Wednesday, November 10, 2010


At 1:30 AM I was awakened by a strange metallic clanging noise. In the blackness of the night I searched my fuzzy brain to match sound to source and couldn't draw a conclusion. "August, what's that noise?" He was out of bed pretty fast, fumbling with this glasses and grabbing his Blackberry to use as a flashlight. I listened as he navigated through the living room and turned the corner into the kitchen. "Hank! You know better!" And Hank apparently did know better as I heard him race to his kennel and self-imprison, tail thumping against the side of the crate. I heard dishes rattling in the kitchen. Hank had scaled the stove and was licking the soup pan I had left out on the burner. I expected August to just shut the door to Hank's kennel and return to the bedroom denying him familial contact for the rest of the night. But no, Hank's punishment is to share a crowded bed with us. August ordered him "Back to bed!" so he is now confined to a space narrower than his kennel with his head on August's shoulder. Yes, I'm sure he suffers and repents...
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Tuesday, November 9, 2010


I heard a fascinating report recently on the problem of poaching sturgeon in Russia and how authorities are fighting a losing battle since the caviar these quite ugly fish provide is worth more than its weight in gold.  I was riveted by the discussion as I, too, have a poaching problem and as head of the domestic government am in search of an effective solution that will put an end to it.  The poacher: Hank.  The poached: cat litter box (yyyuuukkkkk....)  As a child I did not have cats but I remember that the neighborhood felines liked to make deposits in my backyard sandbox and the family hound Daisy the dachshund frequently feasted from this smorgasbord.  Our veterinarian at the time suggested that we were being overly anxious and controlling and that we should embrace Daisy's culinary wanderings and enhance her backyard buffet via the application of some Tabasco sauce to the cat poop.  Daisy did not appreciate our epicurian contribution and never returned to the feces feast again.  But Daisy was only 15-20 pounds (give or give 5 pounds - no, that's not a typo, dachshund owners will understand...)  If I Tabascoed Hank and he reacted the way Daisy did our water bill would be 200 dollars - surely there is a cheaper solution?  But let's look on the positive side.  With the Christmas season fast approaching perhaps the clinging gray clay litter whiskers Hank sports after a dump dive can be interpreted as an ode to Santa Claus.  I guess this is one of those problems that deserves a New Year's resolution.