Picking Pieces Off The Fence

I require (and I think deserve) a lot of attention. And when I say a lot of attention, what I really mean is that I deserve all the attention in the world. And when I don’t get all the attention in the world I have no choice but to go out of my way to achieve what is rightfully mine. A perfect example of this premise occurred last weekend.

Ma, Pa, and I were spending the weekend out east (Sister was in a bad mood and decided to stay home—I thought I was really going to miss her, but then I realized that I would not have to share the backseat of the car with her on the drive out so I got over it) and Saturday afternoon’s project, it was decided, would included Ma and Pa picking and trashing mushrooms that had sprouted up in the grass over the course of the previous week. I joined them outside in the backyard during this project.

Now, I’ve never ever been even remotely interested in mushrooms, so for the life of me I couldn’t fathom why Ma and Pa were so dedicated to the completion of this task. Perhaps, I thought, they were concerned that I might try to eat one one day. Ha! Highly unlikely. Why would I bother eating a mushroom from the backyard when there are far more stinky things to eat outside (i.e. half eaten fish dropped by seagulls) and far more tasty things to eat inside (i.e. cheese, apples, tomatoes, and steak)? Humans--I just don’t get them.

Anyway, regardless of my thoughts on the matter, there were two things I knew for certain that afternoon:

1. If Ma and Pa were searching for mushrooms, then they were not paying me the attention I deserved.
2. If Ma and Pa were not paying me the attention I deserved, then I would be forced to draw their attention the only way I knew how…by causing trouble.

I quickly scanned the backyard. At first I felt a bit discouraged; there didn’t seem to be many options. The neighbor dogs were not out so I couldn't rile them up, there really wasn’t much of a garden so I couldn’t dig in the mud, Ma had clipped all the overgrown weeds growing along the fences so I couldn’t graze on them, and the neighbor kids hadn’t thrown any of their toys over the fence so I couldn’t gnaw on them. But then, just when I was about to give up and simply bark at imaginary people passing by the house, a six inch long broken piece of picket fence caught my eye.

But I couldn’t simply run over to the fence. No sir. You see, as much as I craved attention, I wanted it on my terms and I certainly didn’t want to draw attention to myself before I retrieved my prize. So I strolled over to the broken piece of fence as nonchalantly as possible (if I were able to whistle—impossible due to my drooly jowls—I would have done so while I sauntered over to my prize). After an excruciatingly long period of time, I reached the fence, scooped up the broken piece, and, no longer trying to remain under the radar, galloped off across the yard.

My enthusiastic retreat with my prize did exactly what I expected it would: it drew Ma and Pa’s attention. First Ma tried to retrieve my prize from me which resulted in a rousing game of keep away. Then Pa stepped in. Pa doesn't like playing keep away so I reluctantly had to give up my prize when he told me to “drop it.” I was really kind of bummed about losing my piece of fence, but at least I drew everyone's attention.

Two Letters

Dear Ralphie's Mom,

Ralphie Stew

I just wanted to take a minute to thank you for the yummy stew you sent me.  I got a spoonful of it yesterday when Sister came home from class and a couple of scoops mixed in with both my breakfast and dinner today.  And do you know what?  Ralphie's right.  The orange stuff is particularly tasty.  Oh!  And I mustn't forget the chicken!  How did you know that chicken (along with quail, duck, and turkey) is my favorite type of poultry?

My First Taste

Which leads me to the question:  Are you free to cater all my meals?  You see, after sampling your stew, I came to the realization that the catering crew that I currently employ (mainly Ma, Pa, and Sister) are severely lacking in their collective cooking skills.  Don't get me wrong, the kibble they serve me is tasty and I certainly wouldn't turn my snout up at it, but it isn't chicken.  And I realize and appreciate that Ma, Pa, and Sister do try to spice up my meals with pureed pumpkin and something they call "gravy" but, once again, what they're serving me isn't chicken.

So anyway, the offer stands.  I'll be waiting for your response by my dinner bowl.

Love always,
Rigby

Ralphie Tested & Ralphie Approved

Dear Ralphie,

My compliments on your excellent choice of sponsorship.  Your "Ralphie Tested...Ralphie Approved Stew" was delicious!

Your leaning buddy,
Rigby.

Interlopers Run Amok

It's hard for me to admit this out loud, but I feel that I must.  I've recently failed miserably at a job that I hold very near and dear to my heart.  The job:  Head of Security.  My feelings on the topic:  I'm not happy about it.

Interloper Number 1:  
The laps in security started a couple of weeks ago when I noticed that there was an influx of squirrels passing though my yard on their way to the bird feeder and peach tree in the neighbor's yard.  As I've explained in the past, the squirrels and I have a bit of an understanding.  I'm willing to tolerate their trespassing (I hurry them along by chasing after them) provided that they drop their half eaten peaches on my side of the fence (consider it a toll of sorts).  Later, after scrounging through the bushes in search of these peaches, I trade them for a cookie from Pa, Ma, or Sister.  Anyway, long story short, the squirrel paw traffic has increased, but the number of dropped peaches hasn't.

Interloper Number 2:

Henry, When He Was Small

About a week ago, I came to the realization that Henry, the stupid little bunny who usually lives in the yard next door (I bark at him daily), had decided to start nibbling the grass in my yard.  But regardless of how alarming and disturbing the concept of Henry suddenly taking up residence in my back yard is, it is nothing compared to one additional fact.  Henry is no longer a "stupid little bunny."  He is now a "stupid massively large bunny."  I kid you not, he is huge!  He's even starting to rival in size most of the small dogs I know.  Mercifully, as of right now, he's obviously still frightened of me (he still runs away when he sees me), but I fear that his brazen trespassing and obvious steroid use (how else can one account for his sudden and massive increase in size) could signify that the tables might change if something isn't done soon to rectify the situation.

Interloper Number 3:
Last weekend, Pa went into the garage to retrieve his car washing bucket and was surprised to find that a baby lizard had taken up residence in the bottom of the bright orange bin.  He was shocked because he had no idea how the lizard got into the bucket.  I was shocked because of how far onto my property the lizard had managed to travel despite the hours I've put into chasing his like away.

Interloper Number 4:  
And finally, last week, I received a final blow to my pride.  I discovered that there was a raccoon living in my backyard tree.  I was flabbergasted.  How could a raccoon (or heaven forbid, a family of raccoons) take up residence in my tree?  Now, I've never actually seen the raccoon; I've only smelled him.  Even so, when I get a whiff of him, I don't hesitate to put my front paws up on the tree as high as I can reach and bark hysterically into the darkness.  In fact, the very first night I smelled him, I started barking so ferociously up the tree that the neighbors in back came out to see what was going on.  Pa tried for a good long time to convince me to come in (as did Sister), but I wouldn't have it.  I was too intent on barking at that raccoon.  Eventually, Sister got my leash and Pa walked me back inside the house, but I didn't forget.  Every night since, when I've gone out for my last business trip, I've made a mad dash for that tree (unless Pa thinks ahead and takes me out on my leash).

So there you have it, my great failure.  But I'm not admitting defeat.  Vigilance.  That's what's in order right now.  Vigilance and resourcefulness.  I'm hopeful that, with a combination of stepped up perimeter patrols and barking fits, I'll be able to shore up my borders within the next couple of days, push all the interlopers out, and regain my integrity as Head of Security.

Wish me luck!

Guest Blogger: Betsy Ross

Sister did a horrible thing to me yesterday.  She went to the doggy toy store (AKA the pet store) and did not buy me a brand new toy.  But wait, it gets worse!  While she was there, she bought the hamster, Betsy Ross, a toy!  Now don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge anyone a new toy, but why would Sister neglect to bring me home a new plush animal to gut or a loud obnoxious squeaker toy that drowns out the television when she was already at the store buying the hamster a mini hamster ball?  It's just not right.

Anyway, Betsy Ross really seemed to like her hamster ball.  In fact, she enjoyed it so much that she a) didn't seem to notice me barking hysterically at her while she explored the "Land of No" for the first time and b) requested that she be given the opportunity to share her joy with all my loyal readers as a guest blogger.  Since I'm such a sharing dog, I said yes to her request.

So, without further ado...Betsy Ross!

A Hammy Takes On The World

Hello!  My name is Betsy Ross and I'm a dwarf hamster.  I'm a little over one year old.  My favorite hobbies are eating food, begging for food, stockpiling food, and doing nose dives off the top of my water bottle.  I've had one successful (although brief) escape attempt, but I love my little house.  I especially love the penthouse suite on the top of my cage and the loop-de-loop tubing on the ground level.  My cage also has a little shelf.  I like jumping off of it.  That's also where I do my best begging for food.  Mom and Grams say I beg worse than Rigby.  They always give me treats like peanuts, sunflower seeds, and dried apples.  When I was a little baby hammy, I used to do loop-de-loops on my wheel.  My record was five loops before being thrown across the cage.  That was a lot of fun.  Sometimes I still do loop-de-loops on my wheel (when I'm not running on the outside of it).  I also like shredding tissues.  I'm so ferocious when I'm shredding tissues that Mom says I have anger issues and Grams cringes in fear.

Yesterday Mom bought me a little plastic ball.  I climbed in it as soon as she put it in my cage.  Then she closed the lid and put me on the floor.  I started running.  It was a lot of fun.  I bumped into a lot of things, but soon I got the hang of it.  After a couple of minutes I was steering like a pro.  I explored the entire room.  I rolled under the table.  I rolled into the piano.  I rolled into and out of corners.  I also bumped into Mom a few times.  Each time I did she picked me up and said nice things to me.  She said I was a good and smart hammy.  Mom is very smart for noticing.

Rigby barked at me while I was exploring.  He wanted to play.  But he's really big and I'm really small.  Mom built a barricade by the door to keep me safe.  Sometimes I bumped into the barricade.

Here's a video of me my exploring after Rigby went outside.

Mom thought I'd be tired after exploring.  She was wrong.  I was up all night.  I ate food, I stockpiled food, and I did nose dives off the top of my water bottle.  I did not beg for food because Mom was sleeping.  I had fun.

Summer Vacation 2015

Me on Vacation

A few weeks ago, I spent fourteen days on the North Fork of Long Island vacationing with my family.  During the course of those two weeks, I came to realize that I absolutely love being a dog of leisure.  Don't get me wrong, I love my house, my pillow, and the fact that I have an opportunity each week to bark at the guy who comes around with that noisy shopping cart collecting bottles from the recycling bin, but there are some definite highlights to life out east including central air conditioning inside and a warm sunny deck outside.  But my days out east weren't just about alternating between snoozing in the warm sun and cool air conditioning.  No, they included exciting, tasty, and sometimes unsettling events.

But before I wow you with my vacation highlights, allow me to take a moment to compliment whoever in my family came up with the traveling arrangements for this trip.  You see, Pa and I traveled in one car while Ma, Sister, and the hamster Betsy Ross drove out in a second.  What's so special about taking two cars?  I get the backseat all to myself!  You see, when Sister and I travel in the back seat together, I spend an uncomfortable hour and a half fighting for my fair share of the seat and listening to Sister drone on and on about how she doesn't have enough room or I'm drooling on her.  Also, I spend the entire time fidgeting--I stand up, I sit down, I lie down, I repeat.  But when Sister takes her own car, I get to stretch out across the entire length of the backseat.  And because I have the entire back seat to myself, I remain in the down position for the entire duration of the trip.  Sure, I love the girl, but traveling without her is so much more pleasant than traveling with her.

That said, here are some highlights from my two week summer vacation:

Visiting Greenport:  

Whenever someone suggests taking a drive out to Greenport, I can't help but get excited.  Why?  Because Greenport is such a dog friendly town!  Whenever I go there, I see dozens of dogs strolling around with their owners and nearly every store keeps a bowl of fresh water on its doorstep.

This year, Pa and I decided to hang out at Mitchell Park while Ma and Sister went shopping.  First, we strolled up and down the marina, but after a little while, Pa suggested that we go find a nice shady spot to sit in because it was really kind of getting warm.  But there was a problem with this plan; there aren't many shady spots in that particular park.  After much searching, I finally located a tree and, after dragging Pa to it, I threw myself down onto the cool grass.  Now, if I hadn't been so preoccupied by the blessed relief of shade (I was the one wearing the fur coat after all!), I would have noticed that there was no bench for Pa to sit on.  Always the trouper, Pa sacrificed one for the team and stood in place while I lounged in the grass.

While Pa and I hung out under the shady tree waiting for Ma and Sister, I was visited by a number of little dogs and some overly friendly children.  The children kind of reminded me of my bff Mecki (really hyper and super bouncy).  Working off that concept, I concluded that since Mecki is fond of the hair gel drool treatment I give him each time we meet, then the children would equally enjoy it.  Yep, you guessed it!  I made sure to thoroughly wipe my drooly chin over each and every child.  You should have seen their faces!

Meeting a New Friend

Being so far from home, we generally don't get many surprise visitors out east.  In fact, with the exception of the occasional gardener, air conditioner repairman, or deliveryman, most visitors arrive in the same car as I do and are therefore not really a surprise visitor.  That changed on the second Thursday of vacation.

My family returned home from Riverhead to find their friend Den circling the block looking for the house.  Now, I've never met Den and no one informed me that he was coming, so when I scurried out of the house to greet my family with my Mr. Bill toy clenched in my mouth, I was, let's just say, taken by surprise.  I started barking furiously at Den (with Mr. Bill still in my mouth) while cautiously approaching him.  At first, every time he reached down to pet me I backed away, but eventually I warmed up to him and by the time he was eating the soft pretzel and beer my family offered him, we were best buds.

Baiting the Dogs Next Door

As my loyal readers know, I don't get along particularly well with the dogs next door.  Sure, I used to get along with the dog my family and I affectionately called "Sausage Dog," but his owner was only renting and he left a few months ago.  Now I'm left with the two dogs who bark menacingly at me every time they see me.

Anyway, overall I'm a good boy and don't stoop to their level by barking back at them (I save my barking for important causes such as car doors being slammed in the distance and pedestrians walking by my house).  However, I must admit that I don't deserve a halo and angel wings in this situation either.  You see, whenever the neighbor dogs charge the fence and start barking, I strike one of my signature poses and stand perfectly still in the middle of the yard.  This annoys the dogs to no end and they start barking even more.  Eventually, the neighbors bring their dogs back inside.

My work here is done.

A New Treat
 
One evening after dinner, my entire family and I went outside into the backyard and set up in a circle around the fire pit.  Once the fire was good and strong (Pa was in charge of making sure that I didn't set my tail on fire), Sister went inside and got a bag of white fluffy things (they called them marshmallows) and three incredibly long sticks.  The sticks caught my eye first since one of my favorite hobbies is making large sticks into smaller sticks and I couldn't help but wonder how it was that these three sticks had escaped my detection inside the house.  After a couple of minutes, however, I came to realize that the sticks were not the highlight of the event--the marshmallows were.  Realizing that I had never had one before, Sister suggested that I be given my very own toasted marshmallow, but the idea was scrapped because apparently soft sticky marshmallows and a handsome furry face is not a great combination.  Instead, I was given a raw marshmallow.  It was delicious!

A Dental Extraction

My loyal readers will recall the time I accidentally bit Pa while he attempted to retrieve a chewy-bone from the back of my mouth (for those who don't remember, the post is here).  Since then, my family has been, understandably, a bit hesitant about going in after something I'm chomping on (and that's fine by me...I'm personally still traumatized by the events of that day).  At one point during this vacation, however, Sister had to risk her fingers when I got a piece of blue chewy bone lodged between my bottom front teeth.

At first, Sister went for a frontal attack:  She walked right up to me, grabbed hold of my head, pried up my lip, and tried to grab the offending piece of blue plastic with her fingers.  I'm proud to say I fought her the entire time--shaking my head and eventually walking away.  Undeterred, Sister tried a different (and very sneaky) approach:  She waited until I was fast asleep, grabbed and pried back my lip, and, while I was still groggy and just waking up, managed to pinch and pry the blue plastic out from between my teeth.  Ultimately, it was a win-win situation for Sister and me.  I received a cookie for my troubles and Sister managed to walk away with all her fingers.

When Bugs Attack

For whatever reason, the bugs were particularly active during the two weeks I was out east.  The result was not one but two bug attacks! 

Attack Bee!

• Attack Number 1:  There I was lounging on the deck, minding my own business, when all of a sudden a giant bumble bee made a, pardon the pun, bee line from the hydrangea bushes framing the deck to the back of my head.  Now, I know it might sound odd, but I could actually feel when that bee landed on me and I immediately started straining my neck, trying to reach and, ultimately eat, the unwanted passenger.  Ma and Pa also saw the bee land on me and they quickly jumped up from their seats and shooed it away before I could extract it myself.  Of course, one might question why a bee would mistake me for a flower.  Not me.  I know exactly why.  It's because of the stinky flowery shampoo Ma insists on washing me with.

• Attack Number 2:  Later in the week, Ma, Sister, and I were lounging in the backyard.  All of a sudden, a bird came shooting out of the sky and a loud squawking sound echoed from underneath Ma's seat.  Ma, concerned that a baby bird had just fallen out of the tree, jumped up and grabbed hold of my collar.  Sister, hearing the squawking, struggled to get out of her folding chair (the built in canopy folded down in front of her face when she raised the chair from its reclining position).  And me?  Well, I jumped up and, immediately realizing where the sound was coming from, struggled against Ma's grip and inched my way toward her chair.  Sister, finally beating her chair into submission, managed to make her way to Ma's chair and discovered that the squawking creature was not a baby bird but a katydid.  After much screaming, pleading, and promises of cookies, Ma and Sister wrestled me into the house and sent Pa outside to deal with the bug (which he tossed over the neighbor's fence).

Water Water Everywhere:

When I'm lounging on my deck in the morning, I like to have a nice bowl of water nearby.  Of course, the top two reasons why I like a bowl of water nearby are for when I'm thirsty and when I need a quick slobbery chin to drag across someone's pant leg.  A third reason is that I like to dunk my paws in the water from time to time to cool off.  This poses a problem, however.  After a couple of stokes of my paw, my bowl is usually completely empty and I'm suddenly dependent upon whoever is outside with me to notice that my bowl is void of water and refill it for me.

Ma, however, came up with a great solution.  While in Greenport, she bought me a 5.5 quart water bowl.  Now I can dig in my bowl and blow proper bubbles when I submerge my snout under the water line.

Thanks Ma! 

Kindling:

On the deck, my family keeps a pile of split logs for fires in the fireplace.  Because we're only out there part of the week, the number of fires we light are rather limited.  As a result, the wood sits there on the deck day in and day out and the only changes that occur to the collection is when a dried out tree branch falls in the backyard and someone adds it to the pile as kindling.  Well, on this vacation, I decided to claim the wood pile for my own.

You see, normally, I have to search out my own sticks to gnaw on.  In a big backyard like the one out east, this can be a daunting task.  But with a pile of sticks just sitting there on the deck, how can I possibly pass up the opportunity to help myself whenever I pass by?  I mean, it's like a kindling buffet!  Eventually, everyone caught on to my plan and started warning me to leave the pile alone every time I sauntered over to it, but I did manage to grab a couple of sticks and scurry off into the backyard with them (where I turned them into smaller kindling).

Kayaking:

Ma and Pa Kayaking

Throughout the vacation, my family spoke repeatedly of renting a kayak and each time they did, I nearly broke out in a cold sweat.  Why?  Think about it.  In every television show that features videos of amazing dogs doing amazing things, there is always at least one video of a dog standing calmly at the helm of a canoe or surf board while his owner sits or stand behind him.  Did my family expect me to do the same thing?  Don't they realize I dislike becoming buoyant in water?

Luckily, I was not invited on this excursion.  All I can say is, better them than me!

I've Got Mail!

It's obvious that I'm quite advanced when it comes to electronic devices.  After all, I maintain this blog (without any thumbs and missing one dew claw), I fully understand the importance of air conditioning (air conditioning makes wearing a fur coat during the summer slightly more comfortable), and I look up with concern every time Pa's cell phone buzzes (it annoys me because it usually wakes me up from a dead sleep).  But did you know that I can also order things online?  You see, early on I learned that those little plastic rectangles people carry around with them in their wallets aren't just chew toys.  They buy chew toys!

So my latest package arrived a couple of days ago and as soon as Ma carried it into the house, I recognized it as my own.  There was just one problem:  I had no way of getting into the box and my family was too preoccupied making their own dinners to lend me a thumb (truth be told, I could easily have ripped my way into the box, but for some reason my family frowns on this behavior).  So what did I do?  Plan B.  I made a nuisance of myself; I spent all of dinner barking at the box.

Finally, after somehow managing to endure an entire meal of me barking, Pa got up and brought my box into the dining room and started opening it.  Overcome with excitement, I reared up on my hind legs, rested my front paws on the table (a definite no-no), and attempted to jam my snout under the loosening flaps.  Once I determined that my "assistance" was proving less than helpful (a phenomenon that occurs very rarely), I dropped back down to the floor and patiently waited for Pa to finish opening the box. I knew based on Pa's reaction to the contents that I had chosen wisely.

The box was packed full of squeaky tennis balls and chewy Nylabones!

Me and My Squeaky Toy

With the box now open, I once again reared up on my hind legs and put my front paws on the table.  And do you know what Pa did?  He laughed and gave me one of the squeaky tennis balls!  With the tennis ball clenched firmly in my mouth, I scurried into the living room and plopped down on my pillow for an evening of noise-making.  And oh boy was there noise!  There was loud squeaking coming from the tennis ball.  There was loud howling coming from me each time the ball rolled out of reach.  And there were loud and exasperated comments coming from my family as they repeatedly informed me that the ball was literally inches away from my mouth and that if I just got up and got it I wouldn't have to lie on my side howling piteously (I love my family, but sometimes they just don't understand me).

I will admit that a couple of times during the evening I left my squeaky ball behind (usually with a large concave dent in the side of it) to check to see if someone had happened to put my box full of toys on the floor so that I could help myself to a few more items, but alas, the box remained out of reach on the kitchen table.  But did I become depressed?  No.  I simply scooted back into the living room and returned to my dented (but still squeaky) tennis ball.

The Puppy Files: The Fourth of July

Welcome to yet another edition of The Puppy Files, a series in which I travel down memory lane to when I was an itty bitty little puppy with large gnashing teeth and a bad attitude.

Technically speaking, my very first Fourth of July occurred when I was just one month old and, to tell you the truth, I really don't remember it.  You see, at that point in my life, my days were completely and utterly occupied with two tasks: Eating and finding a nice cozy place to sleep in the huddled furry mass known as my brothers and sisters.  As you can see, I didn't have time to consider the outside world.

So, the first time that I fully got to experience the Fourth of July was when I was just over a year old and living with my two legged family.  Now, I'd like to take a moment to clarify that while I was still just as obsessed with eating and sleeping as I was for my first Fourth of July, by the time I was one year old I had matured enough to add additional hobbies to my repertoire such as digging holes, watching airplanes fly by overhead, and perfecting my bad attitude.  Anyway, at first, everything seemed relatively normal:  It was Sunday, it was summer, and my family had spent the day preparing (and then eating) an outdoor barbecue.  I, on the other paw, had spent the day mooching food, gnawing on people's hands, and staring forlornly up at the unplugged air conditioner sitting in Ma and Pa's bedroom window.  It wasn't until evening that things became odd.

At 9PM, despite the fact that it was dark outside and way past my bedtime, my family suddenly declared that we should all go outside and sit on the front porch.  I thought this was very suspicious.  You see, even today, my family and I don't really spend that much time sitting out on the front porch.  My family says that it has something to do with the fact that I bark at everything I see and that I'd disturb the neighbors.  I, however, believe it's because they are collectively too lazy to carry the lawn chairs out from the backyard to the front.  Anyway, Pa lassoed me with my leash and he and Sister took me outside.  Ma hung back for a little while, stopping off in the kitchen before joining us on the porch.

When we were all gathered on the porch, Ma sat down on the concrete and called me to her side.  With my mouth open, I made a bee-line for her wrist, but she managed to circumvent my mouth and finagle me into a sitting position next to her.

Then we waited.

At first, I had no idea what we were waiting for, but then, all of a sudden, I saw a burst of light and heard a loud boom.  I looked over to Ma with an inquisitive look (you know the one...ears square, mouth closed, and eyes wide) and discovered that she was offering me a chunk of carrot.  I didn't really know why I was being given a carrot, but because I'm not one to turn down food, I ate it immediately.

A few seconds later there was another flash of light and another loud boom.  This time, I watched as the sparkling light from the nearby firework showered back down to Earth.  Then I turned and collected another chunk of carrot from Ma.  This went on for close to an hour; I'd watch the firework explode in the sky and then turn to Ma to collect my treat.  By the end of the evening, I had admired dozens of explosions and eaten my weight in carrots.

Now, I'm sure that if I wasn't, at the time, such a rotten little puppy, I would have come up with a way to inform Ma that I wasn't afraid of the fireworks and therefore did not need to be distracted by crunchy vegetables.  But I was a rotten puppy (and rather proud of it) and a big fan of carrots so I kept my mouth shut.

Sadly, my indifference to the fireworks meant that this carrot buffet would not be repeated in years to come.  Was I disappointed?  Very.