Warp Factor Five

From the dense fog of a cool spring morning three figures emerge, moving at incredible speed; one of them visibly disgusted, a clothespin clamped on its nose...

That would be me, the unwitting participant of a most dreadful game - one that seasoned dog owners will recognize: The attack of the Klingons. No, this is not a fun, fantasy filled Star Trek episode reenacted. Instead, it is likely the least pleasant ritual a dog owner must endure.

Dogs eat grass. A plethora of theories exist that explain why. I'm not certain which is true, but that is of no concern to me. They just eat grass. And not the neatly trimmed grass of the lawn; instead they dine on select free-range blades of field grass. And I'll be damned if they don't eat them just like spaghetti! I watch Sola as a blade disappears in her snout like a snake tongue.

I never do get a chance to catch it and pull it back out. The dogs are usually not afforded the time to consume sufficient quantities to cause gastric distress, so they don't hack up yellow grass balls in your shoes like the cat does. They just sneak these grass noodles in, as I hear (from behind me) the zip of another blade going down the hatch and turn to see Nigel next to a well trimmed patch of weeds looking content, and guilty as can be. I get pissed when they do this and drag them inside.

I know it sounds mean, but I'm no joy burglar. I am just fully aware of what awaits me...

It's a beautiful spring morning, birds singing, sun burning off the fog that had set in overnight. Nigel, Sola and I stop to take huge gulps of the spring air that rolls across the lawn from the stream that winds past the house. It's the kind of morning that makes you feel as though you might take on the world and win if you tried. Then your dog crushes your spirit.





My mother will choke me when she sees the Waterford candlesticks she gave us used in this context.









Nigel and Sola part ways when they need to "drop off a few friends", and I strain my eyes to keep them both in my field of vision. I know they enjoy their privacy, but I have to be on the lookout. While I wait for Nigel to get started, Sola finishes her biz and springs from behind a bush. I go pale at once.

Sola is not alone. Flapping behind her is an unwanted passenger. My good friend the grass noodle has been resurrected and is hanging half out of the dog, a chocolate donut hole attached. As I retreat from Sola, Nigel swings around, his own stench weapon making an arc toward my leg. I engage the thrusters as I am forced to dance like a football player working the tires; knees carried high, dogs dancing, putrescent munchkins swinging behind them. I am on the holodeck of hell, and the door is locked tight.

I seek out a big leaf in the midst of this bizarre stink dance. What follows is exactly as you might imagine. There is no joy in this - I'd rather spend the next year sitting atop an Iranian nuclear reactor than pulling grass noodles from the dogs.

You have to attack quickly or the rear third of your dog will be spotted like a Leopard. The enemy must be extracted with precision. Pull too slowly and you'll be overtaken by the polluted air around you. Yank too quickly and your dog will never forgive you for the paper cut-like wound you'll inflict with that big blade of grass that taunts you from nether regions.

Laugh all you want if you are not a dog owner. If you are, heed this advice: Avoid tall grass, collect large leaves and carry a clothespin. Never, ever eat donut holes, at least not the chocolate ones with a blade of grass in them. And keep your photon torpedoes locked and loaded.

We'll be seeing you on the holodeck...

Mine Enemy

Nigel: Did someone just floss me?!?
Sola: Please pass the Novocaine, I have something like a paper cut.

I Nearly Forgot....

So many have asked for the results of This Prank

The short, sweet answer: They decided to "just be friends."

:)

Distracted

Sorry to check in late. Sola has been recovering from surgery for two weeks.

In January Sola went in to heat. That would not be a big deal had she not been spayed a year earlier. Yes, that is not right.

The Patient Recovers

The veterinarian who performed the spay left behind ovarian remnants. More than one. Judging by the jar of tissue I observed (after this sugery) it seems her spay was a hack job.

Nigel: Jerks!

Author: Right on. So we ditched our vet of the last decade for a new one. Good choice - Sola is doing well, looks like she should be fine. We are relieved, and our adventures will resume shortly. Very shortly ;)

My Neighbor is a Freak

Um, ok.

My sensibilities have been offended. Remember This Guy?

War has ensued since that story posted. My neighbor and I have engaged in the most enjoyable form of battle: Pranks. Pranks of all sorts. One example...

Our power company sucks. They must have a suck-as-much-as-you-can rule in their employee handbook. And they are nice folks. They are always kind and polite when we call them.

Yet if a Crow farts on a power line seven towns go dark. And it takes hours to repair. My neighbor and I are internets-addicted, so power outages leave us biting our nails. We will stay home bundled up with the dogs while he goes to Starbucks to get his www. fix. We have an old phone that works when the power is out, so he calls every two hours to see if the power is on. We usually tell him it is on four to six hours after it is actually restored.

We hate power outages, Mrs. Author included. She needs TV and a hair dryer. We have never camped. She likes keeping lots of lights on. Neighbor hates losing his surfing privilages. So he was taken aback when I sent him this e-mail:

From: Vermont Electric Company [mailto: notify@wesuckatelectricity.c0m ] Sent: Thursday, December 25, 2005 10: 47 PM To: CustomerList Subject: Power Customer Storm Notice

Valued Vermont Electric Company customer:

Current weather conditions are responsible for multiple outages for VEC customers in 7 towns across central Vermont. It is anticipated that further accumulations of ice will cause outages for most customers in the surrounding areas. Due to pending repairs from previous storms it is impossible to predict outage durations, but current estimates are for 72-96 hours for repair completion. This estimate is subject to change. Please seek alternate shelter if necessary.

Vermont Electric Company Customer Support


He lost it. Very breifly. I let him sweat for about thirty seconds. I pinged him on Yahoo IM laughing. He realized I'd forged it just after forwarding it to a new lady friend he was chatting with. Hook, line and sinker.

It was only a matter of time. Eleven days actually. Mrs. Author called me in a tizzy, laughing and disturbed by Neighbor Nate's latest creation. Once she's explained it to me I begged her to get the camera. Fortunately she obliged:

What the hell?

Neighbor had built a charming snowlady. Close enough to the garage to prevent easy access. I pulled in just as the snowplow driver was finishing the driveway. He refused to plow down the snowlady, and instead worked around her. And then he drove past me, looking straight ahead, speeding off in to the night. I thought nothing of it.

I grabbed my computer bag and approached the snowlady and it struck me that I'd forgotten the details. This was no ordinary snowlady. Not by a long shot.

She had nipples, big ones. with peanuts in the middles. Her eyes were peanut butter cups, cute enough. Her necklace and eyebrows were crafted from carefully placed ribbons of easy cheese. Odd. But her nose was the dealbreaker, the pièce de résistance. It was a purple dimpled battery operated personal massager. That's right, ladies.

My neighbor had devised and produced a twisted, triple-x artistic rendition of his vision in snow. I now understand why the snowplow driver wouldn't look at me. It was a redneck freak show. I made my way inside, shocked and awed.

I dreamed of ways to destroy her. For a day. Mrs. Author fretted, expecting to find Sola running in with a new purple toy. From inside the dogs stalked her, growling. I went to work. And I had an idea. When I arrived at home last night Mrs. Author and I went to work. It was time to ditch the tree. The Christmas Tree. We furiously stripped the tree of lights and ornaments in a cloud of needles. Mrs Author moved the breakables as I opened the huge window above the garage.

Direct hit, bombs away.

Yes!

I surveyed the damage this morning. Not bad for my first tree launch. What remained was a sad sagging torso, headless, one boob on the ground. I decided to finish the job. I dragged the tree out of the way, took aim, and flattened her with our truck. She was left to melt by a snowbank (Nigel's favorite). Sola ate the cheese eyebrows from the driveway. I felt much better suddenly. But not quite better enough.
I'd still been had. If she had been seen by the neighborhood kids I know I'd be getting hate calls from their parents.

*Ring*Ring*

Author: "Hello."

Angry Parent: "You freak, what the heck you got goin on up there? You wanna hear what my kid done sang ta me? Huh?

"Hey Johnny, sing the song for your nice neighbors. You don't want to sing it? O.k., I'll sing it for you."

"Frostette the snowlady,

Was a happy horny sleaze.

With a bath towel hat,

A vibrator nose,

And eyebrows made out of cheese..."

Author: "Good God that's a cool song. You have one smart little kid."

Angry Parent: "Nice try jerk. Get rid of that crap and stay away you pervert!"

Author: "But it was my neighbor-*click*

That could have happened, which would have made it a grade-A prank. I had to find a way to get back at my neighbor as quickly as possible. Why the rush? Beacause he had a date coming for dinner. It was only their second date. I grabbed the camera and called Sola and we ran back out.

"Sola!" I called, "Get the toy!" And she was off! Snow flew as she dug her way through the bank, emerging with the battery powered purple personsal pleasure device. We ran next door together under the cover of cold winter darkness. I asked her to drop it and she did, right on my neighbor's front porch steps.

Sola: Tastes like chicken.

Author: That's just not right. Anyway, I turned on the flash and snapped a pic:

Click to enlarge, ladies.

My neighbor saw the flash and came out to the door. I was thirty feet away, facing the driveway.

Neighbor: "Dude, what you doing?"

Author: "I was just getting a long shot of the basketball court with the dead snowlady."

Neighbor: "Dude, I think there is going to be a story about my snowlady."

Author: "There most certainly will be."

He went back inside, without taking notice of my datewarming gift. Sola and I ran inside laughing. She is sleeping at my feet now, a smile on her lips. We have shaken off the cold, the Patriots game will be on in twenty minutes, and my neighbor's date has arrived.

It is going to be an excellent night.

Nigel: The neighbor scares me badly.

Sola: Me too, but I'm pretty sure he is in some serious trouble...

Sola Turns Two Today

The Birthday Girl

This evening we celebrated Sola's second birthday. That's right - Tater Tot is the big two on Christmas eve. Our celebration included fluffernutters with the crusts removed, a new stuffed animal toy, and a lovely new collar for Sola.

We fondly recalled our frightening jouney to get Sola; mountain biking, porch roof base jumping, food stalking, eaten walls, ruined carpets, mud baths, yard monster attacks, and more.

We feel love, joy, happiness.

We love you Tater-Tot.
Love you to pieces.


Nigel: May I administer the birthday spanking?
Sola: In your dreams chicken-legs.

Autumn Takes a Bow

Sola dreams of snow.

Winter has set in, the world around us submerged in a frigid ocean of snow and ice. Typical seasonal transitions do not take place in Vermont. Instead, a week of warm sunny days is erased in a flash, replaced with bitter winds and plummeting temperatures. The sun is suddenly distant, the power of its warming rays weakened.

This does not sit well with me. Having lived in numerous parts of the country (all of them South of Vermont) I know what four equal seasons feel like. Vermonters are shorted, experiencing just three seasons, the longest of the three being winter. Cold, hard, dark winter.

Nigel hates winter. Sola loves it. When the garage door opens and the cold hits us, Nigel & Sola demonstrate diametrically opposing reactions. Nigel looks at me and mutters something about Jack Frost and his mother's chosen occupation, which involves the exchange of money for sexual favors.

Sola springs to life, energized by the cold. Having been born and raised in a cold climate, Sola seems to favor winter above all other seasons. She dances through the snow, twisting, turning, diving in. She jumps over snowbanks, weaves through the trees, a powdery smile on her face. She emerges from the field in front of our house completely dusted in snow, looking much like Marion Barry on payday. She watches Nigel tapdance on the basketball court as I coax him toward the yard.

Waxing reminiscent.

This is not an easy task. Nigel has chosen to hold back a few times, acting like he does not need to use "the facilites", only to surprise us with a warm brownie pile in the house an hour later. I remember this as I push and pull him to the yard, begging him to take care of business. If he does oblige me, an interesting ritual ensues. Nigel stops to drop off his passengers, balancing on three (or sometimes just two) legs, wavering, teeth clacking. He looks pissed, even more so when he loses his balance and plants a foot in the stinkbomb he's just left. When he finishes I grab his leg and try to wipe his foot clean for him. He sighs, nonplussed.

Nigel: I hate cold paws, but I would not warm mine this way were my balance better.

Author: We hurry back to the garage, Sola thrilled, Nigel miffed, another winter bathroom trip survived. Before another layer of snow hides the evidence of our journey I look out over the yard, glad to be warm in the house, chuckling at the lone brown pawprint trail that weaves to the house from the arctic landscape surrounding us.

Sola: You're a real charmer Nigel.

Nigel: Come here and let me pat you on the head.