Archive for the “Pets” Category


I posted about what a shitty summer my dad had. He made a full recovery, but about three weeks after getting out of the hospital his job announced he was to be laid off (after 20 years working for the company as it passed through various owners and buyouts).

Yep, that is one sucky summer!

It turned out OK; my dad has a much better new job. But still, I wanted to do something special for him this Christmas.

Around the end of October, my co-worker Scott brought in these photos of the four puppies that needed homes.

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The puppies were half Pekingese, half chihuahua. Two were brown, two were black. Two were long-haired, two were short-haired. I fell in love with the long-haired brown puppy, but knew I couldn’t handle any more animals myself. Besides, I’m a big-dog type of person. Then, like a message from baby Jesus, I was struck with an idea:

Maybe it was time for my parents to get a pet!

Our beloved German Shepherd Harley had to be put to sleep two years ago this December. She had lived to be 13, and was truly the best dog ever. But her bad hips finally did her in.

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Harley, summer 2005, age 13. We miss you girl!

Since then, my parents (especially my mother, who doesn’t like animals much) said they traveled too much to have a dog again. However, I suspected that my father missed having a dog around. Not only did both of my parents love Harley, but my dad especially loved our mildly retarded pekingese/?? mix Buckwheat (aka Pepper). Buckwheat had passed away several years before.

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Dad and Buckwheat, circa ~ 1991

So I called my mother and jokingly acted like I already bought a puppy, just to see her reaction. I said, “Guess what I got Dad for Christmas? A PUPPY!” Instead of being mad, she actually warmed to the idea very quickly and said it would be nice to have a dog around the house again. I about “fell out” from surprise, as they say on Jerry Springer. Next I called my dad, and surprisingly he didn’t like the puppy idea. He didn’t even believe me when I said that mom liked the idea.

By the next day he had warmed to the idea as well. I think they were both sold when the above puppy pictures of Sparky hit their inbox! I was told that if I met the puppy and liked him, that I could get it for my dad for Christmas. (I live in Colorado and they live 8 hours away in Kansas, so they couldn’t meet him themselves.)

Scott would not have snuck him into work for me to meet him, because that would be against the rules. So it didn’t happen. These pictures of him being held by a co-worker are obviously photoshopped. ;)

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I think my parents were even more in love with him when they got these photos. Arrangements were made; in a week, I’d pick up Sparky and keep him overnight, and would deliver him the next day to my parents at a rendezvous point in Kansas.

And now the whole family is so in love with Sparky that I even started a blog about him. (Yeah, I’m doing a bit of cross-posting here.) I try to post there every 24 - 48 hours with new pics of Sparky. I haven’t seen him since Christmas, when Moose and I went home to visit. I miss him lots. I don’t think Moose misses him though.

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Old pic, but everyone could use a little goose of Moose, right? He sends hugs, and asks how your folks are doin’.

Denver is cold. Damn cold. So cold, I thought I was back in Kansas yesterday!

Moose snowglobe

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Some of you may already know that I bought my parents a puppy for Christmas. He is the cutest thing ever! Despite me living over 8 hours away, I have visited the puppy twice since I dropped him off in November.

I even started a photoblog about it. I update it at least every 36 hours. If you like cuteness, please bookmark The Sparky Chronicles.

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Sparky, you’re so cute, I can’t stand it!

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Propaganda cats are any cat you’ve ever met that is cute, affectionate, or adorable. These cats are rogue Al Quadea cats. These cats wish to suck us into their illusion of coolness and cuteness. “I’m cute and fuzzy!” they convey. “I’ll sit on your lap and purr!” they assert.

FILTHY WHORISH LIES!

No “real” cat is this way. REAL cats never let you pet them. In fact, you never see a REAL cat except for when you fill their food dish, and when they appear out of nowhere to scratch the shit out of your calf, then disappear again.

So if you meet a cat that’s cuddly and sweet, that is a terrorist agent for the Propaganda Cats. Their mission is to pretend they’re something they’re not (i.e. pretend they’re a decent pet), infiltrate every American household, then overthrow the US Government using a strategy of spreading a toxiplasmosis endemic, coupled with coast-to-coast unprovolked scratch marks which lead to minor infections.

Don’t be fooled!!!

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I entered the darkened abode, shaking off the chill of the cold Colorado fall evening. Immediately, I sensed that something was wrong. Very wrong.

I looked around my living room. It was trashed! Debris everywhere! Revolting filth, mind-boggling chaos!

A split-second of panic, and reflexively my hand went for my cell phone to alert the authorities.

Then I recalled my weekend of sloth, spent watching tivoed South Park and TV Funhouse episodes while dozing in and out of consciousness on my couch.

Slightly relieved upon realizing that I was the one responsible for trashing my living room, I loosened my grip on my cell phone. But yet, something was still amiss. Fifteen years of seeing the worst violence humanity could dole out to one another have honed my “spidey senses”.

Something horrible had happened here tonight. I could just feel it. The abomination. The unholiness.

Then I saw it. The empty shell. The insides had all been eaten — oh, the humanity!

Who could have done such a heinous evisceration?

I was only gone a few minutes. Yet that was enough time for the criminal to take what they wanted. No concern with the fact it wasn’t his to take. No afterthought about who would be hurt.

Yes, my entire takeout carton of Boston Market Macaroni and Cheese was completely gutted!

Following the violent pattern of drool and cheese splatters on the wall and carpet, I came upon the one responsible for the slaughter.

His eyes plead innocence. However, the ring of yellow on the muzzle and nose told me everything I needed to know about the evening’s events. A scene of gore and brutality that flew in the face of God.

My macaroni and cheese. Gone. Snuffed in the prime of it’s take-out life.

Goddamnit Moose!

Moose Mac Caper

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