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This Day in My History

  The Creative Process
  Waiting for the Great Pumpkin
Invisible Woman

 Painted Emblems of a Race
2004:  Ghost of Halloween Past



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OK--I got you up.  Now are you going to feed me?



"Dancing Pigs"

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31 October 2005

"Don't forget to turn your clocks back."

I heard it over and over again on TV yesterday.

"Don't forget we turn the clocks back tonight," Walt said as he headed off for San Francisco to go to the symphony.

Daylight Savings time has ended and everybody was looking forward to an extra hour of sleep last night.

My alarm clocks come with four legs and they don't know from time change.

Knowing that I would be (unavoidably) awakened at the same old body time, I went to sleep early.  When what is now 4:45 came around and I heard the expected canine awakening, Sheila's toenails clip-clip-clipping on the Pergo, I snuggled down under the blankets and pretended not to notice.


Sheila's two feet landed in my stomach.  I opened one eye and there was this big grin.

It's MORNING!  It's time to wake UP!  It's time to FEED ME!

It doesn't matter that there is only the barest hint of light outside. I can just barely make out that there is a tree outside the window and it will be fully two hours before the crows wake up.


Two other huge paws land on my stomach from the other side.


It's MORNING! Slingshot seems to be saying.  What are you doing still in that chair?

I pet the two of them for awhile and then tell them to go away and they both put all four feet on the floor again.

And then it starts.

The wrestling.

I have never been able to figure out why, with the entire family room to play in, and the entire back yard to play in, they have to wrestle directly under the raised footrest of the recliner.  Any recliner.  We have three in the family room, but whichever one I'm in is the one that they have to wrestle under.


The recliner bounces up and down as these two hulks play with each other.

I know they want me to get up and occasionally they check to see if I am anywhere closer to getting out of the chair yet.  I continue to pretend that I don't notice.

Finally Sheila pulls out the big guns.  The one thing that she knows will get me up faster than anything else.


Her big paws land directly on top of Kimba, who is snuggled down as comfortably on her bed as I am in mine.

Bark-bark-bark-snarl-growl-bark, goes Kimba, who is much older than I am much grumpier when she is rudely awakened.

She feels the same way that I do about being awakened out of a sound sleep by two happy dogs who are READY FOR THE MORNING TO START!!!

It's Sunday morning so I say a little prayer:  "God, please deliver me from happy  dogs."

"You never go to church any more; you're on your own," He replies.

WHOMP, go Sheila's feet again on Kimba and the shrill bark comes again.

Not only do I not like to hear that ear-shattering bark, but I know Walt has gotten home late (I don't know what time, since I was asleep when he got home) and the barking will wake him up.

She's finally done it.   I am fully awake and I get out of the chair.

By now all three dogs are wide awake and deliriously happy that I am too.

I stumble to the bathroom for morning ablutions and when I come out of the door, there are three bodies lined up in the hallway grinning at me.

"She's AWAKE!" the world is good.

I continue the morning routine, which is to come in to my computer and check e-mail.

Sheila stands on one side of me with her nose in my lap and Slingshot on the other with his cold nose pushing my elbow so I'll give him some attention.

I pet both of them and then tell them to go away.

Their job now done, they both leave, get back into their beds and go back to sleep.

I hate dogs.


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