Category: Cats
Season’s growlings
Preparations for the annual holiday feast have begun at Chez Dog. Herself’s gift, a Canon Vixia HF M41 camcorder, is charging on the kitchen table (she aced a video-production class this fall) as she assembles a raspberry cobbler.
Next up is a cornbread-stuffing recipe we’ve never tried before — the cornbread itself is already done, and top-notch it is, too — followed by an appetizer of toasted baguettes topped with a rich spread of prosciutto, butter, Parmigiano-Reggiano and pine nuts (also a newcomer); mashed spuds; sauteéd spinach with mushrooms; giblet gravy, cranberry relish; and last but not least, roast turkey.
I usually do something offbeat for Christmas, like a Northern New Mexican feast or a chicken cacciatore, but this year I decided we needed the comfort food. The leftovers are the best part of a traditional turkey dinner — turkey sandwiches, turkey enchiladas, turkey soup, and whatnot. You cook like a mad bastard for one day and reheat leftovers for three days. What’s not to like?
Meanwhile, the traditional Humiliation of the Animals has been accomplished. The furry swine failed to get me a MacBook Air or an iPhone 4, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let that pass without retribution. You can order that stuff online, f’chrissakes. No messy human interaction or trips to the mall required:
“Hello, how may I help you?
“Meow.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Meow!”
“Come again?”
“Meeeowwwwwwrrrr. ... Oh, fuck it, Buddy, you try.”
“Woof?”
That was absurd, let’s eat dead bird
The mighty river of VeloNews finally slowed to a trickle today. I fired off an invoice to Corporate and slipped out for a short ride.
Several impatient motorists seemed in dire need of a brisk hosing down with a fire extinguisher full of tryptophan on this day before Thanksgiving. I tallied exactly 349,392 moving violations intended to kill me before abandoning the count.
Plenty of static violations, too, my favorite being the bulbous land yacht parked smack dab in the middle of the bike lane, right under the “No Parking In Bike Lane” sign. This appalling lack of reading comprehension is not encouraging to those of us who earn our meager livings from wielding the English language.
Oh, well. At least I got my big ass out in the late-November sunshine (this is not strictly accurate, of course; it was wearing bib shorts). Herself and I took the critters out for an airing, too. Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein, Miss Mia Sopaipilla and Banzai Buddy the Japanese Wonder Chin all scored themselves a little free vitamin D, which can be hard to come by this time of year.
That’s a little something to be thankful for in trying times when we 99 percenters hear the distant ring of carving knives clashing rhythmically against sharpening steels and wonder if we’re what’s for dinner.
And if that doesn’t get your drumstick throbbing, raise a glass to longtime Friend of the DogS(h)ite Boz, who notes in comments that he’s back to working for The Man.
From our family to yours, happy Thanksgiving.
It’s nobody’s business but the Turk’s
Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein is always critical of my weather-management skills on that first really cold, damp day of fall.
Denied access to the great outdoors, he stalks around the house making pointed observations and issuing orders. There is no food in this dish! I will have a drink in the sink! Scratch my ears at once! (And don’t be surprised if I scratch something of yours in return.)
Finally, he naps fitfully on my drawing board, trying to catch whatever feeble rays of sunshine filter through the clouds. Truly, a winter of discontent.
Our house is a very very very fine house
Mad Blog Media 