http://www.dailypuppy.com/

In strictest terms, it doesn’t make sense for me to reject Monday so soundly, because, being in the not-gainfully-employed segment of society, one day is pretty much like the other. I don’t have to set my alarm clock early on Monday, or head for the salt mines, or go to the office ruled by the cranky bitch, or even get the kids off to school.

None of these facts is enough to fight off Monday Angst. 

Which is why I have trouble coming up with Monday blog posts. Not that I don’t have a crisis nearly every other day coming up with something scintillating, clever, witty, and life-changing to write about. (They are all like that, aren’t they?) Mondays are just uncommonly brutal. 

I got bored with the Monday repeats even sooner than I expected. So here’s the new deal. Mondays will be a random bunch of crap, depending upon what needs doing. What? Are you saying, “But that’s just about the same as every day here, Kathi?”

Shut up. I’m doing the best I can.

Big Red and Little Mack (Not Their Real Nicknames) are here for a few days, building a small lion-proof yard for the dogs’ nighttime ablutions. It was supposed to be a quick little project, but seems to be on its way to becoming Puppy Palace, in the great tradition of the Vegetable Palace.

Oh, that Big Red!

And now, the money shot of Little Mack. And by “money shot,” I mean you can pay me now, Toe.

There was always a surfeit of toys and gewgaws to admire, but what I most wanted to see was not under the tree. What I wanted to see was on a table beside a plate with a few scattered cookie crumbs and a drinking glass with milk residue. Right there beside the remains of the cookies and milk was the letter that Santa left for the boys. I remember the first time I saw it. I thought, “What a precious idea, for Santa to leave a thank-you note for the children.” I soon found that I had woefully underestimated Santa.

To be sure, the letter did open with thanks for the treats, but then Santa got right down to business. 

Dear Bongo and Bingo,
Thank you for the cookies. They were very tasty, and I also enjoyed the milk.
I notice that you have been a little better at obeying your mother this month, and I congratulate you on that. However, I have observed a few areas in which your behavior needs improvement, as follows:

1. You have failed to make your beds at least three days in every week. This is unacceptable, and I expect to see improvement very soon.
2. Your mother has had to ask you not once or twice, but several times each and every day, to do your homework. Your homework needs to be started as soon as you get home from school, before turning your attention to leisure activities. 
3. Your father has had a hard time waking you up for school in the mornings. Having to wake you up multiple times distresses him, and he is not getting any younger. Stress is very bad for him, and you know that he (and you) are genetically disposed to heart disease. I expect better performance in the waking up area.
4. You boys have been fighting with each other far too frequently. You each have only one brother, and if you don’t start getting along, you may have to be separated. Permanently. 
5. Feeding the dog. You told your mother that you would feed the dog and take him for walks, and you have failed to follow through on that. It would be a shame for the dog to die of starvation.

Your father may want to discuss a few more issues with you. Until next year, please remember to be good.

Yours truly,
Santa

We keep our distance.

On the wildlife front, the neighborhood mountain lion has been sighted again, so the dogs go on semi-lockdown after dark. I have the whole property surrounded with Niteguard lights, and I guess they work, because no mountain lion has killed us yet. The dang cougar has cut into my 2 a.m. hot tub sessions, though.

Also, tarantula season is still on. The migration is supposed to happen in September, but a few of them must have decided to stick around. The puppies found one the other day and before I could rescue it, they had gone all Of Mice and Men on it and loved it to death. 

Big Red (Not His Real Nickname) and Little Mac (I Made That Up, Too) stopped by the other day to chuck the puppies under the chin. Awwwwwwwwww. 

Not that they have anything to be mad about. 

Brooklyn loves the good life

Cheerio, Grande Dame

Rio, Enemy of Squirrels

Bonnie the Explorer

Barkley, King of the Mountain

What a day I had today! I did a few errands, including grocery shopping. Granted, that may not sound like much to you, but that’s only because you didn’t know that grocery shopping is like my second favorite thing in the world to do. Let me clarify that. If my first favorite thing in the world to do is, say, strip buck naked and sit on a hot wood stove, grocery shopping would definitely come in second to that.

I put off shopping for groceries as long as I possibly can, and I have developed many creative ways to do that. For example, I scrape the mold off a hunk of cheese for as long as I can, and when it’s nothing but mold left, I say, “How French” and eat it, mold and all. I found that you can Google a list of ingredients on hand, and you will be taken to recipe sites that tell you what wonderful things you can make with them. Sometimes that works pretty well, but let me spare you the trouble of searching for a recipe for “rock salt, ketchup, and moldy cheese.” The closest thing I could find required several baskets of fresh oysters. I don’t think I have any oysters.

The Oprah show yesterday featured “freegans,” who are people who, among other things, go dumpster diving for food that has been tossed out by restaurants and grocery stores. Aside from the fact that I’d rather eat my own moldy cheese, that tactic probably works better in the city. Out here at the end of Cascabel Road, there aren’t any dumpsters, and I think there is a strong possibility I might get shot at if I started digging through the neighbors’ trash cans. Well, Bjorn (Not His Real Name) and Maggie (Not Her Real Name Either) wouldn’t shoot me, because they kind of like me, and besides, they don’t waste things. If they throw something out, it is probably Genuine Garbage.

My last resort is to rely on my fat stores, with which I am rather generously endowed, if I do say so myself. I can easily go a day or two without food. I might get a little cranky, but that’s hardly a noticeable change from my usual nature. Oh! And I must point out here that ordinarily, I could solve all the grocery issues by a simple phone call to Rick with a plea to “pick up a few things” (two weeks worth of food) on his way home from the office. However, this week he has been the Other House while I’m at This House.

Eventually, though, the lack of supplies reaches Emergency Status. And by Emergency Status, I mean running low on Diet Coke. I haven’t yet found an acceptable substitute for Diet Coke. And if I were ever to run out of Diet Coke, I don’t think I could be held responsible for my actions. Of course, speculating about what might happen is just that, speculation, because up to now, I have not ever run out of Diet Coke. I have come close once or twice, but just like my friend John’s (That is His Real Name) late grandfather, I have a spare hidden here and there around the house, just in case. The only difference being that John’s late grandfather hid bourbon. We know that because when John inherited the house and started renovations, he found the bottles stashed under the house and in various nooks and crannies.

So I did the grocery shopping, and I’m comfortably set for the time being, and the dogs have fresh stores of hot dogs and buns. Is it being a bad dog mother to feed them hot dogs and buns? I cook for them a lot, but Bronco only likes most things for a day or two before he rejects them. So far the hot dogs and buns are a hit two or three days in a row. Bonnie, who doesn’t suffer from any form of anorexia, is beginning to resemble an ottoman.

So what does any of this have to do with Oprah and the Huge Ass Beer Man? Other than the freegan thing, nothing. I just wanted to show you these photos, which illustrate the two faces of, well, me.

Hi. Brooklyn here. I have been looking at the internet and it seems like it isn’t that hard to be a blogger. All you really need is some pictures and something to say about them. Besides, if we can put a man on the moon and elect a black man President (yay Obama!), why can’t a Sheltie be a blogger? So I strapped on my Collar-Cam for a photo-journalism essay about My Day. 

The Day is Saturday, November 1.  It started out like most days; I went outside to look around. Barkley and I patrolled the back fence, checking for deer and turkeys to keep out of the property. Next we had to monitor the chicken yard, to make sure Honi was taking care of the girls, plus I think Barkley kind of likes Tammy Faye but he is embarrassed to admit it. 

At 10:00 we had to go to school. It was really really hard, because we had Down-Stay, Heeling, and Down-While-Moving. Whew. But then we had graduation and that was cool because we got treats. The end.