 |
| Name the movie. "I'll never put on a lifejacket again." |
Monday, July 9, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
VIDEO ALERT - Ray the Blind Dog on the 4th of July
Ray doesn't particularly care for fireworks. They interrupt his sleep and make him angry. He makes a lot of funny noises when he's angry so I decided to film some of them. After I was finished filming, I couldn't help but think of this piece of music. Maybe at a later date I will make a video of Ray's funny noises, but for now, it's this...
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Definition of a Mexican Standoff
.jpg) |
| You need to move. no. Really, you need to move. no. I'm serious dude, you really need to move. no. ....... ........ |
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
What he doesn't know won't hurt him
Ray was stretched out on the couch next to me. I reached over and scratched him behind the ears.
"Ray you are the best dog I've ever had," I said to him.
Gregg looked over at me with a little smile.
"Now there's a ringing endorsement," he said.
I put my finger to my lips giving him the international signal for 'shhh.'
"Don't tell him," I said, just mouthing the words so that Ray wouldn't hear.
We both know that Ray is our first dog, but I don't think that Ray knows.
"Ray you are the best dog I've ever had," I said to him.
Gregg looked over at me with a little smile.
"Now there's a ringing endorsement," he said.
I put my finger to my lips giving him the international signal for 'shhh.'
"Don't tell him," I said, just mouthing the words so that Ray wouldn't hear.
We both know that Ray is our first dog, but I don't think that Ray knows.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Hmmmmm, what have we here?
 |
| Click on the photo to view addressee. |
A New Neighbor
This weekend, some new people moved in next door. Not in the house occupied by Ray's favorite boy, William, but on the other side of us. The house is a rental while our neighbors are overseas for a couple of years. Not an unusual occurrence in the Greater Washington DC area - there are lots of military and government personnel 'round here that deploy for extended periods of time.
Our new neighbors, who I met only very briefly yesterday, are interesting because they have a dog. A rather largish dog, about Ray's size. A fluffy black mutt by the name of Java that looks to have some Poodle in him. I've seen him out my bedroom window, but we (Ray and I) have yet to meet him.
I think Ray is interested, though. This morning, when he headed outside to retrieve a bone that he'd left outside the day before, Ray stood at the fence, bone in mouth, tail wagging. Java was just on the other side. Neither dog was making a sound.
I have high hopes for this friendship, even though, like Tucker, Java will only be here for a year.
Our new neighbors, who I met only very briefly yesterday, are interesting because they have a dog. A rather largish dog, about Ray's size. A fluffy black mutt by the name of Java that looks to have some Poodle in him. I've seen him out my bedroom window, but we (Ray and I) have yet to meet him.
I think Ray is interested, though. This morning, when he headed outside to retrieve a bone that he'd left outside the day before, Ray stood at the fence, bone in mouth, tail wagging. Java was just on the other side. Neither dog was making a sound.
I have high hopes for this friendship, even though, like Tucker, Java will only be here for a year.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Loss of Power
Around 10 o'clock Friday night, a massive storm blew through the greater Washington, DC area.
I had already gone to bed and Ray had already curled up on his futon, but when I heard the wind start to blow, I got up and went back downstairs. We have enormous trees in the backyard, ones big enough to take out the entire upstairs, and when the wind blows hard, it gets a bit scary. I tried to convince Ray to come back downstairs with me but he wouldn't budge (until he realized I wasn't coming back up, then he wandered down and curled back up on the couch).
The minute I walked downstairs, the power went out. Gregg and I sat in the dark and watched the lightning show. We rarely have power outages, so both of us expected the power to kick back on pretty quickly. It didn't.
As soon as the wind died down, I went back to bed, but as the night wore on and the upstairs got hotter and hotter, I retired to the couch with Ray. It's long enough that I can stretch all the way out and still have enough room for a curled-up dog at my feet.
The next morning, we were up by 5:30. It was hot inside, but not nearly as hot as it was outside.
"I'm going to take Ray for a walk before it gets even hotter, " I said to Gregg.
"I'll join you," replied my lovely husband.
We headed out.
"It looks like there was a parade and everyone threw leaves instead of confetti," I said as we walked down the block.
The streets, sidewalks, and yards were littered with leaves and branches.
By the time we got home, Ray was done in. While I cleared the backyard of blind-dog booby-traps (small branches that trip him up and branches large enough to impale him), Ray took a nap in a cool spot against the foundation of the house.
For the rest of the day and most of the evening, Ray lay splayed out in the front hall, expending just enough energy to lick his hot spot.
That night, we all slept downstairs. Every once-in-awhile I would get up and go outside to see if it had cooled enough to open a window. Even though the air inside was hot and stagnant, it was still cooler than the air outside. At 3:45 a.m, power returned to the house.
With the return of the A.C., Gregg has been reenergized. Ray and I however still think it's too hot to do anything.
So we're doing what Shel Silverstein talks about in the last stanza of his poem, It's Hot:
"I've tried with 'lectric fans, and pools and ice cream cones. I think I'll take my skin off and sit around in my bones."
I had already gone to bed and Ray had already curled up on his futon, but when I heard the wind start to blow, I got up and went back downstairs. We have enormous trees in the backyard, ones big enough to take out the entire upstairs, and when the wind blows hard, it gets a bit scary. I tried to convince Ray to come back downstairs with me but he wouldn't budge (until he realized I wasn't coming back up, then he wandered down and curled back up on the couch).
The minute I walked downstairs, the power went out. Gregg and I sat in the dark and watched the lightning show. We rarely have power outages, so both of us expected the power to kick back on pretty quickly. It didn't.
As soon as the wind died down, I went back to bed, but as the night wore on and the upstairs got hotter and hotter, I retired to the couch with Ray. It's long enough that I can stretch all the way out and still have enough room for a curled-up dog at my feet.
The next morning, we were up by 5:30. It was hot inside, but not nearly as hot as it was outside.
"I'm going to take Ray for a walk before it gets even hotter, " I said to Gregg.
"I'll join you," replied my lovely husband.
We headed out.
"It looks like there was a parade and everyone threw leaves instead of confetti," I said as we walked down the block.
The streets, sidewalks, and yards were littered with leaves and branches.
By the time we got home, Ray was done in. While I cleared the backyard of blind-dog booby-traps (small branches that trip him up and branches large enough to impale him), Ray took a nap in a cool spot against the foundation of the house.
For the rest of the day and most of the evening, Ray lay splayed out in the front hall, expending just enough energy to lick his hot spot.
That night, we all slept downstairs. Every once-in-awhile I would get up and go outside to see if it had cooled enough to open a window. Even though the air inside was hot and stagnant, it was still cooler than the air outside. At 3:45 a.m, power returned to the house.
With the return of the A.C., Gregg has been reenergized. Ray and I however still think it's too hot to do anything.
So we're doing what Shel Silverstein talks about in the last stanza of his poem, It's Hot:
"I've tried with 'lectric fans, and pools and ice cream cones. I think I'll take my skin off and sit around in my bones."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
