Oh, Thursday Thirteen, you are cool.

THIRTEEN THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WACKY DOG

1. His name isn’t really Wacky Dog. But he’s in a sort of Witness Protection Program and I cannot give his real name.

2. I stole him.

3. Make that “I liberated him.” He was chained up, freaked out, no food, no water.

4. I meant to take him back.

5. Really. But then we fell in love.

6. He’s an 85-pound black Lab, who has weighed as much as 100 pounds. You should know that no one in our neighborhood, at any time, posted “Lost Dog” signs for him. And no ads ran in the paper. “Finders keepers!” Wacky Boy would say about all this.

7. He really likes to eat. When people ask if he’s full-blooded, we say, “Yeah, full-blooded Fat Lab.”

8. Oddly, he goes on hunger strikes and sometimes refuses to eat for two days or more.

9. This doesn’t seem to affect his weight. His vet’s evaluation: “Doesn’t look like he’s missing many meals.”

10. He’s on anti-anxiety medicine and thyroid medicine cuz he’s teched. Not touched, teched. He freaks out when left alone, eats the woodwork, eats books, eats magazines, chews down fences. Sort of goat-like behavior. He loses his frickin’ mind when fireworks go off. Or gunshots. Or bubble wrap. Or anything that sounds like bubble wrap or a gunshot. Or a door slamming loudly. He’s jumpy, in a large dog sort of way.

11. He is the most loyal, best dog in the world. When he chews through the fence when we leave him alone out back, he waits on the porch for us to come home. I will never be even half the person my dog thinks I am.

12. He loves swimming in the river and will chase a tennis ball all day long. Refuses to look at a Frisbee.

13. Bays like a bloodhound as soon as we walk in the door. Then we all sing together. We have, I dunno, 12 or 15 songs dedicated to our dog. A sampling: “Wacky potato chips/are the chippiest chips aroooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuund!” (I did not say they were good songs); “Wacky Dog/Wacky Dog/running through/the fog/Wacky Dog” (and a refrain) “Wacky Dog/whoa-oh-oh/Wacky Dog/whoa-oh-oh”; “I got my dog right here/his name is Paul Revere/and a man that says when the weather’s clear/can-do/can-do/the man said my dog can-do”; “Where is Wacky Dog/where is Wacky Dog? Aroooooooooooooooooo!” (That one he loves the most.)

(Images are clickable)

Absolutely no room for poor Wacky Dog (aka “The Selkie”) in van — things kept toppling on his head. He was happy, nonetheless.

Really tall stump.

Wacky Dog: “You have to chase the stick. Even if it means swimming three miles downstream. You must chase stick.”

Pretty, yes?

“C’MERE I’LL EAT YOU!”

He rilly rilly wants a nibble of a baby birdie. There are four, I counted. Mama keeps divebombing Wacky Naked Neighbor whenever she goes out into her driveway. (WNN is generally fully clothed at the time.)

(Click on image for larger view)

Did you wonder when I was going to post again? All of my bookmarks and shortcuts, including the one I use to post new entries, mysteriously were deleted from my computer. I Am Computer Genius and it took me three days to figure it out. Actually, I never figured it out, Wacky Dee saved my ass. Again. He is my Zoot.

So, how you doin’? I heard Joey and his wife split up. What the hell is wrong with these movie stars? Fucking be nice to your wives, OK? Tom Cruise. Brad Pitt (too late for you, I’m thinking. Maybe you’ll be nicer to Angelina?). Matt LeBlanc. Yes, I’m talking to you.

Also, on a separate note, Wacky Grandma and the kids built a Redneck Gingerbread House for Joy, Earl, Darnell and the crowd to move into, but the dog ate it. It looked like this, only better. She parked a tiny Matchbox truck in front, filled with bitty green plastic bags full of trash, and put a satellite dish, made out of a washer and a twist-tie, on the roof. Dammit, I wish I would have taken a picture when I was thinking of it.

See what you haven’t been missing? In-laws are here, must motor.

Our List:

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i swear, i cannot even freaking focus and thus will be unable to blog until the contractors leave. The only comfort I have is the photo gallery of Beauty Queen Rockstarmommy and her adorable tattooed family. Sigh. What a cool girl. I cannot post pictures of my own adorable family as I cannot figure out how to work my digital camera. Ha! You think I jest! I do not.

Rockstarmommy looks quite a bit like the Old Carly on “General Hospital” who just honestly is one of the prettiest girls in the universe, IMHO. (No, I don’t mean New Drag Queen Female Impersonator Carly, having a nervous breakdown and kinda freaking me out, and not Old Old Carly — Tamara Braun I mean. Oh, Tamara Braun, why did you blow GH?)

Yes, they’re still here, the contractors, along with the Honey Bucket they rode in on. They love it here. Well, we’re down to two of ’em now. (Contractors, not Honey Buckets.) There is only one here, most days. My kids, per usual, refuse to listen to me, but they’ll listen to the contractors. How pathetic is that?

“Get away from that window now. You’ll break it. Move back. Good job, little guy!” No I am not kidding. (Single-paned glass, adventuresome three-year-old.)

Also, I’m so confused that I cannot FUCKING REMEMBER WHERE I PARKED MY CAR. Ever. And the contractors have to point me in the right direction, for example…

“It’s in the driveway.”

Today I locked myself out of the house, and he tells me, “No, I left the side door open, you’re good!” But I was not good, cuz I’d locked it up after him. Also, the mailman has developed a bit of jealousy, as he saw me bringing the contractors lemonade one day and, “You never bring me lemonade! Not even when it’s hot as hell out here!”

Like, one husband wasn’t enough trouble for me? Now I’ve got, what, four or five? Between the mailman, Hockey God and assorted contractors?

Off to watch “Lost” in bed and fantasize about Sawyer… Would my kids listen to him? Yeah, probably. But I need not worry about that — we’d be on our own Fantasy Island, sans husband(s), sans kids, sans large neurotic dog who eats everything on the counter, including cubes of butter, every time I turn my back.

Ta-ta for now,

WM

I’m taking the kids to the library, then to the vet (to pick up meds for cats and dog, not for the kids, fyi), then to the outdoor pool to swim and splash.

Just in case ya’ll were wondering what the Wacky Family is up to today.

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So I hear that Mavis Staples — THE Mavis Staples, Pops Staples’ daughter, she of the lilting voice — will be at the Waterfront Blues Fest on Sunday night. So I’m thinking, great, we can take the kids and head down there. It’s only, what, 5 bucks and a couple of cans of food?

Then I remember, no, we have a STUPIDASS DOG who can’t be alone during fireworks, not even if we load him up on Pabst’s Blue Ribbon (vet’s orders. She is at a loss as to what to do with him, too)) and sedatives beforehand.

Why is my life so much harder than everyone else’s?

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“I loathe people who keep dogs. They are cowards who haven’t got the guts to bite people themselves.”
— August Strindberg

Yes, we have pinkeye again. The pets are not to blame for this one. Don’t read further if you’re eating…

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