Category: Dogs

Happy birthday, Mary

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 19 Comments

My mom-in-law, Mary Pigeon, turns (mumblemumble) today, and the kinfolk are throwing her a birthday bash in Sin City.

I was unable to attend, Nov. 5 being the day I always wash my scalp, so I thought I’d slap together this little video by way of atonement.

Happy birthday, Mary — and many more.

P.S.: Whadja get me for your birthday?

A tomb with a view

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
True, it's only a dusting, but still, it's a hint of bigger things to come.
True, it’s only a dusting, but still, it’s a hint of bigger things to come.

There was a thin coat of snow on the Tomb of Chairman Meow when I arose this morning. I blame Obama.

It’s a bit early for this sort of thing, frankly. For starters, the leaves are still on the trees. And a casual check of the Innertoobz indicates that the first snow in these parts generally holds off until a week before Halloween.

Naturally, Herself is out of town on business, so I had to make my own coffee, police up the litter box, and dab the dew from Mister Boo’s delicate little feetsies after his morning constitutional. Oh, the humanity.

The weatherperson says we’re supposed to be back up into the 50s and 60s over the next few days. But what has s/he done for me lately?

How long can you tread water?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments

It’s been a while since I last cracked my Bible, but I seem to recall the Big Fella promising He wouldn’t destroy the Earth by water again. Got the impression it was sort of a “been there, done that” kind of deal.

Well, He may not be destroying the entire joint this time around, but He’s certainly lowering the property values hereabouts. Boulder now has a moat, and I just saw Noah go arking by the DogHaus with an AR-15 slung over one shoulder. Said he was taking two of everything except homos and Democrats, then added with a genial chuckle, “But I repeat myself.”

Herself just stepped into the deluge to walk Mister Boo, who refuses to shit indoors like everyone else around here. I declined to enable this charade, citing the potential for rust on the steel plate, cranial leakage and the shorting out of wires crucial to the composition of lame gags for fun and profit.

Then I scuttled downstairs to shit in a box. I figure that if the cats and I do it often enough, Mister Boo will eventually get the idea.