Not Michelin Rated

I had been doing a spot of Christmas shopping. (I hate shopping in general and Christmas shopping in specific but a body's got to do what a body's got to do.) It was 2:00, I still hadn't eaten lunch and I was more than a little hungry so, in a moment of lunacy, drove through a McDonalds and picked up two cheeseburgers. I thought I was hungrier than one cheeseburger, knew I wasn't as hungry as two, but since I was on my way home I figured I would just share my second cheeseburger with Ray.

When I arrived home, I was greeted at the front door. I got Ray's usual half-hearted tail-wag, the one that says "Oh, it's you again? I was hoping for someone better" but since I was carrying a sack of food, was then trailed by the hound into the kitchen.

Thinking I needed a laugh after my fruitless shopping expedition, I extracted a french fry ('chip' for the British contingent) and handed it to the Nose who was intently sniffing at the countertop where resided the sack. As expected, Ray, a dog of exquisite taste and sensibility, curled his lips back, took the fry gingerly between his teeth so that it could touch no part of his anatomy, and spat it contemptuously on the ground. I laughed.

I then took the remaining burger out of the bag, tore it in half, removed the bun, the pickle, and the ketchup and handed it to the dog. Ray, never having had a McDonalds cheeseburger before, took it suspiciously. Holding it in his teeth by one edge, he flapped it up and down a bit then, determining through the flapping process that it was indeed food, Ray let the cheeseburger enter his mouth. A great display of head bobbing and theatrical chewing ensued. At length, the small piece of burger was consumed. What passes for cheese, however, was expelled as a slimy glob onto the kitchen floor. The discriminating dog had spoken loudly without uttering a sound.

Photo Phriday

A random assortment of photos from the last few months

Ahhhhhh. I love my couch. SO MUCH

Do you want the shoe? Do ya punk?

Then come and get it

HA

I don't know why, but I'm feeling a bit creeped out.

I'm waiting for the next presidential race to run again.

You're in my spot, dog.

Guess I'll just have to settle for something MUCH more comfortable

Ahhhhhh, I love my other couch. SO much

And then the first cat said to the other cat "But that's not a mousie,
that's a vole!"
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

What? Haven't you ever seen a dog sleeping with a cat before?

(Ray) Move
(Juno) No

(Ray) Move
(Juno) No

(Ray) Move
(Juno) No

sigh

there's someone watching me….

….do dee do dee do. I'll just pretend that I don't know

Murder Most Foul (smelling)

I was sitting on the couch in the family room working on a Christmas project, watching TV with half and eye, and ignoring the noises coming from the dining room. Since I and the animals were the only ones home, I knew noises weren't a good thing, but being totally involved in my project, I didn't want to check out the source. I had a pretty good idea whence the noises emanated, and I didn't want to deal with it.
Ray had been lying beside me with his hound-head on top of my shoulder examining my work, but when the noises started, even though the head didn't move, the ears deployed and the eyebrows started their dance of inquisition.
After a few minutes, the hound-head removed itself. Ray sat alertly, looking in the direction of the noises. After a few minutes more, the big, curious dog could stand it no longer. He levered himself from his spot on the couch and, neck outstretched to the max, went to investigate. I sighed and started to put aside my work, an involved process taking several minutes.
I heard a GAK, then another, and another.
Thinking perhaps that Ray had eaten something he shouldn't, I dropped my work in a heap and hurried to the dog.
Ray was standing over a dead vole, his ears fully deployed, his head tilted to one side. Juno, the murderess, had retreated behind the dog gate to the laundry room and was remotely keeping an eye on her prize. As I watched, Ray lowered his head and cautiously sniffed the dead thing. He GAKked recoiled in revulsion, then did the same thing again, then again.
Apparently dead voles are repulsive-smelling to dogs and it takes several sniffs to establish this fact. I retrieved a wad of paper towels and removed the corpse from the room.

They always know…(part 2: cat edition)

Today was vet appointment day; both the cats were due their vaccines and Ray needed to have blood drawn to get his liver value rechecked. Since Gregg had the day off, I had made appointments for all three at once. I figured, between the two of us we could handle it.
The appointment was for 11:00. Both of the cats had headed outside as soon as the dog door was opened but I wasn't too concerned, Juno is almost always close by and Harvey usually comes home for a mid-morning nap. If not, he will (usually) come when called.
At 10:30 when Gregg and I got home from walking Ray, neither cat was to be found. We started calling. And we called. And called. And called.
At 10:50 I said to Gregg, "You take Ray to the vet. I'll stay around and see if I can find the cats. I know that they have us booked until 11:45 so if I find them before that, I'll stuff them in the carriers and come along."
Gregg agreed, packed the hound in his car, and off he went. I returned outside and shook the treat can, walked up and down the sidewalk, peered over fences, and called, and called, and called.
At 11:30 Gregg called me.
"They've taken Ray to the back to draw his blood, are you coming?" he asked.
"No cats," I replied, "You'll have to reschedule. Just pick a day and get the first appointment of the morning. I won't let them out of the house; I'll just bring them right to the vet."
Gregg agreed. I headed outside to rake leaves. By the time he got home, Juno was here…

Heh heh heh

They always know. I should know better than to believe they would hang around on a vet appointment day.

They always know...

I was hosting a Do Day, a day when anyone with a project could come over for a couple of hours and work on it. Three people had taken me up on the offer and we were having a good time. Ray of course was thrilled because all three of the people were on his 'favorites' list, which, granted, is rather lengthy.
After enthusiastically greeting each, Ray decided to sit in the only logical place, with the only person in the room who didn't particularly care for dogs.
"How do animals always know which person in the room doesn't like them?" asked my friend, Betty.
"I don't know," I replied, "But they always do."

What do you mean she doesn't like dogs? 

Of course she likes dogs!

As a matter of fact, I'm quite sure she loves dogs!

Halloween 2014

Halloween used to be one of Ray's favorite holidays. All those kids coming to the door to see him (at least that's what he thought) used to get him really excited. Now that he's older and wiser, Ray knows that they are all coming just to get candy and he's a bit put out. He stays curled in his chair and only gets up to greet those that he knows. It's kinda sad, really. Ray has grown jaded.
Even so, Ray still does enjoy carving pumpkins. This year, for the first time, he even tried a piece to see if maybe it was edible. Apparently, it wasn't.
Because I got caught up in totally redesigning my Halloween display this year, I completely forgot about a costume for Ray. He was off the hook until I realized that I needed a few more fake candles to put in the lanterns (so that there are no tragic accidents involving combustible trick-or-treaters). A quick trip to the store solved my candle problem and, as a bonus, solved the costume problem.
Ray was as thrilled as could be. He donned his headgear and we walked around the block to visit someone that we knew would have dog treats. Unfortunately, she wasn't home.

What do you mean she's not home?

sigh

grumble grumble grumble

Are you sure this is ripe?

Here, let me knock on it for you. Let's see if it sounds hollow.

I think it sounds ok... 

...proceed

A new use for the cone of shame.
A decoration that strikes terror into the hearts of dogs everywhere. 

Free at Last

I awoke with a feeling of anticipation, like it was Christmas. The day had finally arrived, Ray was getting his staples out. More importantly, Ray was going to be rid of his unwieldy headgear. A sense of peace descended on me.

I rolled out of bed, and followed by my mobile satellite dish, headed downstairs. Ray clipped his way across the kitchen floor to the back door. It was pitch black outside. I flipped on the light to the patio which did nothing to penetrate the darkness beyond, slipped off Ray's hat, and turned the dog loose outside. He disappeared into the darkness. I waited by the back door. And waited. And waited. 

Growing suspicious at the length of time it was taking my dog to pee, I grabbed a flashlight and went in search. I found him at the farthest reach of the backyard, lying behind a bush, furiously licking his back leg. Ray had become cagier. Every time his hat was removed, he would discreetly disappear just out of eyesight only to be discovered licking his wound. And every time he did so I would wonder how he knew that he was out of sight. 

The trip to the vet went well. The staples were removed, his teeth were given the once-over and Ray was released, disembarrassed at last of the cone of shame.

Upon returning home, and joined by his shadow, Ray celebrated with a nap in the sunshine. (I would caption these photos, but cuteness needs no caption)