Name:Harrison Location:United States

The Original Lovable Little Fuzzball

Here's the straight stuff.

The adventures of Harrison are true.
Try a few of his Crunchy Bites for a taste.
--Alpha Human Mom

Sunday, February 27, 2005

Locked in the Bathroom, Drinkin’ from the Toilet

Not me. Not tall enough and besides, I know the perils of that particular activity. When I was a pup Alpha Human Mom and I caught Silly Human Female’s infamous fe-lyin’ Dandylion (20+ pounds of flabby Persian horror) perched on the edge of the seat lookin’ superior. Huge amounts of yellin’, one wet cat (did I mention Dandylion was bottom heavy?) and great amounts of Lysol resulted.

Ya’d think I’d have learned, right? Don’t bet on it--I was a pup, for cryin‘ out loud! I had to see what that dumb fe-lyin’ thought was so interestin’ in that big bowl thing.

Maybe I wasn’t tall enough, but I could jump pretty good. I got my paws hooked on the edge and managed to haul myself up and over. And in. Those porcelain suckers are slippery! (Insert sage advice about lookin’ before leapin’ here.)

Oh, the horror!--dragged out of that drownin’ pool by the scruff, stuck in the bathtub for a bath (like I didn’t just have one of those), and the requisite amounts of yellin’ and Lysol bein’ slopped around.

Not gonna’ try that again.

So...I’m not the one locked in the bathroom--but all my Word files seem to be. They’re here, but they won’t open up. Got themselves locked in real good--and are probably havin’ a party, laughin’ behind our backs.

AHM is workin’ to get things straightened out, but considerin’ she needs a road map and a computer police escort to find her way through hard drives and HTML, that could be a long day’s journey into night.

Play among yourselves--or if you’re a fe-lyin’...uh...no...won’t go there... You get the idea.

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 2:33 PM


Friday, February 25, 2005

You Have Been Warned

Basil's Blog has been hot on the trail of an insidious conspiracy involving fe-lyings. No surprise there, except…

"Then it hit me. A cold chill ran up my spine. It all fit. And it was horrible.

"Evil Glenn Reynolds™ is trying to combine cat and human DNA! The government wants these beasts to replace soldiers in the field. But what the government doesn't realize is that the Evil One™ is using this as a front for his real plan: He is creating his own army of cat-human hybrids, who he can use for his evil plans."

At least that explains this sad story*.

"An otherwise “loving family pet” was shot dead by police after the tabby cat went berserk and terrorized a city family late last week, The Intelligencer has learned…

“He was just your average, playful cat,” who never had any behaviour problems before the incident, recalled the homeowner, who asked her family’s name not be used. “He was a sweet and loving household pet.”

"…her daughter was stroking the long-haired white and orange tabby in the living room, [then] the feline leisurely walked downstairs.

"But when Mickey emerged from the basement-area of the home, it was “ ... a different animal ... it looked as though it was possessed.”

(*Yes, I really do think it's a sad story. I wouldn't want this to happen to any cat.)

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 11:25 PM


Thursday, February 24, 2005

Have a Coke and a Smile

Happened to notice over at A Small Victory that Steak and BJ day will be observed in a couple of weeks.

Now I know a lot about steaks, but BJs just aren't on my "must-do" list. Maybe I should check with a fe-lyin'--they're always lickin' themselves. Or else it's just a human thing. Whatever. But in the interest keepin' my readers informed--and just in case things get goin' beyond the steaks and BJs…

"The [Coca-Cola as a contraceptive] bulletin was issued by three researchers at the distinguished Harvard Medical School, and published last November in the equally distinguished New England Journal of Medicine

The reserachers haven't checked out any other brand like Dr. Pepper or Mountain Dew or Pepsi. But they did discover this:

"…Diet Coke was the most potent of all, annihilating every living thing in its path. This may give you pause next time you're tempted to chug down a frosty one."...

"Nonetheless, Harvard has opened up some interesting possibilities here. One can envision the day when the contraceptive properties of a brand might become an integral part of its marketing strategy…"

Hmmmm. "Pepsi--The Choice of a New Generation." If you're interested in creatin' a new generation, maybe. Dr. Pepper--"Be You." Or two yous if it doesn't work. Mountain Dew--"Do the Dew." Mmmmm--no. Not unless you have a Diet Coke handy.

Have your own marketing idea for these guys? Leave a comment.

Oh, and just in case anyone's wonderin'--no, ya' don't drink it.

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 11:22 PM


Monday, February 21, 2005

Mama Was a Pimp and Daddy Whored Around

Yes, it's true.

Alpha Human Mom would wend her way through the narrow alleys between dog show vendors, solicitin' business. Dad preened and pranced and paraded his wares for the public; swaggerin' around the show ring, posin' for the cameras, and flirtin' with any female who got within ten feet. Propositions were made--debates--haggling--deals cut… Offers, resumes, background checks, look-sees, introductions, interviews, even a butt sniff or two. Sometimes it would take weeks and months of trollin' to find the right girl with the right look, the right family--and the right bank account before Dad could take 'em back to his place. When a deal was struck and money changed hands… Well, Dad did what all us males do when a hot babe is handed to us on a sliver platter.

Think the Mayflower Madam with a side of Dolly Levy played against a background of the ole' Hollywood castin' couch.

Occasionally, though, other kinds of matchmakin' took place--like in the story the oldsters still pass around when we're all layin' on the back stoop pretendin' to be guard dogs.

See AHM had a Special Friend--who became the Special Other then the Special ex-Other. Not long after they met, she invited him to spend the weekend at our ranch cottage. Problem was, she forgot it was the same weekend a certain Daisy was also comin'--to visit Dad.

Continued in Read the Rest!

Daisy arrived Friday mornin' and there were hopes (both Dad's and AHM's) that events would take their course before the SF arrived Friday evenin'. And they would have. Except… Daisy was a virgin. A coy, skittish, hankie-to-the-lips, vapors-on-the-couch, "Ah lawdy, Rhett" virgin.

Dad chased that bitch from one end of the house to the other, over sofas and chairs, under tables and beds. She danced and twirled and shrieked like a teenager. He wagged and panted and snuffled. She'd wiggle her rear in his face. He'd grab her around the waist. She'd squeal and spin. He'd grab. She'd squeal. Grab. Squeal. Run. Over. Under. Around. Grab. Squeal. They'd go at it for an hour then collapse in the middle of the floor, tongues scrapin' the rug until they got their second wind--or third or fourth--and start all over again.

By the time the SF arrived, they were both pretty worn out. Dad was still tryin' to convince Daisy how much fun they could have but you could tell his heart (not to mention another part of him) really wasn't in it. Auntie Henrietta said AHM eventually locked Daisy in her kennel cab, put the rest of the crew in the guest room and Dad out on the porch 'cause, well, there was the Special Friend to consider…

The next morning the show moved outside. Auntie Hen says the look on the SF's face durin' breakfast was priceless and he kept swivelin' back and forth to keep track of the action. (Evidently he never had to work that hard for his fun, but I'm just guessin' on that.) Eventually AHM went to clean up the kitchen and SF dragged out a lawn chair to catch some rays.

Suddenly AHM noticed everything had gotten reeaaallll quiet. She charged out onto the porch…

There they were…

under SF's lawn chair…

…doin' what comes naturally.

Auntie Hen says AHM yelled somethin' like "Oh my God!" and leaped over the porch rail. SF jumped straight out of the lawn chair, tried to turn, tripped over his feet, and landed nose to muzzles with a couple of love-locked terriers who were grinnin' from ear to ear…

…and asked what they were doin'.

Not the most intelligent question considerin' the position those two were in, but I suppose AHM made allowances for the shock of the fall and the fact he was a city boy. Needless to say, he figured it out pretty fast all on his own.

There was no movin' 'em once they got started, but AHM didn't want 'em passin' out in the hot sun so she hauled out the beach umbrella. While SF was helpin' her set it up, Dad moved into the approved position and the two of 'em were oblivious to everything except themselves. Daisy was certainly enjoyin' her deflowerment.

Guess SF had never seen anything like it before, 'cause he kept sayin' "They're back to back!" over and over. AHM told him that was normal. Then all he kept sayin' was "You mean it bends backwards!?"

After a few minutes of sittin' on the lawn watchin' two dogs do nothin' worth seein', SF asked how long they'd take. When AHM told him about 45 minutes, he looked like she'd hit him with a brick. For the rest of the weekend, SF kept eyein' Dad and mutterin' "45 minutes--backwards!"

And from that day on everyone believes SF and AHM got together 'cause he just had to prove to her he was better than a dog.

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 6:59 PM


Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty…

You can use these driveways as a litter pan aaannny time you want.

"Prepare to be shell-shocked: Ordnance experts are scrambling to defuse driveways that have the potential to explode.

"The U.S. Army is investigating incidents of unexploded World War I-era munitions showing up in clamshells used as paving material for driveways and parking areas in Delaware, Maryland and Virginia.

"The ordnance was dredged up over the past 18 months from the ocean floor during mechanical clam harvesting operations off the New Jersey coast, in the vicinity of Atlantic City, according to Robert Williams of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, which is conducting the probe.

"More than 300 munitions - mostly British and French-made hand grenades but at least one 75 mm projectile containing a chemical agent - have been recovered from 18 driveways and a Delaware clam-processing plant, Williams said. Some grenades were actually found inside the clams."

Maybe you'll think twice before comin' over here and gettin' your grubby fe-lyin' pawprints all over AHM's car.

Key Quote: "As to why foreign munitions were dumped by the U.S. military off the New Jersey coast, Williams said: "That's a good question. We were friends with them at the time."

Dug up at Dave Barry's Blog.

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posted by Harrison at 5:18 PM


Saturday, February 19, 2005

Trippin' Down Under


At least now I know what Maury was up to when he got caught chasin' that frog around the house.

Junkie Dogs Chasing a High

"Desperate for a canine high, dogs have been seen licking the backs of cane toads for a poison secreted from glands.

Megan Pickering, a veterinarian in the town of Katherine, claims to have seen many cases of dogs affected by the deadly toad poison. "There seems to be dogs that are licking the toxin to get high,” she told the local newspaper. "They lick the toads and only take in a small amount of the poison — they get a smile on their face and look like they are going to wander off into the sunset."…

And here I thought only humans (and Maury) were dumb enough to do that kind of stuff.

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 11:55 PM


Friday, February 18, 2005

Vanitas Vanitatum Omnia Vanitas*

SC&A, who suffered through the spittin', whizzin', and sprayin' of outraged pet bloggers, recently lifted his self-imposed ban on the mention of "pets" and "blogs" in the same sentence.

"SC&A are responsive to our readers. We are aware that there are many readers who were upset and traumatized over our series on pet blogs. In response, we chose to limit our comments on the Pet Blog phenomena. Well, we can't hold back any longer. See this website. Insanity knows no bounds."

For the record, I agree with him. It finally reveals the psychotic narcissism genetically coded in every fe-lyin' DNA. What it reveals about the Omega humans who actually encourage this behavior--and photograph the results--is somethin' else again.

The Infinite Cat

"It all began innocently enough when a user on an Apple help forum posted a picture of his cat, Frankie, contemplating the beauty of a flower. Shortly afterwards another user posted a picture of his cat bristling at the image of Frankie on the monitor. I decided this was too much fun and advanced the concept as The Infinite Cat Project which is, simply, cats regarding cats regarding cats in an electronic melieu."

You'll never catch us canines surfin' the 'net for that kind of porn.

The logo's kinda' neat, though.

*Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.
Ecclesiastes 1:2

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 11:50 PM


Wednesday, February 16, 2005

USS Killer Rabbit

Our newest attack submarine!

Huh? No? Oh. Okay, okay… The new sub is really the USS Jimmy Carter, named in honor of the president who personally beat back a terrorist threat within our own borders.

USS Jimmy Carter

"The Navy will commission its newest nuclear-powered attack submarine Jimmy Carter Feb. 19, during an 11 a.m. EST ceremony at Naval Submarine Base New London, Groton, Conn. The attack submarine Jimmy Carter honors the 39th president of the United States.

"President Carter is the only U.S. president to have qualified in submarines. He has distinguished himself by a lifetime of public service, and has long ties to the Navy and the submarine force. Carter graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1946, served as a commissioned officer aboard submarines, and served as commander-in-chief from 1977 to 1981."

For all you pups out there who haven't got a clue what I'm talkin' about (and I'm sure there are plenty of you) herein lies the hare--er--tale.

"The rabbit incident happened on April 20 [1979] while Carter was taking a few days off in Plains, Georgia. He was fishing from a canoe in a pond when he spotted the fateful rabbit swimming toward him. It was never precisely determined what the rabbit's problem was. Carter, always trying to look at things from the other guy's point of view, later speculated that it was fleeing a predator. Whatever the case, it was definitely a troubled rabbit. "It was hissing menacingly, its teeth flashing and nostrils flared and making straight for the president," a press account said."

Things bein' what they were about then, I'm surprised they didn't start that last sentence with "a Reagan campaign worker…"

"The Secret Service having been caught flatfooted--I'll grant you an amphibious rabbit assault is a tough thing to defend against--the president did what he could to protect himself. Initially it was reported that he had hit the rabbit with his paddle. Realizing this would not play well with the Rabbit Lovers Guild, Carter later clarified that he had merely splashed water at the rabbit, which then swam off toward shore. A White House photographer, ever alert to history's pivotal moments, snapped a picture of the encounter for posterity."

And that picture, courtsey of the Jimmy Carter Library, can be seen here. (Scroll down for large picture.) You can also read the alternative history of the incident as related by Carter's press secretary Jody Powell--who was the one who created the whole flap in the first place. As The Straight Dope explains:

"OK, not one of the shining moments of Carter's career, but so far not a major train wreck, inasmuch as nobody outside the White House knew anything about it. Jody Powell took care of that problem the following August when he told the rabbit story to Associated Press reporter Brooks Jackson over a cup of tea.

"Powell ought to have known that you cannot tell anything to reporters in August because there is nothing else to write about and they will make any fool thing into a front page scandal. Which is exactly what happened. The Washington Post put the bunny story on page one complete with a cartoon takeoff of the famous "Jaws" movie poster entitled "Paws."…

"Carter's subsequent drubbing at the polls was a foregone conclusion, hostage crisis or not. Lesson for life #1: if it moves, kill it. Lesson for life #2: if you can't kill it, for God's sake don't talk about it to the Associated Press."

That's pretty much my rabbit policy. And my fe-lyin' policy and my gopher policy and my squirrel policy and my…oh, you get the idea.

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 6:17 PM


Monday, February 14, 2005

My World, Welcome To It…

…wipe your paws before enterin'.

UPDATE: One of our Blogroll friends is at Westminster. Hope Miss Diva acquitted herself well. We'll be lookin' for ya' in the Hound Group tonight, babe.

Terriers Rule at Westminster Dog Show

And you're surprised--why?

"[W]hen it comes to the most popular breeds in the nation, almost all of them are in the Westminster doghouse. Dalmations, labrador retrievers, golden retrievers, beagles, Dachshunds - none of them have ever taken the coveted best in show title at America's most prestigious canine event.

"Instead, it's those terriers - wire fox terriers, smooth fox terriers, Norwich terriers, Scottish terriers and Kerry blue terriers. Overall, they've won 43 of 96 times. "They're just such showy dogs," said Jackie Thatcher, who brought her wire fox from Texas to Madison Square Garden. "They just say, 'Look at me!'"

"For sure, some dogs do seem to show up better than others on the green carpet. And before Greg Louganis, Glenn Close and the first sellout crowd in Westminster history, toy dogs did well during the early competition, making them a favorite for the sterling silver bowl Tuesday night.

Toys are toys and we terriers treat them like--well--toys--of the squeaky variety. When one comes to visit, AHM tries to con us by sayin' they're just puppies. Suuuurrre they are.

"A pert Pomeranian co-owned by Bill Cosby breezed in best of breed. Perched on one leg, Wicked Mean-N-Nasty's bright eyes lit up when he was picked. "He's just an awesome dog," said handler Bill McFadden, who won best in show with a Kerry blue two years ago. "He asked for it."

I'll bet he did. Toys dogs are almost as irritatin' as Demo-cats. Always askin' for it then whinin' like babies when we terriers give it to 'em.

Dr. Cosby used to have a terrier we hated seein' in the Group Ring. Talk about butt kissin'. Like everyone--includin' the judge--didn't know who owned the little sucker? Yeah--right. Glad to see he's decided to move to the Toy Group.

[NOTE: Mr. Wicked Mean-N-Nasty Pomeranian took Second in the Toy Group.]

"A fancy-cut white toy poodle called Coleman also won. The top-ranked show dog in the United States, he was born in Japan - and yes, he's bilingual, responding to commands in both languages."

Oh, gag me with a Dentabone® already! Any guy who prances around with a bunch of pompoms decoratin' his butt doesn't get my respect no matter how many languages he speaks. And does he have his own blog? I think not.

"Chihuahuas are among the breeds that have never won at Westminster. That could change this year, though, because of a little guy with the prophetic name of I Believe I Can Fly. He's of the long hair variety, not the smooth coat popularized by those Taco Bell commercials and carried around by Paris Hilton. "They're not taken seriously," said Jim Lehman, a handler of smooth coats.

Hosted  Well, just take a look at this runt and tell me, why   should we take 'em seriously? They look like   somethin' I chased through the house not long   ago. Not to mention Chihuahua owners have the   disgustin' habit of givin' 'em names like   "Tinkerbell," and "Bit Bit."

"All of the 2,581 dogs entered in the 165 breeds and varieties are champions, yet many of them never really have a chance. Labrabor retrievers have been the most popular purebred dogs in America for 15 straight years - 146,692 were registered in 2004, according to the American Kennel Club. Golden retrievers were next (52,550), followed by German shepherds (46,046) and beagles (44,555). At Westminster, their combined best in show total is a little lower: zero…

"And that makes sense to David Frei, the longtime host of USA Network's television coverage. Some dogs are just meant for the show ring. "It's the nature of what dogs are bred to do. Terriers are always on their toes, looking for trouble. They take a minimum of direction, and they're low in trainability. It's their world, and we're just lucky to be living in it," he said.

Admit it, people--we terriers put the "show" in show biz.

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 10:31 PM


To my solid gold best friend…

24K Gold Graphics

…and all his friends across the blogosphere…

(including the fe-lyings)

Happy Valentines Day!

Alpha Human Mom

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 12:46 PM


Sunday, February 13, 2005

"Wool of Bat and Tongue of Dog"*

Not necessarily in that order.

Ya' know, I usually don't pay attention to what's goin' on with the state politicians around here. (AHM says we're really a commonwealth not a state which sounds suspicious--like everyone's money is supposed to be shared with everyone else or somethin'. That seems to be the attitude of the recent bunch of Capitol occupiers, though, so maybe she's right.) But I never thought much about 'em 'cause when I arrived on the scene Republi-canines were in charge and workin' to get rid of a bunch of taxes.

Then the locals had a collective brain freeze and fell for that Demo-cat snake-oil salesman. Geeze--I tried to warn 'em. Elect a fe-lyin' and all ya' get are higher taxes. They just went right ahead and pulled the wrong lever, anyway. Now they're getting' stuck--which is always the result of handin' power to a fe-lyin' politician. Someone said they got a bunch of rhinos on their side too, which is a real mystery. What the hell are rhinos doin' tryin' to make laws and regulations and stuff? All they're good for is stickin' their horns in placed they don't belong.

For the most part, though, our commonwealth politicos make me think of a bunch of kindergarten kids playin' grown-up. I mean, how can you take 'em seriously when they're givin' us tax wedgies while worryin' about some kid's droopy drawers?

And then there's the business of namin' official state everythings. Someone tell me what good is havin' official state anythings--except for gettin' youself a $40 question on Jeopardy!? Guess it's so the politician who presented it can go home and brag "I did this." So far we've got an official bird, flower and tree, folk dance, and beverage. Now they've stuck us with an ugly-ass official bat.

(If ya' need to see a picture, surf on over to Blatherings. I figure I've scared the kiddies enough with that Dean picture I posted yesterday.)

"A bill sponsored by Del. Jackie T. Stump, D-Buchanan, would make the Virginia big-eared bat the official state bat... The Virginia big-eared bat, listed by the federal government as endangered, is brown, fuzzy and slightly smaller than a sparrow.

"It's kind of a charismatic little fellow," said Claire Ward of Richmond, who asked Stump to carry the bill…

"Supporters hope a state bat would draw attention to the importance of bats, which eat mosquitoes and other insects and, in some places, pollinate plants…

"Enjoy bats at a distance, said Suzanne Jenkins, Virginia's acting state epidemiologist and a bat friend herself. "I wait every year for spring, when I can go outside and see the first bats flying around at sundown."

If she hung around us she wouldn't have to go outside to see 'em.

I know somethin' about bats. 'Course I know more about why you humans have expressions like "they're batty" or "bats in the belfry" to describe someone who's a little nuts. As far as I'm concerned, bats are definitely nuts.

One evenin' when company was visitin', we were all lazin' around, lights off except for Alpha Human Mom's readin' light, and the back door ajar so we could enjoy the spring breezes. Just a nice, peaceful scene--even with Maury on the premises.

Then we heard flappin'.

Continued in Read the Rest!
Everyone figured it was one of those idiot sparrows again (drunken sots, all of 'em) and didn't feel up to a chase. It flew right in and settled down on AHM's shoulder. No big deal, really. For some reason wild things do that around her. Except this wild thing wasn't a sparrow. It was a bat.

You're probably expectin' to read there was a bunch of shriekin' and yellin' once AHM looked around and came eyeball to fangs with a bat. Wrong. In fact, she just stood up, got her gardenin' gloves, and sat back down in her chair. The bat rode around on her shoulder. (Maybe it was havin' an identity crises and thought it was a parrot or somethin'.) Then she picked up the stupid thing and held it in her lap, scratchin' its ears.

And it liked it!

I was hangin' over the arm of my easy chair starin', just waitin' for all hell to break loose. But even my kid Hem and Maury were keepin' their distance, and we were all wonderin' if AHM had gone round the bend. (Admit it--do you know anyone who'd try to turn a bat into a lap pet?) Every time AHM stopped scratchin', that ingrate would bare its teeth at her and make nerve-gratin' scritchin' squeaks 'til she started again. It was beginnin' to look like the little freeloader was ready to move right in.

Guess AHM figured out we were startin' to think about takin' things into our own paws 'cause she finally she took the bat outside, gave it a lecture about catchin' mosquitoes and stuff (yeah, really), and let it go. End of story.

Until the next night. Yep. There it was again. Same routine. Same routine the next night, too…and the next…and the next… In fact, that bat showed up every evenin' for a week just so it could sit on AHM's lap and get its ears scratched. I'm not kiddin', people. A whole solid week of bat ear scratchin'!

Eventually AHM got worried and took it to her friend who was a wildlife rescuer. Maybe she was feelin' like Mrs. Dracula or somethin'. Maybe she thought she was screwin' up its little bat psyche--not that it wasn't royally screwed up already. Or maybe she just figured it would start tellin' all its bat friends what was goin' on and we'd have all the bats in the neighborhood linin' up for their turn.

Whatever, the bat got sent off to another part of the county. Hopefully it got back to the business of bein' a regular insect-eatin', scare-the-hell-out-of-everyone bat 'cause there sure is no earthly use I can think of for a lap bat.

They're kinda' like fe-lyings that way.

I gotta' remind you readers that this is an unusual story. Bats tend to avoid people unless they're sick, so don't go lookin' for bats to pet, okay? Bad stuff can happen.

* William Shakespeare, Macbeth Act IV Scene 1

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 3:07 PM


Saturday, February 12, 2005

Deaniac Does Demo-cats

It's official.

Oops… Wrong picture…

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 12:48 PM


Thursday, February 10, 2005

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."*

That's an all-purpose title if I ever heard one. But I suggest this kitty litter clump goes at the top of whatever list you're compilin' at the moment.

"Hey, did you hear the one about the Chicago lawyer who found a 7-year-old Florida boy's lost dog and took it home to Chicago?

"And how the alleged dognapping Chicago lawyer now refuses to return the dog to the boy, because the lawyer says he gave it to a mystery nun whom he won't name?

"You didn't hear that one?

"It's no joke to Miles, the little boy from Cape Coral, Fla., who misses his dog. Miles was sobbing on the phone. "Please," Miles said, crying. "Can I have my dog back? Can I have my dog back, please?"

"On New Year's Eve, Miles' mixed-breed pal, Ariel, was staying with a neighbor while Miles' family was on vacation. Ariel looks like a Labrador retriever. She escaped from the neighbor's fenced yard…

"Unfortunately for Miles…[t]he family of Chicago lawyer James Foley, of the law firm Hoey & Farina, found the dog running loose… [B]y the time Miles' family reached Foley, he had the dog with him in Chicago. Foley had paid about $300 for shots, an air crate and airfare. He said he took the dog home because he feared it would have been euthanized at a shelter.

"You're going to write a story making me look like a dog thief," Foley told me.

"Well, how would you characterize it? Dognapper?

"No, there's those that interpret it as dog rescuer," Foley said, fidgeting, tapping his foot, looking away. "Isn't that a more logical scenario?"


Continued in Read the Rest!

"Within a day or two, Foley got a call from Miles' father, Michael Korzeniewski… But Foley didn't return his calls for about a week. Finally, they spoke.

"I told him I was going to make a [police] report. I think he got kind of pissed at that," Korzeniewski said. "He said that now that I contacted the police, it's going to make it very hard. He said that he had the dog, but he gave it away to some organization for handicapped kids."

"He gave the dog away after spending $300 to bring it to Chicago?

"Yes," Korzeniewski said. "He said it would be very difficult to get the dog back from them. I waited patiently for a couple more weeks."

"(Foley told me he gave the dog to a nun who runs a program for disabled children. But he declined to give me the mystery nun's name so I could determine if she, in fact, exists. He said I might abuse her with my annoying questions.)

"After a couple of weeks of no dog and no calls, Korzeniewski finally contacted the Chicago police. He also wrote a letter to Foley's law firm, Hoey & Farina, accusing Foley of dognapping. "I think that it is only fair that you are aware of the man in your organization who seems to like to play games with a little boy's emotions," Korzeniewski and his wife, Stefanie wrote.

"During an interview, Foley offered contradictory explanations, about how he didn't know it was Miles' dog at first, and how the mystery nun has it, but he's not in the mood to ask her for any favors, and so on and so forth. After a 1 1/2 hours of coffee at the Cambridge House Restaurant, with Foley in a booth, we finally pinned him down on the reason he's sticking it to a 7-year-old kid.

"Me: You were going to give the dog back until Mike Korzeniewski called the cops.

"Foley: "Right."

"Me: Why?

"Foley: "Because the guy's a pain in the ass."

"I told him that he should ship the dog back to that little boy, but Foley made out like he's the victim. "I mean, does he have some responsibility to me?" Foley whined, as if that Cape Coral family should pay him for taking their dog and putting them through hell because Lawyer Foley is upset.

"Curiously, he said the lawyers at Hoey & Farina were amused at the letter from Miles' parents. "They laughed at it," Foley said.

"It must be a lawyers' joke. Someone might want to call Hoey & Farina in Chicago and ask them to explain the amusing punch line. I just don't get it. It doesn't amuse me.

"As you read this Wednesday [February 9], Ariel has been held hostage in Chicago for 40 days. And I keep thinking of Miles, the little boy, crying, asking me, "Can I have my dog back, please?"

Dug up at Doggy Woggy Photo Blog who notes Mr. HighandMighty James T. Foley can be reached at:

Hoey Farina & Downes
542 S Dearborn St # 200
Chicago, IL
(312) 939-1212
foley-at felahfd.com

*William Shakespeare - Henry VI, Part 2

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 1:39 AM


Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Reverse Anthropomorphism

Wipe that surprised look off your muzzle that I know that word, okay? I live it!

But I digress… Ya' know, I'm not sure why fat pets are a surprise. Any real Alpha Human knows the pack responds to their lead. If you're stuffin' yourself, you're probably stuffin' us, too--and I don't mean in the taxidermy sense.

I've talked about this before. (Link to original article no longer valid, unfortunately.) Fat is fat. And fat animals (human, canine, fe-lyin', equine, et al) are not gonna' be healthy. There's nothin' more disgustin'--or downright hilarious--than seein' Waddles the Dachshund tryin' to chase a rabbit. (Ever see a rabbit laugh?)

Bottom line, we canines and fe-lyings don't have opposable thumbs so we are not dishin' up the kibble and vittles on our own. (Okay, I learned how to open the cabinets but AHM moved the cookies to the top shelf after our first--and only--party. Where's Red when you need him?)

But--Omega humans are always ready to throw money at someone else to solve their problems. Weird habit of theirs that we canines cannot figure out. So of course they would rush finance a fat camp for their pets

"A fat camp style clinic has opened specialising in helping pampered pets shed a few pounds. The new clinic is examining why overweight pets are picking up "human lifestyle" illnesses like diabetes, arthritis and even depression…

"Fat cat Clarence was the first patient to visit The Royal Canin Weight Management Clinic, at the University of Liverpool's Small Animal Hospital.

Why am I not surprised a "fat cat" was the first?

"The clinic is taking in fat, lazy and sad cats and dogs referred to it by veterinary practices across Merseyside…

"Within weeks it will aim to turn them into fitter, leaner and happier animals, through an intensive regime of crash diets, exercise and "lifestyle" advice.

I suppose it's better than payin' for liposuction.

"There are some obvious strong parallels with human obesity and obesity in pets, they share the same environment so it is not surprising."

Gee…d'ya' think? How much are they payin' this guy to tell 'em the obvious? I want a piece of that action.

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posted by Harrison at 12:04 AM


Sunday, February 06, 2005


Siggy (and his various alter-egos) seems to have bitten off more than he/they can chew by takin' on pet bloggers. (And can we discuss his need to have three personalities to disorder?)

What he fails to realize is we canines are not too awfully crazy about some of the dumb ideas Omega Humans think up. 'Course if you're gonna' turn us into a combination sage/oracle/demigod (fe-lyings cornered that market a couple of millenia ago) we'll play along. SC&A would too if someone would make him a decent (or even indecent) offer.

Now he probably won't like hearin' this, but I agree with most of what he wrote the other day. In fact, I've been workin' that street corner longer than he has. F'instance…

"Anyone that leaves a million and half dollars to cat [or canine] is insane… Leaving instructions that a new red or yellow ribbon be applied daily to a yappy Maltese or Yorkie, with specific instruction on how to apply said ribbon, is reason enough to have the entire will invalidated."

Been there.

"Pets do not need to be taken to a pet psychologist. There is no such thing. The quacks that refer to themselves as pet psychologists feel the same way about whack job pet owner that we do- they just want to cash in."

Done that. Twice.

"There is no rational reason to dress your pet up."

Have the tee shirt… and ripped it to shreds! [Dug up at Right-Thinking.]

"Pets live in sin. They do not marry and despite a well planned and large gathering at the wedding ceremony, will not remain monogamous."

I'm puttin' together a little something about this part of of human/canine interaction. (Not that kind of interaction! Geeze. I have standards, ya' know.) But we are "workin' dogs" around here, if ya' know what I mean…

"Asking your pet's opinion on everything…to discussing your pet's politics will not make the extreme pet owner appear any more rational."

AHM doesn't ask. I tell. She types. Got that? Besides, my politics are demonstrably superior to 47% of the so-called rational--aka "reality-based" (insert laugh here)--electorate.

"To imply that you and your pet vote in the same manner, or agree on Iraq…is no testimony to your sanity."

Especially if the Omega Human votes the wrong way. That's that real "sanity" test.

All 'n all, though, I'd rather have humans writin' about us than dancin' with us!

Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 2:51 PM


Love Makes the World Go 'Round…

…especially if it's on a leash.

Dogs as Date Bait.

"On Valentine's Day 2004, Melanie Taylor, a 38-year-old single attorney from Arlington, Va., heard about a singles party taking place that afternoon in nearby Washington, D.C. and immediately thought, "No way!" However, upon further investigation, she discovered that she could bring, Mai Mai, her Mom's Shih Tzu, because the party was being hosted by AnimalAttraction.com a new online dating service for pet lovers.

"No way!" quickly turned into, "Hmm, maybe I can meet some guys who LOVE dogs instead of guys who ARE dogs."

"Now it's approaching Valentine's 2005, and just like last year, Melanie isn't quite sure what she'll be doing for Valentine's Day. However, unlike last year, she knows that she'll be spending it with someone special.

"At the Animal Attraction.com party last year, Mai Mai ran into Cuki, a 7-year-old Rhodesian Ridgeback mix who was attached to 33-year-old single male, Ted Hooban… After dating for about 9 months, Melanie and Ted recently moved in together, couldn't be happier and are looking forward to spending a loving Valentine's Day together."

No word on how Mai Mai and Cuki are gettin' along. Don't think I really want to know, actually. Think about it. Shih Tzu… Rhodesian Ridgeback… The mind boggles.

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posted by Harrison at 2:05 AM


Friday, February 04, 2005

Money is the Root of All Idiocy

Not that I wouldn't like a little more. I hate alternatin' my real liver with that canned crap.

That bein' said…this sort of fool should be an embarrassment to canines everywhere. 'Course, we're not gonna' turn up our muzzles if they force us to enjoy the good life, which just goes to show--we're smarter than they are. Or at least more sane.

Slain fashion designer leaves house to dog

"The murdered German fashion designer Rudolph Moshammer has left his luxurious home to his beloved Yorkshire terrier Daisy, the mass market Bild newspaper reported on Friday. The flamboyant designer named a Munich-based estate agent as the executor of his will and stipulated that Daisy could stay in his villa in the suburbs of Munich, the paper said…

"Daisy, who used to be Moshammer's constant companion and sported ribbons in her hair, will be able to live in the house until her death, the report said."

Ribbons! Never trust a dog wearin' ribbons!

And speakin' of sanity--or insanity which is more likely…

" Leona Helmsley's dog Trouble is a fluffy Maltese small enough to fit into her purse. But when Trouble barks, Leona listens. That's because the 84-year-old hotel queen is said to believe that her late husband, real-estate tycoon Harry Helmsley, communicates to her through the pooch.

"Someone who recently dined with Leona and her canine companion came away convinced that she sees Trouble as a psychic transmitter. "She didn't use the term 'channeling,'" says the source. "But she gave me the clear impression that Harry was speaking through the dog."

"What has Harry supposedly told her?

"Well, for one thing, he doesn't like the public mausoleum that's been built next to his private crypt at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. Harry is said to have told Trouble to tell Leona that the new edifice spoiled his view. Last July, Leona filed a $150 million suit against the cemetery, alleging she was led to believe that the field next to the Helmsley crypt would remain empty."

'Suppose someone dumb enough to marry Leona would be dumb enough channel himself through a piece of lint named "Trouble."

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posted by Harrison at 9:33 PM


Thursday, February 03, 2005

Shreddin' the Opposition

Republi-canine reponse to the Demo-cat reponse to the SOFTU address:

REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque-Photo/Hosted by ImageShack

Barney and Miss Beazley take Sen. Harry Reid, D-NV (or Rep. Nancy Pelosi, D-CA--it's tough for us to tell the difference, ya' know) to task for their less-than-visionary remarks.

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posted by Harrison at 7:31 PM


Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Shrink Rapped

One of my favorite blogs is Sigmund, Carl, and Alfred which bills itself as a tribute to those three men by "…an admiring psycho-therapist." As the subhead claims, the site is "…dedicated to the world of bloggers, many of whom exhibit more than mild symptoms of various personality disorders."

SC&A symbolically channels the collective memory of those three famous psychoanalysts--Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, and Alfred Alder--while dreams of analyzin' and definin' the parameters of acceptability within the blogosphere dance in his id*. His three-in-one subconscious appears to be at war with his libido, creatin' a conflicted superego, inferiority/superiority mood swings, and a general atmosphere of cynical grumpiness.

It was only a matter of time before he took on the pet bloggin' community. And it must be a larger task than he expected since he does it three times within two days, here and here.

"For some of you, this, may come as a shock: animals do not blog.

"We understand the thrapeutic benefits a pet can have on an individual or family. We wholeheatedly agree that taking care for and even loving an pet can be an important part of one's life- the resposibility and lessons learned are important.

"Now in case you missed the already stated point of this piece, we want to again remind you: animals do not blog…

"Writing a blog in a cat/dog/hamster/fish voice is entertaining only to yourself and that small galaxy of morons who feel the need to do the same."

When I first entered the wide world of webbloggin', it was strictly for my own amusement--an exercise in observin' human silliness in much the same way as Boy, author of A Dog's Life. Peter Mayle, of course, actually wrote Boy's words on paper and had them published since the lack of opposable thumbs makes it difficult for canines to type. Mayle, as you may or may not know, is the author of numerous books, most notably A Year in Provence. SC&A is entitled to his opinion, but I certainly would not classify Mayle's fans and readers as "morons."

"If the rest of us don't really care about what you have to say in your personal blog (trust us here, we don't. Having a second blog written by/about a pet is a fair indicator of that), why on earth would you think we care about the imaginary conversations you have with Fluffy or Spot?"

Humans are animals, although they prefer to ignore that inconvenient fact. Their behavior is frequently beneath the behavior exhibited by the average canine and, yes, fe-lyin'. The biggest disconnect between four-legged and two-legged animals is that we are realistic about our biases and shortcomings--and yours.

Humans, on the other paw, must endlessly rationalize their actions, projectin' their own motives onto others to justify aberrant behavior. They are so driven to seek external sources of blame they often crumble under the weight of their confusion, drivin' 'em to seek justification on the therapist's couch.

In other words, in our world an ass knows it's an ass.

Continued in Read the Rest!

"You can delude yourself into believing you have conversations with your pet (see us for extended therapy), but in the end, you are not really having a conversation with Fluffy. You see (brace yourselves), you cannot have a conversation with an animal."

And the reverse is true as well. Humans are remarkably ignorant when it comes to animal dialects.

For the record, I rarely have extended conversations with Alpha Human Mom. I use that appellation, btw, to distinguish her from Canine Mom--aka Grand Dam Bitch--not because I have any misconceptions over who brought me into this world, but as a recognition of the one who cares and provides for my well-being. Or, as SC&A so inelegantly phrases it, the person who provides "… a place for [me] to crap and feed…"

AHM reads aloud to us because we like the sound of her voice--in the same way we like hearin' certain types of music and dislike the noctural caterwaulin' of hormone-overladen fe-lyings. If something she reads is amusin'--and trust me most human behavior is very amusin'--I am moved to comment on it and she is kind enough to transcribe my thoughts.

"The animal does not care if your PMS is particularly severe this month. The animal does not care that your work leaves you 'unfulfilled' or that your miserable and uncaring boyfriend/girlfriend isn't responding to your needs (ask yourself if maybe your unhealthy attachment to your animal might have something to do with that)."

Actually we do care--at least as far as it affects how humans treat us. (See "feed and crap" reference above.)

There is ample room in the blogosphere for all sorts--includin' those who include pet bloggin' along with newsworthy links and insightful commentary. There is even room for conservative discourse from a fe-lying who is more erudite than the average "reality-based" blogger.

Unfortunately such websites appear to be causin' SC&A to experience cognitive dissonance. Since I'm a lowly canine, I have no $500 per hour advice to offer--except…

Psycho-therapist--shrink thyself.


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posted by Harrison at 2:43 PM