Election Week’s Coming

Man, am I fortunate to be a dog in Chicago.  Why, you ask?  Because it means I can VOTE, of course!  Early and often, as the saying goes – and, for you uninitiated outside of this great bastion of big-D democracy, this right will continue to accrue well after I’ve started chasing rabbits in the sky…

As I’ve mentioned before, I can’t read, so actually casting a ballot might be at least a technical challenge.  Maybe, if I’m lucky, one of those nice purple-shirted people that always seem to be hanging around polling places can help.  I’m sure it would be no trouble – I bet they’d even be willing to vote FOR me, in a pinch.  They’re so nice…

My only regret is that I won’t get a chance to vote for Mayor Daley, or that nice governor fellow with the hair...  At least I’ll likely live long enough to see the Olympics come here in 2016, so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

Keep Hope and Change Alive, or something like that.  I’ll be the one with the blue (well, bluetick) paw up in the air on Tuesday…

Arf.

Football Sunday (Saturday, too)

So, minding my own business, mostly, doing my rounds today – walking inside to the front door, out through the back door onto the deck, check the yard, then back into the house – you know the drill. On a good day, I can get maybe 20 cycles in an hour, unless one of the humans (usually one of the big ones) gets it in their head that they’re going to SHUT THE BACK DOOR. How in the world am I supposed to do my job if I can’t get in and out at least 100 times a day? What if my cute neighbor (or her human) is outside and I’m not there to greet her. Or the other hound two houses away – he’s supposed to think there’s no one minding the store?? Not on my watch. Only one thing to do, well…two – if I’m inside, I have to bark, if I’m outside, it’s scratch the door and bark. They’ll get the message.

Yesterday I went to see the big kid play football. It was fun, but I jumped on a couple of strangers getting too close to our camp, got smacked and they put the “gentle lead” back on me nose. GENTLE MY HIND LEG. Who are they to pull me around by the nose? Demeaning, I say… (2.0 CA for the lead, +2.0 more CA for the shame of it all...) The kid had a sack (and they didn’t punish him for jumping on the other poor kid).

The big girl watches football on Sunday. As near as I can figure it, there’s a guy named Bark Rarve playing, and she can’t decide if she likes this guy more than the Packers (I think she was boarded near the Packers or something). So if I’m quiet, I can get 4-5 treats an hour by yelping a little whenever something happens in the window. Not a bad deal, all in all.

Arf.

Yankees won yesterday - saved my hide...

So, I have four humans in my house, two big ones and two little ones.  The little ones and the biggest big one live somewhere else during most days - they even wake me up in the morning with their clatter - I hate that.  The other big one is my maid/cook/concierge – she gets me pretty much everything I ask for, even comes with me when I walk around the neighborhood in case I need anything. 

At night, though, they watch little people run and dance through a window in my living room - yesterday we could see the Yankees.  Usually every 15 min or so, there are dogs or other animals running through the window.  I’ll get up and yell if I think there’s anything threatening on there (like any master of the house would – protecting my domain), how do think it’s repaid?  Yup – either I get yelled at, or occasionally even a little rap on the butt (about 0.5 on the Chauncey Abuse – CA – scale) - what, am I supposed to just let any old dog (or CAT!!) come into MY house and take my kibble?? 

I.  THINK.  NOT.

But that’s the price I pay for vigilance, and a small price it is.

Speaking of costs - most nights, if I try to clean up a little (where is that maid?) and try to grab some chips or some chicken off a table, I know the price will be either a quick smack on the table (ow, my sensitive ears) or a wave of a newspaper – between 0.5 and 1.5 CA.  If I go up on the counter, though, trying to save them the time of putting it into my dish, they hate that.  Depending on what’s up there, for chips it’s a newspaper wave (0.5 CA), all the way up to a “drag-back-to-the-scene-of-the-crime” with some sharp swats and a humiliating nose rub thrown in (all together about 8.0 CA) for good measure…but it was a good steak…

Tonight, however, with the Yankees on, I knew I had a rare opportunity.  The three boys made a giant cake for me last weekend, but for some reason hadn’t actually given me any yet.  With the game on, I asked for some cake, just a little whiney growly request, but…nothing.  They were busy or distracted, and God helps those who help themselves, so, up I went.  Got a couple of mouthfuls – pretty good, but not as good as the cook’s – when I heard them ask me politely from the other room to stop exerting myself on the counter…  What would usually be a 4.0-5.0 CA offense knocked down to a 0.2 CA bark?

GO YANKEES!!

Arf.

This is for the dogs without access to the internet...to tell their tales of quiet leisurely suffering....

Just the facts:


What I did today.
Why I got hit (and I will get hit, believe me).
How bad it was.  (1-waved at with a newspaper, 10-out on the curb in a refrigerator box)
(and, optionally) What I did to retaliate.


Colors/layout may not be pretty, but...I'm a dog.  Of course, that didn't stop me from finishing a Masters in Design, but, really, it's amazing that I can even type this.


Comments are welcome, but, again...I'm a dog.  I can't read.


arf.