Category: Cats

Outfoxed

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
Fox in the chicken house
I can't look at a red fox without hearing, "Hey, dummy!"

The first fox of the season popped round this morning as I was prepping for a ride.

He (or she) had a refreshing drink at my front-lawn sprinkler, then wiped out a few chickens belonging to a neighbor before leading us all on a merry chase around the ’hood.

Little sucker was as shameless as a House Republican, but absolutely without fear (this is how you can tell the difference between a chicken-stealing varmint and a House Republican).

I briefly considered sending the obnoxious sumbitch to the Great Beyond with one of the quieter family firearms — something in a .22 long — but decided against it. He (or she) is just doing what comes natural, and I don’t have the State’s permission to bust a cap in his (or her) ass.

But Turkish, Mia and Buddy will be enjoying some strict supervision in the backyard henceforth, and I may invest in a bag of BBs for the old air pistol. A ping in the pooter may persuade this grinning rascal to seek sustenance elsewhere.

Season’s growlings

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments
Christmas 2011, Santa's elves
Capping off another terrific Christmas: from left, Bouncing Buddy Banzai the Spinning Japanese Chin; Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein, who clearly had too much eggnog last night; and Miss Mia Sopaipilla.

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

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
Mia and Turkish
Mia and Turkish watch as Buddy (not pictured) gets a grooming from Herself.

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

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
When in doubt, sleep
The Turk' cops some Zs and dreams of summertime.

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.