Research Doxie

Hello, it’s me!

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Here’s something for you to chew on. All too often us pups are depicted in unacceptable situations, #amirite?

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But Geico flipped the script, so to speak, with their new marketing campaign.

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Yup, us doxies finally get our due, and we’re portrayed as research-centric pups who care about improving civilization.

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Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I’m not all that into spending an hour on a treadmill while a researcher taps data into a touch-screen monitor.

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But if we’re talking about studying whether ping pong balls adhere to a blueberry-colored sark, well sure, I’ll co-sign for that one. And what in the name of all that is holy is attached to the head of the co-worker in this image?

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All good things must come to an end … and this doxie offers no exception as he belly-aches about the length of this filming session.

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Regardless, Geico captures the essence of the “Research Doxie” … I encourage you to immediately give up your long-established relationship with your current insurance provider and instead consider working with a forward thinking brand like Geico.

 

Just Waiting on a Friend

Hello. It’s me!

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Waiting. That’s what I’m doing these days.

Waiting for Mom’s wrist to heal so that we can do stuff.

Sometimes her wrist hurts, and I feel bad for Mom.

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I try to do something to get the time to go by faster.

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I get so bored waiting for a normal environment that I just ask Dad if I can sit outside in glorious 80 degree temperatures.

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Maybe … just maybe … my best friend will show up!

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Therapy-wise, Mom goes twice a week to get her range of motion back in her wrist. Once that returns, she’ll work on restoring strength. She can already grasp a big beverage with my likeness …

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Mom and Dad also participate in other forms of therapy …

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So that’s the way things are going here during the past month … quite honestly like the Rolling Stones, I’m just waiting on a friend.

Progress Update

Hello. It’s me!

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These are odd times. The weather has cooled, so we should be enjoying a lot of outdoor activity. Instead, Mom is on the mend, and we’re looking forward to Thanksgiving when Mom is ready to emerge from her “situation”.

She had a good checkup last Friday! Her splint/cast came off, and she now has a brace.

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I help out wherever and whenever I can.

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And Mom waits … mostly patiently … until she can play pickleball again. Today her bandages came off … she’s maybe 7 weeks away from taking charge with her paddle!

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Her wrist is looking pretty good, #amirite?

Under the skin, things look … well … interesting!

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That’s what a plate and eight screws look like! And take a look at the little floater of a bone on the right-hand side of the image … that’s break #2 and that one won’t be repaired.

Next checkup is in 13 days. Mom’s fingers are starting to work a lot better. She’s making progress. And I must say, the support I give to the process is helping, no doubt about it!!

Breaking News

Hello. It’s me!

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I play many roles in our home … consumer of crunchables, diagnosing threats, and provider of comfort.

Last Wednesday Mom was playing pickleball. The ball lofted over her head. She backpedaled, stumbled, and used her right wrist to break the fall. She broke the fall … and she broke her wrist.

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A trip to the ER proved there was a problem … but it took six days to get to see a specialist. The specialist said surgery was necessary. He showed Mom the break.

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There were two breaks … you can see the floating bone on the right side of the image. That injury is going to be left alone, no harm. The left side of the right side of the image shows an up-down break and a left-right break … and her hand was shifted about 35 degrees as a consequence.

That’s gotta hurt, #amirite?

So yesterday Mom had surgery … they put one plate and eight screws in her wrist. Today I’m comforting Mom as she recovers. She’ll have a splint on the arm for two weeks, and then she’ll have a brace on her hand until the bone is healed.

I imagine Mom will be able to hand me crunchables by mid-October. Now that we’re past surgery, the storm clouds are clearing and better times are ahead.

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Abiding Until The Cool Air Arrives

Hello. It’s me!

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I’m just waiting for temperatures to cool down. Heck, this week we’re supposed to dip all the way down into the mid-upper 90s for three days, so that should feel like a refreshingly cool breeze, #amirite?

Last weekend my friend Frank visited for a few days. At first I thought this was a pretty good deal.

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Then I got crabby and spent a few days hiding under the bed. I’m sure you’ve all just wanted to hide under the bed from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with a little bit (or two days) of personal time.

Dad keeps driving me to grass for bathroom duties. In the blast furnace of an Arizona summer, one needs to find interesting activities to remain stimulated.

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For those of you in the studio audience who were wondering, that’s called a “perceived threat”.

Otherwise I’m stimulated by food-related items. Every day Mom sits down in her chair in her office. This gives me a golden opportunity to attack a large-sized crunchable on her lap.

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Get me on her lap, Dad!!!

This morning I received my twice-a-week veggie bone. Ohhhhh, you can’t imagine the excitement. I signal to Dad that I’m ready to commence the activities. Notice the corner of the bone just barely sticking out of my mouth.

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Next, I tease a potential hiding location.

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Then I point to the specific location where I hid the veggie bone. This prompts Dad to get up and investigate with me.

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Once Dad joins the fray, I show him where he should look.

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Then Dad finishes the job for me!

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Do you see it in there? I put the veggie bone there!

I know, I’m talented.

This is what I do. I abide, waiting for the blast furnace to shut down for the season.

Raw, Unadulterated Boredom

Hello. It’s me.

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Have you ever been bored?

I have been bored.

In fact, I can clearly define for you what boredom is. Boredom is the state of having nearly six weeks of fun followed by several days of seemingly unending travel through the Intermountain West.

Now, what I’m about to say is not intended to be offensive to the Great residents of Idaho, Utah, Nevada, and Arizona. At all. I’m asking you to view the splendor and beauty of the Intermountain West from the perspective of a small dog trapped inside a bouncy tin can careening from north to south at sub-sonic speeds approaching eighty miles per hour.

Here’s how this works. They put mile markers along the road. Sometimes the miles count up, and that’s a highly unfortunate situation. Why? Because you have no idea how long you’re gonna be stuck on the highway. For instance, is this MILE 39 of 72, or is this MILE 39 of 472? There’s a difference, #amirite?

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When you are traveling WEST to EAST, the mile markers count up. You wouldn’t think that I-84 in Oregon would just keep counting up and up and up until you hit 376 or whatever the final mile marker is. But you keep counting up. It takes forever. Then all of a sudden you enter a new state … a brief moment of sheer excitement!!

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The excitement is short-lived, of course … because then you are back at MILE 1 and you have no idea how many miles you have to drive across Idaho (hint … the answer is 276 … and at 80mph that is only 3.5 hours … but nevertheless it’s a long haul).

You drive mile after mile after mile, looking at the same moonscape.

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Eventually you arrive in Utah … and the miles begin counting up again. How many times does this happen? Well, I was in for a shocking surprise. We eventually hit I-15 in Utah, and the miles began to … are you ready for this … the miles began to count DOWN.

That’s right.

All of a sudden you are at mile marker 372 and you realize that you have 372 flippin’ miles to go before you get to the southern border of Utah.

Well, I was fed up … fed … up. So I demanded that Mom and Dad stop. I told them, “THIS IS THE PLACE …  where we need to stop.”

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Dad decided to eat at a God-awful Wendy’s restaurant north of Salt Lake City. Why was it God-awful? Two reasons. First, don’t ever order a salad at Wendy’s. Ever. Especially after eating a Seafood Louie at a reputable establishment just 48 hours earlier. If you like the taste of avocado that appeared blacker than the color the iceberg lettuce turned, then by all means, partake in a five-hundred-calorie menu item that retails for about six dollars.

Second, the parking lot was riddled with myriad drug deals. Turns out there might be a meth problem in this country. Who knew?

So we bolted from the Wendy’s north of Salt Lake City and traversed to mile marker 261, where we stayed the night at a KOA.

The next morning brought more suffering. When you begin at mile marker 261, you have 261 miles to go to get to the southern border of Utah. Do the math … if you average 75 miles per hour it means you are going to sit motionless in the RV for just under four hours. Which I exactly what I did.

You can only sleep for so many hours before you lose your mind. Mindful of my deteriorating condition, Mom and Dad let my evacuate my bladder on a small patch of grass outside of 102 degree St. George.

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Yeah, I look really thrilled about that.

Eventually we cross into … ARIZONA!!!! We’re home!!!!

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One problem. Mom tells me that Mile Marker 29 means we’re going to spend 29 miles in Arizona and then we go into Nevada where we have to drive for several hours before we get to … wait for it … wait for it … Arizona.

Worse, it looks like somebody stacked the mountains in Arizona incorrectly. Look at the angles the sediment sits at. Morons.

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A half-hour later we’re in Nevada.

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Once again we’re counting the miles down from the mid-one-hundred range down to about mile 41 in Las Vegas.

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See the sign … Exit 75B? Yup, once we got to Las Vegas the miles reset as we hit US-93, which is also called I-515, which then becomes I-11 while also being US-93 (and US-95).

Seriously, who names these highways?

We thundered past the Hoover Dam area along the Colorado River.

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And then we finally saw the sign we waited and waited and waited for.

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Ok, we’re finally in Arizona. We’ll be home in five minutes, right?

Wrong.

Miles begin counting up. We’re trying to get to Kingman now, and Kingman is at Mile Marker 71. Another hour. Yeeesh.

When we finally arrive in Kingman, we fill up with diesel for the final time. Dad starts the RV up, and guess what?

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Yup, it’s 104 degrees out and we peg ourselves a Check Engine Light. Mom reviews the manual and sees that a check engine light is only for emissions problems. Dad says “we don’t care about emissions problems, we’re heading home.”

I admire his judgment.

The miles are still counting up, and I learn that we’ve got 100 miles before we re-enter civilization at Wickenburg. Are you kidding me?

So I begin to revolt … sitting on Mom’s lap … licking my feet (which is my way of saying ENOUGH already). Mile 94 becomes Mile 95 becomes Mile 96 becomes insufferable and unending as we thunder toward Mile 199 (Wickenburg).

But we eventually get to Wickenburg, and now we’ve only got 45 minutes of feet licking and general discontentment to go.

In case you are wondering, yes, we eventually made it home. A thousand miles of raw, unadulterated boredom finally came to an end on a 113 degree afternoon west of Phoenix.

When Dad took the RV to the storage lot the following day, temperatures climbed considerably.

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Yeah, 120 degrees sure makes you feel like dancing.

Mom & Dad spent the next several hours putting the house back together.

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Heck, I’m old enough to remember when you turned the TV on and it just worked … now you get a nasty blue screen and the experts tell you that you own a “Smart TV” … really? Really?

Last night I was on the bed, and I asked Dad if I could jump under the covers? He obliged. Maybe I was bored out of my gourd for a thousand miles, but it turns out that the payoff for all of that boredom was worth it … I’ve been rewarded with significant cuddle time in a house that is not moving or bouncing. RV trips are a lot of fun when you are seeing old friends and scenic vistas. RV trips are less fun when you are thundering down the highway at 80mph.

We’re home. What a blast our time in the West was!!!! Now we prepare for falling temperatures and unending crunchables!!!

 

 

 

 

Threat-o-Rama!

Hello! It’s me!

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That’s a look of utter “frazzlement”, #amirite?

Why am I experiencing the condition known as “frazzlement”??? I’ll tell you why. It’s because the past few days were a veritable threat-o-rama. Want proof?

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Yeah … all of a sudden there is an outburst from the rusted metals community.

Over the weekend we were camping on Lopez Island. Dad and I ran across a deer who pulled off this stunt:

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Yeah, Bambi comes all up in our faces with the “hey, get outta my orchard” deal and I said “hey, it’s a free country” and Bambi said “you’re not gonna be here this time or next time or anytime” and I said “does anybody really know what time it is?” and then Dad coaxed me back to the RV to listen to some smooth grooves on Yacht Rock Radio.

Tonight I’m roaming the campground here in Pendleton and I’m introduced to a new threat.

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For a moment I thought I was going to be in the middle of a gunfight at the OK Corral. After all, we’re out here in the Wild West.

Sometimes these threats aren’t actual threats … they’re perceived threats. Take Suki, my new best friend, all of ten weeks old.

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She showed me how to jump into a mini-lake on a summer afternoon. I showed her how to evaluate whether a Chupacabra invasion was imminent.

At times I build up a lot of nervous energy. Who can blame me? There are threats everywhere. Mom & Dad have nearly exhausted my supply of crunchables on this trip in an effort to calm perpetual frazzlement.

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The exhaustion can be overwhelming.

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When Mom tells me that we’re going to go see friends, my countenance quickly rebounds.

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Or at least my countenance adjusts. And that picture isn’t very flattering, Dad.

On Wednesday I got to see a bunch of dear friends at the Mullis Center!

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I even got my picture included in their newsletter. I mean, I’m kind of a big deal (that one is for Tim/Kathy, enjoy, I’ll be here all week).

On Thursday I was abandoned for large swaths of the day while Mom & Dad played Pickleball.

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And when they weren’t playing Pickleball, they were gorging themselves on fine wine and fine dining at Roche Harbor.

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Over the weekend Mom visited her friend Sheila, and a cohort of quilters crafted themselves into a veritable froth. When I wasn’t being threatened by hooved ruminants from the Cervidae family, I strolled along the ocean.

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Dad and I hung out in the RV on a rainy Saturday while Mom & Crew dazzled the assembled masses.

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Unfortunately, you’ve heard about Dad being smitten by Spam, right?

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Well, on Saturday Dad decided to fry up some Spam. While attempting to finalize the crusty crunchiness of the edges of the Spam, Dad set off the RV smoke detector. That’s one threat too many as far as I am concerned. The sheer terror of a high pitched sound sent me into an inconsolable puddle of emotions.

Please visit my website to watch me shiver myself silly (click here).

While Mom continued craft-o-rama on Sunday, Dad and I headed to the mainland to prepare for our trip home. Once we arrived at the campground outside of Anacortes, I was assigned the job of assessing the potential of yet another threat-o-rama.

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Only the skies were threatening.

Last night Mom & Dad enjoyed a “Last Supper” of sorts, as they celebrated what has been an amazing trip.

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Mom brought me the wine list, and while I assessed whether there were any threats on the menu, something interesting popped up. Here’s the wine list.

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FYI – no butter Laurie. None. #sigh

My Mom grew up in Wautoma … Wisconsin … but there is apparently wine from Wautoma Springs in Washington State. And it turned out that Wautoma Springs is a real thing (click here). Who knew?

This morning Mom & Dad informed me that it was time to head home. We’re on Day 36 of this epic journey. We said goodbye to the Pacific Northwest … for as Seals & Crofts once said, “we may never pass this way again” … you never know what threats life will throw at you.

Now, when you are riding next to Dad, you want to make sure that Dad is well-protected. Multi-lane freeways are the very definition of threat-o-rama. So I make sure that I have Dad’s leg protected at all times. Like this:

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Did you see what’s going on there? Allow me to zero in a bit:

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Absolutely nothing is going to happen to Dad when I’ve got him covered with a drumstick.

We drove close to seven hours today, arriving in Pendleton, Oregon … at the very foot of the Blue Mountains.

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We are spending the evening at a KOA in Pendleton. As per usual, there are random threats against the canine species.

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Somebody is filming me while I go to the bathroom? WTH?

Speaking of “What The H$(#??”

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Anyway, there’s a real chance that we’ll land in Utah by the end of tomorrow, and be more than halfway home. Odds are we’ll be home on Thursday, which would be Day 39 of our journey … a personal best for RV trips for Mom & Dad.

Of course, we have to cross the Blue Mountains to get there. You never know when another threat-o-rama will break out, do you?