He ate what?

Not waiting until Sunday Buddy, a three-year-old Labrador retriever, started his Super Bowl snacking early with some ... uh, rather expensive fare.

More here.

Quotable Quotes

"[T]he modern [political] campaign excludes anyone who lacks the narcissism, cold-bloodedness, and unreflective nature that the process requires and rewards." -- Andrew Ferguson (Via Reason)

Great. Just great.

Fred drops out, and that's when his poll numbers start to climb.

I wonder if the jump had anything to do with last night's GOP Florida love fest "debate." (Transcript here.) The only REALLY important matter discussed was whether Sly Stallone, who's apparently backing Romney, could beat the snot out of Huckabee supporter Chuck Norris.

I was half expecting the candidates to all break into song -- Kumbaya, of course, followed by I love you, you love me -- with a fat, ugly, and exceedingly irritating pseudo-dinasaur appearing from the wings to join the five in a group hug.

Halfway through I knew exactly who I'd be voting for on Tuesday. Although he's dropped out of the race, Fred's still on the ballot. A protest vote? Yes!!!

Then with McCain and Huckabee still yammering away and the possibility that one of them just might win the party's nomination if I threw my vote away like that, I came to my senses. Still, the thought was nice and it made me happy even for the short time it lasted.

On the home front, my phone's ringing off the hook with candidates (or their surrogates) all calling to tell me how great they are. And daily, my mailbox is filled with their crap.

The only call of real note came this morning. A supposed 45-second survey that lasted quite a while longer because after answering the first three questions honestly, I recognized the nature of the robo-bot (a very UGLY push-poll by a nutziod group called Common Sense Issues that's supporting Huckabee and now calling Florida's voters) because of news reports about the calls made in states where the primaries (or caucuses) have already occured.

Starting with the fourth question in my most pleasant tone I began answering, "Fuck you."

I don't know how many other questions there might have been because the poor bot never got beyond the fourth. It kept saying that the only answer it could recognize was either Yes or No, and all I kept saying back was "Fuck you."

Damned thing finally called it quits and just hung up on me.

Quotable Quotes

"Fred Thompson was not the most exciting candidate and certainly not the best campaigner. It was his philosophy and ideas that captured me and earned my loyalty and support. It is very difficult to simply transfer your allegiance to someone who might represent only a pale echo of your candidate’s qualities." -- Rick Moran

(Read it all including the replies.)

Damn.

"Today I have withdrawn my candidacy for President of the United States. I hope that my country and my party have benefited from our having made this effort. Jeri and I will always be grateful for the encouragement and friendship of so many wonderful people." -- Fred Thompson

That leave me with . . .

John McCain? You've got to be joking!

Mike Huckabee? Like hell!

Ron Paul? The President must not only has to be a citizen of the United States but native born. That eliminates him. (Scroll down.)

. . . deciding between Mitt or Rudy on January 29.

Hugs, laughter and tears

The invitation arrived several weeks ago. The date on the card ironically, the second anniversary of letting Tank go.

Next door to the space it had been renting and four years in the making, January 19 was the grand opening of Southeast Veterinary Oncology's new facility. One of only a few dozen certified veterinary oncologists in all of North America who specialize only in that field, Dr. LaDue describes it as her dream come true.

To quote Da Kid, the former Senior Vet Tech when he called one of the veterinarians he'd worked with for several years, "You need to get over here and see this place! I've NEVER seen anything like it."

The ability to provide in-house radiation therapy is new. If it had been part of Tank's protocol, we would have had to meet Dr. LaDue at another facility — one for humans — on the other side of town, then hoped that we could manage whatever problems may have been presented at home OR boarded him at the animal emergency-care hospital across from her offices.

No more.

One entire section of the new hospital is dedicated to nuclear medicine. That area also includes special kennels (each complete with individual see-through doors, ceiling fans and beds) for those pets needing extended care. Some even have individual outdoor runs.

Old and young, some in remission and others currently in treatment, many of Dr. LaDue's canine patients also attended the grand opening. Newt, 13, won the Tricks Contest. A Chihuahua, the Best Costume Contest. Cooper, a Dachshund and the only contestant in Best Howler, received the first place prize in the instantly renamed Best Listener Contest.

(While every one of the hundred some-odd humans there was howling hoping to inspire him to make any sound at all, Cooper just looked at us like we were all nuts. And Newt looked sad not because he doesn't feel well. He was disappointed that no one will slip him more of their hamburger, hot dog or barbeque.)

Da Kid and I, like several there whose four-leggeds have gone on ahead of us, were there not only to see SEVO's new facility, but to participate in the dedication of its not-yet-in Memorial Garden. Like the area in back of the space they rented, this one — overlooking the same lake — will be a quiet place for people to go.

It will be shaded, like the other one was, once the plants are in and have a chance to grow. Da Kid and I chose a crepe myrtle that will be planted there, as a dedication to Tank. And one of the pavers in the walkway to or in the garden itself, will bear his name.

It's been two years since I've seen either Dr. LaDue or any of her staff. When I arrived, as soon as I got out of my car, familiar faces began crossing the parking lot and the hugs started. Not that any of them remembered what my name is. Then again, none of them called me by that name back then, either.

To them I was, remain today and always will be "Tank's Mommy."

~~~~~
SEVO's services are not inexpensive. But if your pet receives a diagnosis involving cancer and you are anywhere in the Central or Northeast Florida or Southeast Georgia area, please call them for at least a consultation.

You never call me.

Is it something I did?

You used to call me all the time. Several times a day, sometimes. Even if I was doing something important, I'd stop and we'd talk.

Your friends haven't stopped calling me.

(Why have you?)

Just last night the phone rang. When I grabbed the receiver (hoping it might be you), all your friend wanted was my opinion about a possible petition on the January 29 Florida ballot. Another friend of yours called me over the weekend asking what radio stations I listened to.

But, you don't call.

You haven't called me in almost two months, and then it was only just that once since ... since I don't remember when.

(Was it something I said? Did you want me to lie to you?)

When you called and asked who I liked, I said Fred. And you haven't called me since.

I know you're talking to other people all the time.

Why not me?

Received in email ...

(from Da Kid.)
~~~~~

ARE YOU A DEMOCRAT, REPUBLICAN, OR.............

Here is a little test that will help you decide. The answer can be found by posing the following question:

You're walking down a deserted street with your wife and two small children. Suddenly, an Islamic Terrorist with a huge knife comes around the corner, locks eyes with you, screams obscenities, praises Allah, raises the knife, and charges at you.

You are carrying a Glock 40 caliber, and you are an expert shot. You have mere seconds before he reaches you and your family. What do you do?
...............................................................

Democrat's Answer:

Well, that's not enough information to answer the question!

Does the man look poor or oppressed?

Have I ever done anything to him that would inspire him to attack?

Could we run away?

What does my wife think?

What about the kids?

Could I possibly swing the gun like a club and knock the knife out of his hand? What does the law say about this situation?

Does the Glock have appropriate safety built into it?

Why am I carrying a loaded gun anyway, and what kind of message does this send to society and to my children?

Is it possible he'd be happy with just killing me?

Does he definitely want to kill me, or would he be content just to wound me?

If I were to grab his knees and hold on, could my family get away while he was stabbing me?

Should I call 9-1-1?

Why is this street so deserted?

We need to raise taxes, have a paint and weed day, and make this happier, healthier street that would discourage such behavior.

This is all so confusing! I need to debate this with some friends for few days and try to come to a consensus.
.........................................................


Republican's Answer:


BANG!

............................................................


Southerner's Answer:


BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

BANG! Click..... (Sounds of reloading)

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

BANG! Click

Daughter: 'Nice grouping, Daddy! Were those the Winchester Silver Tips or Hollow Points?'

Son: 'Can I shoot the next one!??!'

Wife: 'You ain't taking that to the Taxidermist!'

~~~~~

LATER: Linked to by Collecting My Thoughts

A Golden Moment

Mr. Hawk and Lady Hawk (this missus) stopped by for a quick visit this morning. She took off before I could grab my camera, but he didn't.

That was a nice way for my day to start. Thanks fella.

I feel great!

My back aches, my shoulders hurt, and my hands are sore. But, I feel great!

No, really!

Really!!!

As bad as the hay situation was, the word's already circulating that the continuing drought is going to make it even harder to come by next year. As it is, "Turd" (Can you tell I dislike the man?) I've been having to buy from "down the road" has been telling me to sock it in now because his supplier has told him that after this next load, there won't be any more ‘til June.

The only horse I have left, the only one I have to worry about, is Dingbat and his 8 to 10 bales a month. Sixty bales would see us through ‘til then. He's fine with "good stuff" and in his younger years could have eaten the ... the crud Turd's selling for top dollar from this last load. But age has made Dingbat's taste a bit more ... uh, refined. His digestive tract, wonky.

I've been looking elsewhere without success. I'd even started laying in sacks of beet pulp (which Dingbat loves and handled well) so that down to 4 bales of hay, I could start swapping him over immediately when last week Herself said although she knows how much I despise "Arrogant Asshole," asked if I'd checked there.

As bad as Turd is, Arrogant Asshole's even worse. Beyond description worse. But, I drove by there, anyway, on my way to the last place I could think of — way on the other side of town — that might have decent hay and enough of it to lay in for the long haul.

There was a new sign up at Arrogant Asshole's. Same old building. Same ugly storage trailers everywhere. But, a different name. I pulled in and got out. At the back of one of the trailers, on the pavement, was loose hay that had piled up as the bales inside had been moved out.

If you've ever bought hay on a regular basis for any length of time, you know you can tell a lot about a load just from what's come loose from the bales. And what I saw on the ground looked good. Darned good.

I was able to fit two of the six remaining bales The New Folk had of "darned good" hay in the back of my car. They be getting more in, they said.

With those two bales, I could delay starting to swap Dingbat over to beet pulp. If their next load was a good as this one was and they had enough, I just might not have to swap him over at all.

Da Kid was off today. Borrowed a brother's-in-law trailer for what we both expected would be a disappointing trip, expecting to come back empty because IF they'd actually gotten in the delivery they'd told me they were expecting, it probably wouldn't be the same quality as I'd gotten a week ago.

And, it wasn't. It was even better.

In the hay shed tonight is 60 bales of high-quality Coastal, for 50 cents a bale cheaper than the crud Turd has, that not only met my approval but quite obviously Dingbat's.

(I had to tie the shed door closed to keep him from nudging it open and helping himself. Again.)

Look out! It's CLIMATE CHANGE!!!

One thing about living in Northeast Florida is if you don't like what the weather is now, all you have to do is wait a day or so (or maybe only a few hours) and it will change. Often, drastically.

Sunday was delightfully warm with the high temperature around 80 degrees. Sunny, too!

Herself and Da Kid invited me over for dinner and in the space of only a few hours, I was driving home in THAT, and flipping on the heater in my car because for some strange reason, I hadn't thought to bring a coat with me.

After a hard freeze two mornings in a row, yesterday's high was 43 degrees. At least it didn't get down to 16 yesterday morning like the weatherjerk had predicted.

Not that it made much difference as cold as it was. When I went out to feed Dingbat — my feet making crunch-crunch noises in the frozen dirt with every step going to his stall — the old fart almost ran me over.

No, he wasn't enjoying a brisk morning run. He was flipping out on a sugar high (he's always been overly sensitive) due to the excess of sweet feed I've been adding to his regular food so that internally, his system would keep him warm naturally.

That sounds so ... so, enviro-nutish: "...naturally." The truth of the matter is that Dingbat never left his blankets on so years ago, after untangling his feet and legs from the dangerously twisted mess he'd once again created for himself, I packed the horse blankets away for good. Not that the straps on them were good anymore because this time, it was so bad I'd had to slice through them one of them with a knife to get him undone before he panicked and hurt himself, possibly fatally as in breaking a leg.

Another hard freeze this morning and another one projected tomorrow.

One more day. Just one more this go-'round!

Aaaah, climate change! Bring it on! I can't wait!!!

According to the weatherjerk, Sunday will be in the 70's.

"It's almost like finding a long-lost child."

When Walter Smith's wife died Buddy, a yellow Lab, became his constant companion. Then, someone stole Buddy.

"Smith [86] started his tireless search, making daily visits to animal shelters, running ads in the newspaper. It was no good. People called with vague Lab sightings. One person even called to say they had seen a Lab hit by a car."

Five years later two sisters were admiring a yellow Lab when its owner offered it to them. She was moving, she told them, and going to take the dog to the pound.

The dog, whose name was Buddy, was infested with fleas, ringworms and hookworms, marred by sores and horribly overweight.

Reunited, the now 91-year-old Smith realized Buddy was too much dog for him to care for.

The rest of the story is here.
~~~~~

LATER: Linked to at Canine Carnival 10 and Let's See What Others Are Saying.

"Happy New Year!"

Owwieeeee!

My head ... and my belly feels funny, too.

The Tweat Lady said some hair of the dog would make me feel better so I licked Stawbuck but when I did the he mumbled, "Sasha! I love you," fell over, started to snore and hasn't moved since.

Tastes like he needs a bath, too.

Eeeeeeeeeew!

No wonda my tongue feels all ... all fuwwy.

Could everyone keep it down a bit? Please! Just for a little while. Just a little bit? Maybe something like ...

Happy New Year!

Love,

Fwedwick The Gweat

~~~~~
LATER: Linked to at Canine Carnival 10.