bit."

Like the good son I am, I pressure washed the dock. I was ready to settle into some beers and some serious fishing.

"You didn't do the steps," mom said.
"You didn't ask me to do the steps," I replied.
"The dock looks so good, it'd be a shame to not do the steps," she replied.
"Okay," I said. "The steps. Check. Then I'm relaxing and enjoying myself."

Approximately 3,200 steps, 4.5 miles of brick walkway, and 6,900 square feet of decking later, I finally managed to sit down with a beer in hand to relax and enjoy the Fourth.

I woke up some time later with an unopened beer in my hand.

"Hey hon," my wife said. "You get a good nap? You slept through the fireworks."