A Fond Farewell

My dear readers. It is with a heavy heart that I write this, but, alas, this could be my final post. I've been assassinated by a dog.

The guilty party.

Given my socioeconomic status, as well as my financial status, you may think I'm being melodramatic. However, keeping my celebrity status (as the creator of Fuzzy, Black Dogs, of course) in mind, I don't think so.

Regardless, as of this moment, I estimate that I have one hour and 20 minutes left to live. My teenager estimated two hours since the incident occurred.

Here's the incident in a nutshell. I was joking with my son and playing with Bob. I pretended I was going to lick Bob (pretend being the operative word here! Yuck!). Bob saw his opportunity and went for the kill and licked me. Two things touched that should never, ever come into contact with one another!

My son, who witnessed this transgression, did some quick math. He estimated I had approximately two hours to live. That was 11:45am, Eastern Standard Time.

Considering that Bob has eaten, literally, remote controls, oranges, canine excrement, trash, leashes, branches, bugs, lettuce, eggshells, dirty socks and other items unknown, my son and I are certain I'm a goner.

We spent a good 60 seconds pondering our mortality and fates. Then my son put a hand on my shoulder.

"You've been a great dad," he said, "but I've got things to do. So long, pop."

And off he went.

I should go now. I'm waiting for phone calls from J-Lo, Kimmy K. and Madonna, among others. They're sure to call to grieve with me.

Fuzzy Black Dogs on Ice

It seems that the newest fuzzy, black dog, otherwise known as Bob, hasn't noticed that the ground has changed colors. I put the three of them out the back door and into the yard to do their business. As I opened the door, Bob barreled out just like I'd expect a spaniel to do. Generally, the only thing he notices is when there is a gale force wind driving torrents of rain sideways. He doesn't care for that.

On the other hand, Ace and Lilly, were just a bit more reserved about the cold, ice-slushie bathroom break. Ace generally does what I ask him to do. Generally. He slowed down considerably on the deck and looked around before going down the steps to the yard. Lilly, however, stopped half-way out the door.

One paw touched the cold, slippery stuff and the almighty princess, as my son sometimes calls her, stopped dead in her tracks. Now she's standing in the doorway with two paws inside, one paw in the vile, inhospitable ice-slush and one paw held in the air. She held this position and looked up at me with an expression that could only be translated as follows: "You pulled me off the comfy sofa to do this to me?! Wait'll you see what I've got planned when you go to sleep..."

Meanwhile, Ace has learned a new trick. While Bob is out running around the yard like it's a fine spring day, Ace is sitting nearly out of sight at the bottom step, waiting. After a certain amount of time, he runs back up the steps and to the door like he's done his business. Then I have to walk out into the elements and point out into the yard telling him to "go." Sometimes I even have to walk to the bottom step and "catch" him sitting there, as if he thinks I don't know.

In the meantime, Bob, having done his business came barreling back up to the back door. While incredibly cute, Bob is not the most intelligent or coordinated dog of the bunch. He hit the top step at top speed. He gave the appearance of trying to stop, but managed to slide completely across the deck and in through the back door. One down, two to go.

Lilly followed with her head and tail down, slowly and carefully placing each foot in the mess. She flashed an indignant look at me as she passed. Then came Ace, who had finally ventured out into the yard. I know I saw him do number one, but I didn't remember seeing number two.

As I finally made my way inside, I heard my son's voice just inside the door...

"Oooohhh...  Da poor doggies! He's so mean to da poor doggies! Forcing da poor innocent doggies to poop and pee out in da howwible howwible weather..."

Perhaps I can train him. Then I can stay toasty and warm inside while he takes them out in the howwible, howwible weather!