Still Pluggin' Away

Well, me and Pony are still alive and kicking. It's summer here in Northern Ontario, Canada and we've been spending a lot of time on the water. Me fly fishing and Pony pretending he's a trout. His greatest pleasure on our outings is waiting and watching my cast, observing my line mends and then bounding out into the middle of the river to catch my fly mid-drift. I know I should just leave him at home when I go fish, but he so enjoys fucking my fishing up that I can't bear to leave him behind. Plus, on the few occassions I have slipped out by myself he always gets pissed and bites me when I return.

Anyways . . .

This is not really anything other than a way to prevent our blog from being shut down for inactivity. I have kinda moved on, but Pony suggested I keep it going in case I (or he) needs it later.

Maybe we'll talk later, maybe not. We'll see.

Hold on a fucking minute!

"What, Pony? Got somethin' to say?"

Fucking right I do. Bye.

"That's it?"

Yep.

Oh. Okay.

Putting for Burgers

Tonight, as I was about to drop my fourth eagle at Wolf Creek (I'm getting pretty good at my golf game. Pony says, Nice shot, now more often than, You suck!) when I felt a big mouth close over my hand. "What the fuck 'er you doin'?" I asked, more than a little annoyed.

Get me a marshmallow, will ya?

"Not now. Hold on a minute."

An indignant stare.

"I'll get ya one after this hole. Do you really think you need one? You've gotten a little beefy this winter."

Piss off. I'd get it myself but I'm not tall enough.

"Plunk"
"That's his fourth eagle of the round!" I love it when Kelly says that.

"I'm getting pretty good, eh?"

Well, you should be. It's all you seem to care about these days. Marshmallow. Now. Please.

"Alright. And it's not all I care about." I said, standing up and walking over to the fridge. "It's just all I have to do once the kids go back to their Mom's house. What else should I care about? Better yet, what do You care about, Pony? What do you care about that gives you the right to criticize me?"

No thought, no hesitation. Hamburgers.

"Hamburgers. Hamburgers?" I couldn't believe my ears. I know I should expect this kind of response coming from an asshole of an over-weight black lab, but it threw me, nevertheless.

"How are hamburgers any different from XBox golf? I mean, sure, they're both fun. They both fill you up. They fill you up, right? Albeit in a different way. I can see how you'd like hamburgers, but what gives you this superior attitude when all you care about is a fucking hamburger? How are the two any different?

Hamburgers are yummy.

Will you fix me one instead?

Sometimes You Gotta Eat Cat Shit

"Pony, my friend, I'm tired."

Of what?

"Of everything. You ever have days where you wish you'd just stop?"

Stop what?

"Breathing. Seeing. Living."

No. That's just stupid.

"I know it is."

Then why are you saying it?

"Because here lately that's how I feel. You ever feel that way?"

No.

"How come you don't?"

Look, when you only have ten or maybe twelve years, you don't waste time feeling sorry for yourself. You just live the best way you can.

"Is it always good for you? This living thing?"

Well, sometimes my friend, you gotta eat the cat shit to keep your territory clean.

"Good point."

On Your Marks, Get Set . . .

"You ready, Pone-dog?"

For what?

"To start."

Start what?

"Everything."

Oh.

Sure.

But can I sit in the front seat?

Nothing to Bark at Here

Okay. Goddammit! Now I'm Pissed.

I tossed the XBox controller aside and pulled myself up from where I was skwuntched between the cushions on the couch. One stepped it to the front door. Yanked it open. Crunched out into the night. Opened my mouth prepared to give the Woof standing mid-street barking at no one a great blast of Shut the fuck up you goddamn idiot when all fury froze in the depths of my lungs. I could not utter even a sound. It was bloody fucking cold out there! When I finally caught my composure as it sped for the blankets, I gurbled out, "C'mon in, Pony. S'its cold out hea."

He stopped his barking and turning, began a leisurely trot up the drive. Once inside, I shut the door behind him. Where's my treat? he asked.

"Same place it always is, on top of the fridge. Give me a second, ok?"

Sure, but just hurry it up, eh? I'm hungry from all that barking. He knows just how to get my goat.

"I'll bite. What were you standing in the middle of the road, barking your furry black head off at? Was something there?

I wasn't barking at something.

"Okay. Some One."

I wasn't barking at some one, either

You were , too.

No, I wasn't. I was barking at NO ONE and NOTHING. That's different.

"How so?"

It's a Woof thing. You wouldn't understand.

Please. Enlighten me.

No. Not tonight. I'm tired from all that barking. He glanced at the TV. Fucking Double Boogied the 11th? You are truly terrible at that game. Goodnight.

"Fuck You, Pony," I mumbled as his tail turned the corner to the basement steps.

Heard that.

'Night!

Woofs Don't do Sad Songs. Did You Know That?

Tonight I heard the creak of springs directly below my sunken repose on the upstairs' sofa. Pony's up. Clip-cliping up the stairs he padded his way over and glared at me.

"What?" I asked, immediately winding up for an assault of the canine variety. I wasn't disappointed.

I'm tryin' to sleep.

"The stereo is not too loud,"

Maybe not to you, but my ears are about a hundred times better than yours. Turn that depressing shit down. What is it anyways? "A Hundred Ways to Want to Kill Yourself?"

"The Frames."

Well, it sucks and it's depressing.

"Is not."

Is Too. Tell me, why do you Humans insist on listening to the most depressing crap you can find when you're already sad?

"Dog, I'm not sad."

Yes, you are.

"Goddammit! No, I'm not!"

Pox, you live alone with your dog. You don't know anyone in this crappy town to hang out with. You haven't had a date since She went her own way - and that's been almost eight months. You, my dear friend and master are the saddest fucker I ever saw. So why are you tormenting yourself with songs about finding the, "someone you were born for," or some shit like that. You sure don't need it to make you feel bad.

"I don't know. Leave me alone. Go lay down."

No. I'm serious. Why do Humans go out of their way to feel even worse about themselves? You're all already fucked up as it is. You don't need any more help do you? If so, then you're an even stupider species than I thought. I didn't believe that was possible.

"Pony, I guess we listen to sad music when we're depressed because happy music just doesn't fit the mood."

Well, that's just stupid.

"Probably. What do you listen to when you're sad?"

I'm a Woof, we don't get sad long enough to even turn on the stereo, let alone find a crappy sad song to play. We bounce back. You should try it.

"What? Bouncing back?" Easier said than done, you old Woof. So, if you don't like sad songs, what do you listen too when I'm not around? And I know you do. You left the laptop open the other day. Busted, Dude."

Oh-no-you-caught-me. Yeah, I listen to the computer all the time. Sometimes I use your credit card to order Gay pornos.

"You'd fucking better not!"

I do. Just so when the lady at the post office sees what it is she'll spread it around that you're a big perverted homo. That's why you never get dates.

"If you're serious, your ass is going to the Pound!" He just stared at me. Then the doggy-grin poked through.

Just kidding.

"Fucking you'd better be."

I said I was, now drop it.

"Okay. So, what do you listen too?

Well, as a general rule, We like Abba.

Pony Speaks the Truth - for once

You know, Pony said, turning and looking up at me from his sprawled placement between my feet. We were watching some stupid movie about aliens in South Africa and neither of us was much into it, We hate wagging our tails.

"Really? Why?"

Cause it hurts, he replied.

"Get out! It hurts to wag your tail?" I said, not believing him. Pony has a tendency to make shit up just to feel important.

Yeah, it does. Don't believe me? You should try wiggling your ass back and forth for a few minutes and see if it doesn't pain you. Guaranteed you'll feel it in the morning.

"If it hurts, then why do you do it?"

Can't help it. It's in our nature. Probably has to do with genetics.

"How So?"

Well, I think that when you were making us, you know, all that selective breeding shit? The ones of you doing the deciding of what was good and what was not, must've thought that a tail-wagging Woof was preferably over a non-tail wagging one. Genetic manipulation at it's finest, my friend. That Guy probably thought it was funny, or something.

"Huh." I said. I never thought of that."

'Course you didn't. You're a Human. You Guys never think. You just do what looks and feels good to you in the moment. You don't give a rat's-ass for anyone or anything else. Take a look around you, Man. Are you dumbfucks doing a good job at running the show?

"Well," I was close to believing him, "I guess . . . not really."

Hmmm. Maybe there's hope for ya'll yet.

I doubt it, though.