Hello. It’s me!


There are five key periods in any summer day. Today is no exception … with a high temperature of 115 degrees, indoor events and routine are a must.

Here we go.

Period #1 = Morning Muncher. Mom gets home from Pickleball, she showers, and then it is her duty to sit with me and cuddle for an hour or two until we get to lunch.

Period #2 = Post-Lunch Cuddle. This cuddle is all about a change of scenery. I hang out with Dad on the couch, sleeping next to him. My legs adhere to his thigh, allowing me to sense his every possible movement (of which none are permissible).


Period #3 = COOKIE TRUCK! This happens late in the afternoon, typically daily, when Andy delivers a case of wine to the home.


Period #4 = Pre-Dinner Cuddle:  This one is with Mom in her office. We execute the cuddle in anticipation of a full evening of … wait for it … wait for it … cuddling!!

Period #5 = Evening Cuddle!  Following dinner, Mom and Dad will watch quarantine-approved programming, while I cuddle and await the end of the day.


Until summer relents … and that’s a good 10-11 weeks away … this the life I’ve prescribed for Mom/Dad. It’s not like I can be out walking around when the pavement temperature reading is north of a hundred and forty degrees, so a routine filled with cuddles is, in my opinion, both necessary and pleasant, #amirite?


Hello! It’s me.


It’s Summer, which means it is corn-on-the-cob season. A buttery, salty delight designed specifically to destroy your colon, you can enjoy it cobbed, creamed, popped … even blended into air-fryer infused fritters.

Dad will go to the grocery store and buy a four-pack of cobs … boil ’em up and then just sit there and gorge himself on ’em. Not a flattering view of the old man, but I’m not here to sugar coat his image, #amirite?

Speaking of the grocery store … this guy got some broccoli at his local Tesco and next thing you know he’s harvesting a veritable plethora of caterpillars. Click here to enjoy his journey, as the caterpillars eventually become gorgeous butterflies.

Getting Along

Hello. It’s me.


I’m just tired of one third of the population hating another third of the population. How is that acceptable? Love your neighbor as yourself? Maybe in the Bible, but not in the United States of America.

I’d share more, but I’m just a dog and my thoughts are somewhat limited.

We can find a way to coexist with our perceived enemies, #amirite?


700 Sleeps

Hello. It’s me.


Now, there’s rumor of a vaccine being available as early as Spring 2021, so maybe we only have 270 sleeps to go.

My life has been reduced to limited gatherings and long-distant gazes. Who am I gazing at here?



Vigilance confirms empty streets are still the norm, #amirite?


So I wait … and wait … and wait … for the opportunity to “do something”.


Spring Cleaning

Hello. It’s me!!

Spring Cleaning

In a perilous world filled with pontification and infection we need compassion. And we need more of ME … #amirite?

The mobile groomer floofed me for the trying times we currently inhabit. It was a Spring Cleaning for the ages. If there were any hideous coronavirus cells on me it was soaped off and rinsed.

The only thing infectious about me is my charming personality.

Social Distancing

Hello. It’s me.


All. By. Myself. Don’t wanna be. All. By. Myself.

I don’t get it. This used to be a vibrant community. But lately there’s nobody to be seen.


Mom and Dad are home all the time. I like that, but what I also like is people who want to spend time with me. People love me, #amirite?

So here I sit.


In these times, we have to be neighborly to each other. We can’t discriminate against our neighbors.


Dad says we need to employ “Social Distancing”. We need to not see people, maybe for months. I think the world loses out when the world doesn’t get to see me growl at the big poodle that waltzes by every day.

Stay safe … you’ll be able to pet me again around July 4.

Next Time, I’m Gonna ……..

Hello, it’s me!!


That’s me (and Mom’s scar from her broken wrist from September) … and a nommed-on crunchable … waiting to get a crack at today’s renewal of the Barn Hunt tradition. For just $25 you get two minutes (that’s 120 full seconds) in the ring to test your mettle.

I’m now down 2.5 pounds from my peak weight (that would be comparable to a 180 pound person losing 18 pounds), slender enough to navigate the twists and turns offered by a pen of straw, ramps, tunnels, and … wait for it … wait for it … a RAT IN A TUBE HIDDEN BY STRAW!!!

All I had to do was climb the ramp, fully navigate the tunnel, and identify where the rat was hiding.

Of course, they let the experienced pups in the “Open” division go first. Frank and I waited, and waited, and waited for our turn.


IMG_4625 (1)

I like to chat with fellow competitors. You know, obtain tips, compare pee mail, that kind of thing.  You talk to the corgis and assorted breeds because of the TENSION. This competition is so important, so filled with pressure, that you have to do something to take your mind off of the task at hand.


And then … and then … they make an announcement.


The crowd literally rises to their feet (seriously), in large part because our “handlers” have to walk us over to this area where we cannot see the pen where we will compete. We can have no advanced knowledge of where the RAT is hidden, none.

There are (of course) a series of restrictive rules designed to enhance the competition.

  • No smart phone for Dad.
  • No watch for Dad
  • Aside – it was at this point that Dad nearly passed out from not being plugged into the Matrix for a few minutes.
  • Dad could not touch me.
  • Dad could not touch the bales of hay.
  • Dad could not get on his hands/knees and encourage me.
  • Dad could not nudge me into the tunnel.
  • Dad could not block exit from the tunnel.
  • Dad could not order a delivery pizza while I was in the tunnel.

I was scheduled to go out fourth in the first flight. One by one, they called us out. At about 3:00pm in the afternoon, it was my turn to delight the crowd.

Now, if you are reading this via email, I beg you to watch the video on the website … just visit and check out my full two-minute experience.

RIVETING … #amirite??

It took nearly five hours from leaving the house to getting into the ring … and it was all over in two minutes.

Ok, let’s clear up the controversy, because you likely saw that I spent a considerable amount of time gazing at the official in the ring. This didn’t happen because I was stupid, it happened because she must have had something in her pockets that I wanted to eat. I don’t think I’d just flush 40 seconds down the tubes for no good reason.

I nailed the tunnel.

I nailed the ramp.

This is where there was a difference in opinion.

Dad said I (again) did not show sufficient knowledge of the location of the RAT. I most certainly did show sufficient knowledge of the location of the RAT. I’m a dog, after all, and I’m under no obligation to point at the RAT or paw at the RAT or anything else. I simply walked past it, silently acknowledged presence of the RAT, and moved on.

Because Dad didn’t call out RAT (“again” … mind you, he did this to me back in December), I was notified that I FLUNKED the test.

From what I understand, the judges (the Russian judge in particular) demand that I pass the test THREE TIMES before I move on to Open Competition.

I’m 0 for 2.

But I don’t feel bad about that. In the staging area, a woman told my Dad that her dog was 0 for 20 (yes, 0 for 20).

So I’m ok. I don’t get a participation trophy, but I do get the satisfaction of being two-thirds of the way through the Novice level, a full third of the distance more than I achieved back in December.

Before leaving, I received something better than a participation trophy … I received “CONGRATULATIONS”.


We packed up the car, and we headed for home.


In the late 1970s, the Houston Oilers (or so I’m told) advanced to the AFC Championship Game two times, both times losing to the Pittsburgh Steelers. The head coach at the time had this to say about his team:

  • “One year ago, we knocked on the door. This year, we beat on the door. Next year, we’re going to kick the son of a b*$#? in.”

In December, I knocked on the door.

In February, I beat on the door.

Next time, I’m going to …………


P.S.: The head coach of the Houston Oilers never kicked the you-know-what in. He was fired a year later.


The Rose Bowl!

Hello. It’s me!!


It was December 31, and I look outside and notice that Dad was loading the RV.

Oooooooooohhhhhh Boy! We’re going somewhere.

The first stop didn’t seem all that exciting … chicken sandwiches at Popeye’s in Blythe???


I mean, I can get a chicken sandwich by asking Dad to open the freezer, so this didn’t seem worthy of a two-hour drive into California.

We drove another three hours, and next thing you know we’re in Pasadena. To me, there can only be two possible reasons we’re in Pasadena.

  1. To see the cast of the Big Bang Theory at their television home.
  2. To attend the Rose Bowl.

Given that the Big Bang Theory ended nearly a year ago, I was increasingly convinced that we were attending the Rose Bowl!! Signage proved me right.


We arrived!


Our spot in the RV lot was not available, which was disappointing given that Dad paid a lot of money for it. Rose Bowl staff parked us across from the Rose Bowl, next to a parking lot with a visual array of port-o-potties.


We slept among a sord of Ducks fans also camping in RVs next to the array of port-o-potties. Well, we slept until 4:00am. At that time, Rose Bowl staff decided to light up the portable LEDs you see in the image above. Being in the RV was not altogether different than the experience of being in Kramer’s apartment when a Kenny Rodgers Roasters opened across the street.

My rods and cones were all messed up!!


Image result for image of kramer's apartment kenny rogers roasters

By 8:30am we were ready to tailgate!


The tailgating is fun, of course. But then it was time to enter the stadium. This is where things got ugly, in my opinion.

Mom and Dad didn’t buy me a ticket.

Apparently only “service dogs” are allowed to attend the game. What a kick in the nuggets, #amirite? To come all this way and not be able to see the game, geez.

So while Mom and Dad enjoyed the game, I had to listen to the pageantry from the RV. The top yellow arrow is where I sat, in the RV. The bottom yellow arrow is where Mom and Dad sat.


They call this game the “GrandDaddy of ’em All”, and for good reason. The stadium is set in the ground, with trees lining one side of the stadium, mountains in the background, and all of the colors afforded by an amazing sunset and two enthusiastic fan bases.


Of course, Mom/Dad’s beloved Badgers fell short, losing to the Oregon Ducks 28-27. Regardless, the setting for a football game is second-to-none. The colors, the mountains, the bands, the noise, the changing light as you go from afternoon to evening, all contribute to an amazing environment for a football game.

Mom and Dad has a great time!


And I had fun as well when I was allowed to participate. Let’s hope the Badgers make this an annual event.


P.S.: Mom and Dad were particularly thrilled to learn that a Woman was flying the B2 Stealth Bomber over the stadium in the pre-game fly-over, a first! Now THAT’S the sight of freedom right there.


Pre-Game Flyover


The Goodyear Blimp!!


Aw, how nice.





Barn Hunt!!

Hello. It’s me!


Dad packed the car, so I knew something was up. Then he said the words that mattered most … “do you wanna go for a ride?”


Just like that Dad gave us the green light to advance toward Coolidge, AZ.


What was in Coolidge, Arizona?

It was an event of unprecedented emotions, instincts, and pursuit. It was called, “Barn Hunt”!!!

Here’s the 411. You are plopped into the middle of a straw-filled maze, and you are given two minutes to crawl through a tunnel, climb a ramp, and decipher the difference between an empty container, a rat-smelling container, and a container “containing” an actual rat.

I can find a rat.

My cousin Frank was up first, and he blistered the course in record time.


Meanwhile, I waited in the staging area (aka the backseat of the car).


From there, I moved to the “blind” … an area where Dad and I were hidden from the competition area so that we would not have any advantages … we couldn’t see anything!

Dad had to give up his phone and Fitbit because some person in California received texts on her Fitbit telling her where all the rats were … now, I’m no expert on morals, but come on, if you’re gonna cheat at this what does that say about what else you’d cheat at??

Then it was time to compete, and I was kinda hoping somebody would give me a hint where the rat was!!!!


Dad could point and he could encourage me. He couldn’t touch the hay. Maybe he’d get hay fever, maybe he’d break a rule, regardless, he implored me to look in that specific spot. And I strongly obliged.

Not everybody found the entertainment as enthralling as I.


By the way, what is going on with Dad’s slacks?

Clearly, I found the rat …. but Dad failed to call out the fact that I found the rat, so I was not credited with finding the rat. After two minutes elapsed, Dad was allowed to pick me up and put me next to the rat. I promptly swept away the hay with my paws and clawed at the cylinder where the rat resided. Obviously, I possess an innate talent that will carry me far in future Barn Hunt competitions!!

Mom thought you should get to see the entire video … including where I earned a point for climbing the ramp, and where I did not earn a point because I failed to run all the way through the tunnel. Please visit the website to view the video (

Be honest … that’s a display of raw athleticism, #amirite?

I failed Barn Hunt, but Dad says my natural instincts warrant additional competitions. I’m all in, much in the way Dad is currently all in on pickleball. We all have our passions, don’t we?

Speaking of passions, after the event Mom stopped at the Casa Grande National Monument. It’s a place where Native Americans built a four story condo a thousand years ago. You can see it in the background … now protected from heavy monsoon rains.


For me, enough was enough. When you have a day that stimulating, a day where you identify a rouge murine hiding in a plastic cylinder, you need rest. The ride home offered me such an opportunity.


I anxiously await my next opportunity to score one out of three or two out of three on a novice barn hunt event. In time, I won’t be a novice. This is something that I can excel in, something I can really sink my teeth into. The competition, that is … not the rat.