Well, football season is upon us. They say it's time for a stirring halftime speech, time for Coach to get all red in the face and scream and "lose it." Time for him to shout about your wimpy ways, how we'd be winning if it weren't for you, how you can neither run nor block nor tackle.
Or perhaps it's not time for such blather.
I don't know if you ever played football, but I did. And I've often been asked about the difference between televised football and actually being there on the gridiron.
Well, it's like this....
OK, first I have a confession: not very many people have asked about my days as a high school football player. That part was made up.
*bark bark bark bark*
*bark bark bark*
Yesterday, when I began this update, it showed so much promise. Jeez, what an upside! I was salivating.
But now, one day later, as I try to add to it, the same potentially-derailing noises are happening again: doggy bark bark bark.
So it's quite a racket.
"Think about me, think about me, think about me," says our loudest pooch, only it sounds like "woof woof woof." I wonder sometimes if it's better to relate a coherent thought or muse on the dogs' yapping.
And now with the high-pitched whining. Oh, good one, Semper! I was about to say it all sounded the same. "Hey, can we get some variety over here," I requested, internally--and they complied.
I wonder if I could ever turn something like this into something worth something.
The above sentence might sound better if I infuse some bark into it. "I wonder if I could ever turn bark like this into bark worth bark."
It's sorta similar.
Now they've grown eerily silent. Are they upset? What could they be upset about? 1) Food and water bowls full. 2) They've been sleeping all day. 3) I've been extracting salt from the mountain all day. I've got one slippery fleeting half hour, here, to compose before we start making dinner together. Last night and the night before and the night before and the night before... Yep, you guessed it: their "night before-ing" has commenced again, and it's a bit "rough" on the ears. As in, "This sandpaper is rough rough rough!"
Anyway, as I was saying, in all the previous nights that I can remember, these mutts have enjoyed being inside with us humans all evening. We let them out whenever they want out, and right back in again when they holler and scratch the sliding glass door. Sometimes it's an all-evening affair: in and out and in and out and in and out... Whoops: that's just my girlfriend and I dipping our brats into the batter. We're making corn dogs tonight. Homemade corn dogs, yum!
So it's anybody's guess where the mistreatment allegations arise from. Have they arisen from the crime dog, hmm? Sniffing around our back yard? No, that's not quite right. It's not our back yard, it's their back yard. Theirs and the mosquitoes and the horseflies and the chiggers and the yellow jackets and etc. We're out there only once a week--slathered in repellent and dodging their piles like Tiny Tim amid the tulips. Yes, once weekly we mow their grass so they can enjoy a nice romp when they're not sleeping. God, sometimes I wish I were a dog.
The life of Riley, that's what they're living.
"Grrrrr!!"
OVER to a little problem I had with salsa guy
OVER to HerbNation HOMEPAGE