Revisiting a dog's life

I was a little harsh with last night's posting. Today is Friday, and a Friday Song is due. Nothing strikes me as worthy this week, though. I did buy Miranda Lambert's acclaimed Kerosene CD, after hearing comments like "best debut album ever" on CMT. Haven't listened to it yet, but I'm sure it's wonderful. I will keep a sharper ear to the radio, at any rate. I've let at least two Fridays go by without a nomination. I could use some help, if you're interested. Click my email link to submit a song for consideration.

So let's get back to the whole dog thing. Dogs are wonderful; that's a known fact. (Is that redundant? hmm...) My first dog died before he was six months old. That was Scotty. My second dog was a treasure, but he was killed by a motorist, too. We didn't have leash-laws back then. That was Brownie, a lovely and brilliant border collie. If you own a border collie, you know how incredible that breed is. Gary Paulsen's final chapter in My Life in Dog Years is devoted to his BC, "Josh," who is alive and well (unlike most of the other dogs he writes about in that book). I mentioned my third dog last night, too: Champ. He was a regular collie. I learned the hard way that big collies like Champ need acres of room to roam. By the time we lost Champ I was pretty much at three strikes. I was seventeen.

I'm sure there are thousands of people who feel they could not live without a dog in their life, especially people who have no children. I'm just not one of them, and I have kids. My boys have a dog, at their mother's house. Her name is Zelda (as in The Legend of...); she's a shepard-mutt with the strength of a bulldog and the disposition of a pussycat. I'm sure the boys would be devastated if anything were to happen to Zellie. She nearly drowned last winter when the ice gave way beneath her on a family-owned pond. My oldest thought about diving in after her but wisely decided in favor of the local volunteer fire department. Thank God. I'm also sure that Zelda would gladly sacrifice her own life to save one of my boys, if it were possible and necessary for her to do so. She likes me, despite my casual indifference.

I haven't had a dog of my own for about ten years now. The most recent one was banished after she bit the afore-mentioned eldest son--bit his nose in anger. That just ain't acceptable behavior. That dog had skin problems, which may have contributed to her unpleasant attitude. I'm trying to remember her name and hitting one of those annoying mental walls that will bother me a great deal more when I'm much older; I'll worry that dementia is creeping in. (So far, I almost never misplace my car-keys or forget where I was headed before I get there. Knock on wood.) I think if I was going to miss having a dog, then I would miss it by now. Certainly, owning a cat is no substitute for a proper dog. But I don't yearn for doggy companionship much these days. Please don't hate me for that.

Would I get another dog someday? Probably, if I lived somewhere rural. I think all dogs (at least the ones you can't carry around) deserve room to run. I feel sorry for big dogs who are cooped up in suburban homes on a quarter-acre. Plus you have to walk them on leashes and pick up their poop with a baggie. I'll bet they hate that. I'd hate the plastic-poop-bag duty. (Minor pun intended, there.) I used to take my last living-with-my-parents dog running with me. He loved it, and he kept me moving right along. I don't think I had to use a leash for that, then, either. Seems to me he used to keep left without a tether. It's been a few years, so my memory on that issue is a bit hazy. (No, that doesn't bother me, either. Yet.) Anyway, we're looking for a place in suburbia right now. I'm definitely not getting a pooch with "miniature" in his breed name. On the other hand, I wonder if the cat will be moving with us? Hmm. If it were strictly up to me, well, um. I'd better leave it at that, for tonight anyway.

OK, it's Thursday Trivia

The holidays are suddenly passed, and I'm back to work, still buried in an over-booked calendar. Tuesday's job lasted well into the evening, and my fingers were too tired to type. Those are my excuses. At least the dog didn't eat my homework, but I don't have a dog anyway. I used to have a dog, when I was younger. The first one got hit by a bus; his name was Scotty. My second dog, a wonderful Border Collie, was struck by a car while we waited for the schoolbus. He died later that day. I had a regular Lassie-style collie, too, later on. His name was Champ, after "Champ, the Gallant Collie"--a book I read when I was about twelve. Champ needed far more space than we could give him. I think he went crazy.

I finished a sweet little book last week, My Life in Dog Years, by Gary Paulsen. My younger son, Nick, recognized the author's name immediately. Paulsen writes for school-age readers, but his style is fine for adult reading and his content is amazing. This guy has lived a very interesting life. In the final chapter he mentions that he's had "hundreds" of dogs. The book highlights the more entertaining and intelligent of those. Nicky read it in about two hours flat. Sadly, I've never had a dog worth writing about. I will anyway, though--write about my dogs. (Wow, just call me "Mr. Language Guy"!)

You hear the phrase, a boy and his dog, now and then. Meaning, I suppose, a boy needs a dog. Or dogs go with boys. Something to that effect. I never really got that concept. Don't get me wrong--I loved my dogs, and even mourned their passing. But I don't miss them. Maybe I'm missing an important dog-gene. Or maybe I need a bigger yard. I do miss having someone around to pick up the table scraps I drop. We have a cat for now. She acts like a dog--around me, at least. Cats aren't as much fun as dogs; but they're not nearly as needy, either. I can take them or leave them, too. See, I haven't actually written about my dogs, after all, have I? That's probably for the best. I promise next week's Tuesday Trivia will be posted on a Tuesday. Maybe it won't be quite as trivial as this week's piece. Then again...

Happy New Year, one last time!

Back on track: Merry Christmas!

It's time for Tuesday Trivia, already, and I haven't even picked a Friday Song, yet! But it's also Christmas-time: the get-it-done, last-minute-shopping, visit relatives, spend quality time with the kids, take some time off... time. I may get to the trivia, then, or I may not. I been busy!

There was a door to finish, which had vanished, as described in my business blog. And there was Millie's half-a-kitchen to finish, which I haven't even finished posting there yet! Also, some gifts to round up, and wrap-up, for the boys and for my wonderful wife. My truck's misbehaving, too. It's in the shop right now, as I type this post. Haven't heard from them yet, mechanically. The truck shakes so bad over fifty-five, that I can't even try sixty-five. That's not good, given the amount of expressway driving I do. I've got some voice-over work to do, as well, which I haven't even begun to get to, (or even to post about it!).

We had a very violent Christmas, by the way. Bad parents! My boys are teen-age and nearly teen-age, so they love things that go bang. Who doesn't? They both picked-out six-shooter Nerf® guns for their birthdays (in the couple of weeks just past). We, my wife and I, had already decided to get them new splatball guns for Christmas. Yeah, I know, not very educational; but they are both very good students and we boys absolutely love playing splatball together. The guns they had from two summers ago were both the most basic models offered at Wal-Mart. I wanted to get them some fancy ones, Vipers or something, but the cost of two of those simply added up too high. Anyway, the boys were pleased and didn't shoot anything indoors or otherwise create anyunnecessaryy mayhem.

I had hoped to have this entire week off originally, but that just didn't work out. Yesterday was the day the banks and post offices stayed closed. I ended up working the afternoon, to try to finish Millie's kitchen. It wasn't hard work, and she's very nice, and it didn't take too long--so it was fine. This morning I had to head out early, basically regular time, to go pick-up a re-ordered countertop and install it for another customer in Hamlin. He's been more than patient, the top hadn't vanished, and all went well, even the weather. So that was fine, too.

I've been working on my webpage skills this week, which really need the work, by the way. I found a wonderful Forum, with some very helpful designers. That led to a whole ton of reading, as I followed advice and links. And a funny thing happened along the way: I ended up at the site for the guy who designed my business blog, Douglas Bowman of Stopdesign. His name came up in an Editor's Note at the end of an article I was reading about liquid page design, at A List Apart (a blog-style series of great articles about web design and much more). That last link, by the way, goes directly to article I mentioned. Anyway, he writes very clean code and definitely knows his stuff, so I was pleased to end up with one of his templates. I was also pleased to finally send him a "thank you" for that template, which I'd been meaning to do for weeks.

I've managed to combine things I would normally post on three different Blogs here, but that's the kind of week this is. It's Christmas, and soon to be New Year's day. So Merry Christmas, y'all, and Happy New Year, too! Thanks for listening, whoever you may be.

Tuesday Trivia has its ups and downs

I started this Tuesday Trivia post because there are lots of odd little thoughts that occur to me; it's only fair that I share these tidbits with whoever else might read these posts. Why should I be the only one with annoying random thoughts running around my brain? Tonight I want to talk about ups and downs, literally. Some things we do "up" and others we do "down." Why is this so? Who came up with this odd bit of language?

Here's a topical example: we all fill-up our gastanks. That makes sense. So, what's a break-up? Isn't it less than what you had before? And why isn't break-down the opposite of break-up? (I'll stop italicizing now, and assume you can supply your own emphasis.) Here's another: when you come to a stop-sign do you slow-down or slow-up? Sure, either one will do. Okay, then, why do touch-down and touch-up have absolutely nothing to do with each other? Sit down, please. Now sit-up. No, don't do a sit-up. How about "spit-up"? It's almost never up, is it? But no one spits down, linguistically speaking. Have you ever had to back down, when you were backing up? Sometimes you just have to yield the right of way, huh?

Choke-up on the bat, but don't choke down that hotdog after the game. When your company is about to shut down, do you shut up? Or do you speak up? No one speaks down, although they often talk down. That's after they get done talking up their latest deal, of course. When work winds down on Friday afternoon, do you get wound-up? Have you ever taken a shake-down cruise? Did you get shook-up? Give me the low-down on that one; but don't bother with the low-up: that's not even a word.

Would you put up with a put-down? Let up when you've been let down? Is it proper to show up at a show-down? If you went to jail, would they lock you up or lock you down? Why does a hurricane blow down your house, but a bomb blows up a building? If you were feeling run down, you might run up your credit card bill. That's up to you, don't you think? I'm down with that. Until next time...

No, I'm not a... XXL, But that's Friday's Song!

You can't really tell from my Profile pic, but I'm not a "big" guy. I'm tall, but not much sticks to my ribs. Been that way since I was a kid. My oldest son, Austin, seems to have been cloned from the same genes. He's fourteen this week (Happy Birthday!) and already about five-ten. He might weigh a hundred thirty, maybe. So, what's his favorite song? His absolute #1 pick for "turn it up, Dad!" is Keith Anderson's XXL. Go figure. I'm giving in to his excellent taste in country music, then, and serving up a double-ex-el helping for this Friday's song. Sometimes you just hafta humor your kids, you know.

I'm not saying this song isn't worthy. Don't get me wrong there. It's catchy as all hell, got a great beat, and you can jam along while you're driving. Let me be clear, though: this song is about BIG guys. Verse by verse, the singer gets bigger and bigger. Fifth grade he's wearing a size twelve shoe. By eighth grade the coaches have him playin' high school football. This guy came out of the womb huge and got larger from there. I just can't relate. At all. Even Keith Anderson can't really relate, himself. He may be some kind of crowd-pleasing hunky country singer, but he's no XXL, either. He comes from a "big" family, he says. He was the smallest. So the song's a tribute to oversize guys. That's cool.

In a recent interview Anderson explained the roots of his latest and hottest release. The lyrics first emerged shortly after 9/11's tragic events. Keith was talking to another song-writer and observed that many of our new "heroes" were regular Joe's: big ol' beefy firefighters and cops. He wondered if he couldn't come up with something lighter in tribute to those men. With a light-hearted, humorous approach to those regular heroes, XXL glorifies those who outweigh the competition. Okay, even though I can't really relate, this is a rockin' tune that has to be doing very well in the honky-tonks. It's just good, clean fun!

There's a lyric in the refrain that we have to talk about. Each verse describes the increasing poundage of the singer, as well as the wonderful effects his excess size has on his life. The refrain, modified just a little each time, goes something like this:

Oooh glbblegwobble Baby, I'm a double-ex-el!

What's that word in there, you may ask? It's not a word at all--it's a sound. Remember when you were a kid and you tried to make the sound of a referee's whistle, but you didn't have a whistle? Or maybe: you know the sound you make when you step outside and it's really cold, and you sort of say, "brrrrrrrrrr," but it's not actually a word? That's the lyric. Austin gets the biggest kick out of that. Now I can admit it; so do I. That one sound makes the whole song great. You have to hear it to believe me. There you have it.