Saturday, December 24, 2016

A Christmas Tune

Merry Christmas to all my fans.  Please enjoy this year's Christmas carol set to the tune of "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas." *<[:{)

Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
And in case you wonder why
There'll be guests and Santa Claus
Caroler's passing by.

Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
Lots of people I can greet
Holding bags and lots of gifts
I'm hoping for a treat.

Oh, ho, plush squeaker toys!
Meant to last the year
But when they meet my teeth
They don't last I fear.

Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
And to all my friends I say:
"Oh by golly have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
Today!"

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Abandon Ship

I am a coiled spring. I spring to life from a dead sleep in order to alert the neighborhood of a slamming car door two blocks away, I can hear (and respond to) a peanut butter jar opening despite being outside and otherwise preoccupied chasing a squirrel, and seconds after the cheese drawer opens in the kitchen I can be found right by the snacker's side.

But perhaps even more impressive than my ability to quickly respond to a situation involving an intruder or food is my ability to spring into action when my own self-preservation is on the line.  Allow me to explain with two specific examples:

The Fire Alarm:

I'm not insinuating that their cooking is bad (actually, it is usually very good), but my family has a habit of accidentally setting off the fire alarm when roasting a large piece of meat or a particularly fatty bird.  Now, the logical response to the smoke detector's sudden sirens and mechanical female voice shouting "fire, fire, fire" would be to gather one's belongings and quickly vacate the premises.  Well, my family doesn't do that.  Instead, they split up: one person opens the window in the kitchen, the second person grabs a dish towel and begins fanning the smoke away from the smoke detector, and the third person gets a step-stool and takes down the screeching, talking, flying saucer like device.

Now, I frequently worry that my family is not taking a potentially serious threat seriously when it comes to the smoke detector.  The smoke detector isn't like someone telling you to sit or stay or lie down or say "howdy."  You don't just smile at the smoke detector and pretend that you don't understand what it is saying.  No, you react.  Here's what I do:

As soon as the mechanical female voice issues her first warning of "fire," I jump up and head straight for my favorite toy which I pick up in my mouth.  With my toy now secured, I quickly make one attempt at herding my family toward the nearest exit.  As I am not a herding dog and herding my family is like herding a group of cats, I usually fail miserably at this endeavor.  Then it's on to Plan B; I head toward the door, toy in mouth, and anxiously wait for someone to come and open the door for me (yes, my escape is hindered by the lack of a thumb).  And what happens if no one opens the door for me?  I start pacing, hoping that someone will notice my concern and finally wake up to the potentially deadly situation that is ongoing.

Now that is the proper way of dealing with a fire alarm!

Attack from Above:

It was two o'clock in the morning and I was hours into a very pleasant dream in which I was chasing squirrels through a huge backyard while taking periodic breaks to eat Milkbone flavored ice cream.  Suddenly, there was a fluttering sound and something landed right next to where I was standing.

"The sky is falling!" I thought.

I was at the zenith of jumping ten feet straight up in the air from my initial prone sleeping position when I fully woke up.  And when I landed back on my pillow, out of breath and completely on edge, I immediately went into emergency evacuation mode.  I quickly scanned the room.  Both Ma and Pa were awake--the combination of the fluttering sound and my crash landing woke them--so I figured that they were smart enough to get themselves out of the building on their own.  I only had to focus on getting myself out of the house.

My Light-Up Squeaky Ball
Next to me lay my new favorite squeaky ball (it used to light up and squeak, but now it only hisses when I chomp down on it but it is still good).  I scooped it up and made a beeline to the side door.

Within seconds of reaching the door, Ma came up behind me.  She told me that everything was okay and that I should go back into the bedroom and "check out" what scared me (I later found out that what had fallen was the dust jacket to Pa's book--a breeze caused by Pa shifting his blankets must have dislodged it from its spot on the night table and sent it hurtling to the ground).  I wasn't falling for it, though.  There was a threat and I was determined to abandon ship while I still had the chance.

Eventually, Ma made a deal with me.  She agreed to take me outside to do business if I agreed to come back in afterward.  I wasn't happy about it, but nature won out and I was committed at that point.  Once I was done, I cautiously returned to the bedroom and lay down on the far side of the room; far away from my pillow and the scene of the crime.

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

New Shoes

Those who know me know that I have a thing for human footwear.  I take great joy in stealing sneakers and work boots from the basement stairs and flinging them about the living room.  I love rooting through Ma's closet and liberating her slippers.  And one mustn't forget all those insoles I ripped out of Sister's shoes.  Over the years, I've gnawed on flip flops, sneakers, snow boots, pumps, slippers, flats, booties, and water shoes and if you had asked me, I would have said that I've tasted/destroyed every type of shoe imaginable--every size, color, and texture.

Turns out, however, I was wrong.

It happened last week.  There I was, minding my own business, gnawing on my squeaky ball while lounging on the couch when all of a sudden Sister jumped up from her chair, declared that she was cold, and quickly ran upstairs to her room.  I must admit that, while startled, I really wasn't terribly interested in what Sister was doing.  After all, like I said, I was preoccupied with chewing on my squeaky ball and I knew for a fact that Sister didn't keep any food in her room (I've checked). 

A few seconds after scurrying upstairs, Sister made her way back down the stairs.  Calmly, she walked into the living room and stood behind her chair which, I admit, was odd, but certainly not odd enough to distract me from my toy.  When she got no rise from me, Sister called my name and, when I looked up at her, she leaped into the middle of the room.  Immediately, I gave her my best perplexed "what is wrong with you?" look.  Nothing (aside from Sister's behavior) was weird; her hair was the same, she wasn't wearing a hat, and her clothing consisted of her usual ensemble of jeans and a shirt (they weren't even new, I could see the slug trail of drool I deposited on her knee earlier in the day).  Then I saw them:


They're slippers!  They're plush toys!  And after I pounced on them from atop my spot on the couch, I discovered that they squeaked too (okay, that might have been Sister screaming in alarm as I dove for her feet, but a squeak is a squeak, right?).

Over and over again I pounced at Sister's feet, each time grabbing hold of a snout or an ear and tugging.  Sister, meanwhile, was laughing hysterically (as was Pa).  Every once in a while, Sister attempted to wrench the slippers (and her feet) away from my gnashing teeth, but it became quickly evident that her heart really wasn't in it.  After all, if she was really so concerned with getting those slippers away from me, why did she keep wiggling the piggy snouts at me by wiggling her toes?

After lots of laughs and numerous of rounds of tug of war, Sister eventually called the game off and put away her slippers.  If I wasn't so exhausted from all the fun I would have been disappointed to see the game come to an end. 

Of course, now that I know about Sister's pink piggy slippers, I am going to have to make it my life's mission to find and shred them.  Wish me luck!