…and it made me very sad. I tried to explain it to a normal human being today and while he was very sympathetic in terms of response because he’s such a great guy, I could tell he thought I was nuts.

In blogging terms, I grew up with the Tunchinator. Clearly a kick-ass cat.

Then THIS happened and made me happy. If you don’t read the comments, you don’t learn that the animal shelter getting the Tunchster’s posthumous proceeds hadn’t “received a donation in weeks.” They’ll be over $10K by the weekend. Glorious!

(Tunch? Named after a Pittsburgh Steeler, of course. John’s a Pitt guy.)

I don’t blog much anymore because of John Cole, as he speaks for me on politics and humanity and pets and other shit much better than I do for myself.

One is that dogs aren’t allowed to wander in our National Parks.

My cat is going #1 in my laundry basket, and my dog ate my wallet.


He and I are not alike in at least one respect: The boy just doesn’t get anyone riled up. He likes to chase rabbits until he’s strangled by the leash, but I have plenty of reason to believe he’ll just want to play with it if he ever catches one.

There are other dogs in the ‘hood of whom the owners have told me, “Dweezil is the only dog that will get away with that.”

Anyway, it’s nice having a completely harmless and bright dog. He reminds me that now and then if not all the time I should just back the fuck off, and everyone will be happier.


He’s coming up on 15 months now and he’s a handful. I don’t like having a dog that needs to be leashed, and he still does.

Oh, he’ll play nice 80-90% of the time and stick with me. But when he gets a wild hair, he’s off, keeps his eyes on me in general, but gets himself in places I don’t want him going. The recall command is a tough one.

He remains A+ on the social side, the boy is just wonderful with other humans and critters. He’s a cute guard dog and unabashed scavenger with a rock-solid GI tract. He’ll play as rough as you want, but never further. He submits when appropriate.

A bit of a shedder. I sometimes describe my house decor as, “Early Fur.”

But mostly he’s awfully happy to see me when I come home, even if I just go out and get the mail, and that’s just gotta be a genuinely healthy thing.

So my beloved puppy, the whitish-haired one, REALLY got into a RollerballTM pen and got blue ink all over everything and especially himself, pretty much his entire bottom quarter; on the carpet in every room but one, tile, wood, and bed sheets. Leather sofa was where he did the deed. For most people, a disaster.

The only reason I’m posting this is because it occurred to me today, two days later, that I really didn’t care about the blue ink footprints all over the house, since, you know, so?

And all the reasons for “fixing” it, which means spending money trust me, were related to social pressure. Every single one.

So I’m not sure I’m going to fix anything.

One of the great all-time cats. I loved him.

And that is all, so there.


SW of Denver

…everyone these cops know plus themselves to get Alzheimer’s (starting…NOW!) and eaten by wild animals. Because they wandered off while they were still 70% coherent.

After handling a side of meat. In famine conditions for the critters. If it’s bears, just before hibernating.

Just not sure enough about Hell.

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