Fake News

Hello! It’s me!

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As I reflect upon the past year, I wonder to myself – was Wendy yet another classic example of Fake News? Did the Russians plant her “story” in my timeline so that I’d focus on her and not focus on what is important, on what really matters?

Is that what happened?

Is it the Russians?

I broached the subject with my “community” over the past two weeks.
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The answer? A resounding “go find The One Who Is In Charge”, and ask Her. They told me to go find the Grand Home, where I would find The One Who Is In Charge.

Hmmmm.

If I could only find this individual, this “unifier of all that is honest” and ask Her the question, well, maybe I could put Fake News aside and actually know what the 411 is.

The journey begins by imploring my Dad to visit the Grand Home of “The One Who Is In Charge”.

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We stopped along the way to monitor threats.

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Eventually we got lost … I asked a lonely Cervidae for directions.

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Cervi told me to consider visiting The House in the Meadow … there, I might find The One Who Is In Charge.

Hours later, we arrived at The House in the Meadow.

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Someone’s knockin’ at the door …

… somebody’s ringin’ the bell.

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Do me a favor … oh never mind, I’ll just go around back and see if I can get in that way.

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Looks pretty quiet back here. I better search the grass some more.

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Then I got distracted by leafy greens.

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And while snacking on tall, leafy greens … it occurred to me that the filthy Cervidae may have been spreading Fake News as well … House in the Meadow … my goodness, how could I have fallen for that one? I mean, searching for The One Who Is In Charge, that makes logical sense … but looking for a House in the Meadow? Stupid, stupid me.

It’s a campaign of disinformation that attacks us from all directions, pups. We have to be vigilant, I’m telling you. Vigilant.

 

 

Oh Wendy!

Hello. It’s me!!

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On these freezing cold and clammy days of mid-May, the mind wanders … wanders toward thoughts of dear Wendy. And then, almost as if on schedule, this arrives in the mail.

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Oh. M. G.

Here’s what I am supposed to look for.

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Now how hard can that be to find, #amirite?

I’m literally bustin’ down doors to get outside and find Wendy. I ask the neighborhood what they’ve heard … here’s our conversation (please visit the website if the video does not emulate via email).

We didn’t get very far with that conversation.

So I asked Dad to take me into town. I looked. I searched. I researched threats.

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Just rusted metals, pups.

I freaked out when I thought I saw Wendy.

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Ok, not Wendy.

I stealthily monitored another canine.

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Not Wendy.

I pondered injuring my back by waltzing down the stairs to see if Wendy awaited at the bottom … but no, not on this day.

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On this gloomy, cloudy, damp, dank, clammy mid-May day, my thoughts turned to Wendy … a lovely young lady who only asks me to find her. And find her I will!

Open The Door … And Lemme In

Hello. It’s me!!

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That’s from my BHF (Best Human Friend) Katie – it’s really satisfying when a large provider of satellite music plays a relevant song from the 70s, #amirite?

The six presets say something too. All aboard!!!

Anyway, a few days ago we picked up Mom and she let me sit on her lap while we floated on two different ferries that took us home.

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After about twenty-seven hours of travel and two ferries and four traffic jams and a bunch of podcasts that I’d prefer we didn’t listen to (mostly because if we’re gonna listen to a podcast it should be DogCast Radio … yes it exists, #subscribeviaitunes), we arrived at our front door. And I’m like … “open the door, and lemme in!!”

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Once Mom opened the door, it was off to the dining room table … how ’bout some din-din Pops?!

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After being properly supped, I wanted to see a dear friend, a neighbor. When we were here in December we spent some quality time surveying the landscape.

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Today my friend Zoey ran down the steps and bolted straight into the house. And who could blame her? I was like a pot of gold at the end of a canine rainbow.

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Doesn’t 54 degrees and rainshowers look absolutely … well … hmmm … um … ugh?

We spent a few minutes catchin’ up. Why are you pottying on that plant? Have you seen Wendy? What is wrong with your tongue?

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And then as soon as Zoey was here, she was gone.

But not forgotten.

I’m vigilant if I may be so bold. Should Zoey bolt back down the stairs and arrive full of vim and vigor at the front door, I’ll be ready. I’ll open the door … and I will let her in!

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Time For A “Cool Change”

Hello! It’s me.

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That’s what it looks like when it is 91 degrees in Central California.

This is what it looks like when it is in the 60s in Central Oregon.

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We’ve traded this …

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… for this …

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And all of these temperature swings leave me feeling like this.

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Tomorrow, I arrive at home. No more looking behind semi-trucks for an opportunity to go potty, #amirite?

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Big Chicken

Hello! It’s me.

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That’s me – lookin’ at Pops as he says we’re about to go on an adventure. I say “what kind of an adventure?” He says we’re driving north. I say “how far away is north?” and he says “oh, 23 hours” and I say “oh, that’s too far away”, #amirite?

It’s not that I’m chicken to sit in the car for twenty-three straight hours. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever I’m told to do, ’cause simply put I don’t have control over my life.

So I hunkered down for almost four hours … then we stopped here.

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And next thing you know we’re looking for the predecessor of the Chicken.

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That thing has ribs stickin’ out … it might want to consider eating a half dozen forests, give or take.

I looked back at Dad and said, “that thing is related to a Chicken?”

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I was afraid (some would say ‘chicken’) of having that beast step on me … my rib cage might be injured if that happened.

Dad stopped at Burger King – guess what he ordered? Yup, a grilled ‘chicken’ sandwich.

After sharing a modest amount of the sammie, I threw a fit … tossing toys all over the back seat of the car. But Dad said we had another 199 miles to drive. I hunkered down. And hours later, in the dark, we arrived in Bakersfield. I surveyed my room for threats.

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With the only threat being a $15 pet fee, I decided to relax with Dad and enjoy playoff basketball.

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Dad has a 6:30am business call … I’m not afraid to get up early and support the family … I’m certainly not chicken either, am I?

Mister

Hello. It’s me!

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That’s how I am usually forced to sit in the front seat while Pops drives me around. But Dad says we’ve got a 1,500 mile trek to make in 2.5 days next week, so he says we need comfort.

Here’s his version of comfort … not too shabby, #amirite?

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So even though it was 103 degrees at 6:00pm, Dad said we had to test-drive the $17 Wal-Mart everyday low-priced backseat bed. Fine with me! Dad drove about five miles until he found me some grass. Then we started walking. The best part? Clouds!

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You don’t see those things very often.

Down the street, I could hear the Sugar Hill Gang playing on powerful 12,493 watt speakers. I told Dad to head in that direction.

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As we approached the Tex-Mex restaurant, I heard Dad say “Mister”.

I just looked at him and said, “Don’t be so formal. Call me Dash“.

Dad just pointed to the sky and said, “No, there’s a mister over the tables.”

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Ah!

Is there any better way to eat nacho chips than outside on a 103 degree evening with a light spray of water saturating the patrons?

I don’t think so.

On our way back to the car, we saw this …

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Which made me think of this, from late this afternoon.

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7% humidity … is that even possible?