Category: Bad news

No, that’s not the debt ceiling being raised

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
Afternoon rainbow
Just think, if we could find the pot of gold at the end of that rascal, we could solve our national debt "crisis" ... by imprisoning the House GOP caucus for treason.

Just a rainbow, courtesy of the afternoon monsoons, which have returned for a while. They sure do cool things down at night.

Meanwhile, in DeeCee, Weepy John Boehner is still leading from the rear, frantically trying to figure out which brand of tinfoil his Tea Bagger buddies want for their beanies. The gang at Talking Points Memo is on top of things as they happen, and for high-quality analysis and snark you can check with Steve Benen at Political Animal and Kevin Drum at Mother Jones.

Suffice it to say that the news is all bad. At least Kevin supplies cat-blogging on Fridays to lighten the mood.

Here in Dog Country we’ll engage in a bit of dog-blogging as a counterpoint. We’ve been crate-training Buddy and so far, so good. He’s (mostly) sleeping through the night and has had no more accidents in the crate since we pulled the bedding out of it. He’s getting at least one longish walk daily and plenty of backyard time. And today he even romped a bit with Herself, gamboling about the DogHaus like a happy pup and even barking a couple of times, just for the hell of it.

The Feline Caucus, of course, finds this incomprehensible. But so far they haven’t tried any nihilistic shenanigans, which goes to show you that pretty much any old four-legged furball is smarter than the average House Repuglicant.

Paulette Flohr, R.I.P.

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

We lost a friend and neighbor today.

Paulette Flohr was our neighborhood’s early warning system — after more than 20 years here she knew most everything about everybody, and if she had any doubts, she asked questions, point-blank, right up in your grill. She would have made an excellent reporter, but instead crunched numbers for a living, when she wasn’t busy inspecting the perimeter with her chocolate Lab, Bob.

She was a big ol’ gal, with a head of hair that just wouldn’t quit, and you could hear her laugh from blocks away.

But cancer doesn’t care how loudly you laugh, how many friends toasted you at your 60th birthday bash, or who will walk your dog when you’re gone.

Paulette leaves her husband, Steve, Bob the dog, and uncounted family members, friends and neighbors who will miss her beaming smile, booming laughter and progressive spirit.

Call of the wild

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ Leave a comment

Here’s something you don’t hear every day. I’m rolling the Vespa out of the garage to scoot over to the senior center, drop off our mayoral-runoff ballots, and our neighbor tells me her new dog ate her old bird.

And I ain’t talkin’ a bucket of finger-lickin’ from The Colonel, either — I’m talking a decorative item, a parakeet, which probably wishes it had never seen a long-haired dachshund. As if life isn’t already short enough.

Meanwhile, the smart money is on the wrong guy winning the mayoralty, surprise surprise. This is Bibleburg, after all, wherein reigns Nature, red in tooth and claw.