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This Day in My History


You can say any fool thing to a dog, and the dog will give you this look that says, `My God, you're RIGHT! I NEVER would've thought of that!'

~ Dave Barry

Yesterday's Entries

2000: Moneymoneymoney
 Everything But the Pope
2002:  Hold Me Close, Never Let Me Go
2003:  Insights


Strange Life of Ivan Osokin
by P.D. Ouspensky


The Olympics

Buy my stuff at Lulu!



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This is my new toy.  Isn't it pretty?  It makes noise.  Lots and lots and lots of noise.
I love it.

Sheila Video 1 ("See Sheila Run")
Sheila Video 2 ("Meet Barkley")
Sheila Video 3 ("Play time")



19 August 2004

Sheila and I have two games we play when we go to the park.

Unfortunately, they are both the same game.

I’m playing "fetch" and Sheila’s playing "tag." The way it works is that I throw the ball and she runs after it, picks it up in her mouth, drops it and then runs back to the fence to check for approaching dogs. I walk across the park, pick up the ball again, throw it again, she chases it, picks it up again, drops it again, and so the game continues until either I get tired of walking the length of the park over and over again and decide to go home or until another dog comes to play.

If there is such a thing as "doggie sarcasm," then I think Sheila displays it. I will be the first to admit that I never would have made it as a baseball pitcher. I never did have a good arm, and now that my "good arm" is also my "bad arm" my throwing distance is worse than ever (though it’s great therapy for my shoulder, I’m sure).

I usually wait until Sheila is behind me and then throw it ahead of me so she has a longer distance to run. Sometimes she loses the ball in the grass. At those time, she starts searching for it about 6 inches from where I threw it. Pulleeze. I may not be ready to pitch for the Giants, but I can throw the ball farther than six inches.

At one point when she lost the ball and was looking for it, I said "You’re really stupid, you know," (since it was right there in plain sight). She gave me a look as if to say "Oh yeah? Well, I’m not the one throwing a ball for a dog who isn’t going to bring it back!"

We were just about ten minutes too late arriving at the park today.  I had been up late writing a review and decided to go to the park late.  Last time I went late, we ran into dogs.  However, as we crested the hill and started down to the park, I could see one of Sheila's favorite pals, a Shi Tzu named Waffle.  Waffle's owner is an older woman who saw us, but was just leaving and by the time we got to the park, they had disappeared.  So we had another dog-less morning and played a lot of "fetch-tag."

Yesterday morning we found a ball that a woman we’d met in the park the day before had lost. She had two big dogs and a "chuck-it," one of those things which picks up a ball and tosses it long distances (I’m thinking of getting one because of the aforementioned arm problem, and also because it will reduce the amount of dog slobber I have to deal with!).

Anyway, she was throwing this ball and it got "eaten" by one of the park trees.  When she left, she told me that if I happened to see a purple squeak ball, to please put it aside somewhere for her because it was her dog Tavo's favorite ball.

Well, Sheila found the ball and fell in love with it.  She wouldn't let go of it and just kept squeaking and squeaking it, a nice soft sounding squeak.   I managed to get it away from her and stuck it up in the "Y" of a tree, where the woman and Tavo would find it and then we went home.

Later, when I was at the supermarket, I found a nice squeak toy and decided Sheila would like it, so I bought it.

She loves it.  It's much louder than the nice little purple ball.  She squeaks it constantly.   (As I write this, she is lying at my feet and has been squeaking it for, oh, about 40 hours, it seems.)

I may have to kill her.

Recommended Web Site

The American media continues to be terribly annoying about the "disappointing losses" of the American athletes at the Olympics.  This column says it perfectly.  "Disappointment" is in the eye of the beholder and none of the silver or bronze winning medalists seem disappointed at all.   Walt says he saw one of the gymnasts--a 15 year old kid--interviewed about how disappointed she must feel that the American team lost to Romania.  She essentially said "Hey, I'm going home with a silver medal and I had a great time!"

Shame on all the reporters for making anything less than gold seem like a great tragedy.


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I kind of liked this altered page. 
An odd choice for someone who doesn't sew!
(the text is about how to sew, from an old, old book on housekeeping)


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