Zombies!

Pomeranian Home

Security Systems (Part 2)

24 Hour Service

My youngest dog (Macky Rae) has a vivid imagination, but he is only 3 years old, so that's normal. He enjoys science fiction (he is a big fan of Star Trek), "1950s Era Black and White Giant Insect Films," and (thanks to Aunt Amy) Zombie Flicks.

If you have been a frequent reader to this blog, you are aware also that he is computer literate. He has a few PC games he likes to play, but his favorite is ZombieLand,™  where you go around your "neighborhood" hunting zombies and protect your home. Currently, he has reached level 42.

He also believes zombies are real. (I blame Aunt Amy for this as well.)

He is taking Zombie Preparedness seriously, and as a result has began laying in supplies in the basement, should the predicted Zombie Apocalypse occur and we are force to go into seclusion. Based on a checklist he found on the CDC's zombie page, stored in the basement are:

Apparently, the CDC does
have a zombie page.

• Food - 50# of dog food, and an MRE for me.
• Water - 1 gallon in a empty milk carton (I'm not sure how long he thinks this will last us).
• Tools and Supplies - my old Swiss army knife, and a roll of duct tape.
• Sanitation and Hygiene - a box of Kleenex, a bar of soap, and a roll of toilet paper.
• Clothing and Bedding - three old dog sweaters, my red flannel shirt, and my sleeping bag.
• Important documents - photocopies of their latest rabies vaccination certificates.
• Medications - flea collars and medication for ear mites. And a bottle of Ibuprofen.
• First Aid supplies - a box of band aids.

Although not on the list, he now keeps his toys in the basement.

He also took our radio down there, but Freedom and Sarah made him bring it back upstairs.

In addition to the aforementioned provisions, he has acquire what he refers to as his "zombie whacking stick" (also known as the ZWS), a 1" sycamore branch brought back from on of our trips to the park. It is strategically stored by the door, except when he goes outside after sundown.

In ZombieLand™ one of the ways to kill zombie is to "whack" them, according to Macky Rae.

But as I said, he believes zombies are real, and after sundown he will not go outside without his "stick," just in case of a zombie attack.

The other night, Macky had gone outside (along with his ZWS) to "do business." He came racing back a short time later, all excited.

"Dad! Dad! Come quick. I just whacked a zombie!"

"I'm proud of you. Turn you game off and go to bed."

"No, Dad. Not a game zombie. A real zombie! It was walking down the alley and I whacked him!"

"How do you know it was a zombie?" I asked.

The Zombie Walk

"Because it walked like a Zombie"

 "How do zombies walk?"

"Like this" he replied, then stood up and demonstrated "the zombie walk." Rearing up on his hind legs, he began to stagger around on the floor, taking a few steps forward, a step back, and then a half step to the side, teetering as if about to fall over. It reminded me much of my Uncle Theodore under the influence of a quart or two of Jack Daniel's.

"Interesting" I said.

"And it had the zombie face."

"The zombie face?" 

"Yea, like this"



"And it had the zombie face."

Suddenly, the dog transformed his facial features from sweet, innocent Pomeranian to something that resembled something that one would envision after reading a H.P.Lovecraft story. I was momentarily startled by the "dog from hell" face, and quite impressed by his ability.

It was then I noticed that his ZWS was broken.

"How did your stick get broken?" I enquired.

"I told you, I whacked a zombie!"

"So you said."

"I was outside going potty, and I heard a noise. So I started looking around and I saw him!"

"Saw who?"

"The Zombie! I saw it coming down the alley, so I hid behind the garbage can. After it walked past me, I sneaked up behind him and WHACK! I knocked it down."

Now I'm getting a bit nervous.

"But it started to get up, so I had to whack it again. It didn't dissolve, like in ZombieLand™. It kept moaning and trying to get back up, so I kept whacking and whacking until the stick broke. And that is when I came in to tell you about the zombie."

"So the zombie is still out there?"

"That is what I have been telling you. I whacked it and now it is laying in the alley. It did not dissolve like zombies are suppose to."

At this point, I decided it might be a good idea to investigate.

We went out side (with what was left of the ZWS) and went out to the alley. Macky showed me where the "whacking" took place, but there was nothing there - zombie, human, or otherwise.

"It was right here" Macky said.

"Well, it's gone now."

"It escaped."

"Maybe it dissolved" I suggested.

"Yeah, maybe."

He didn't seem so sure, and kept looking around.

"Better luck next time. Let's go back inside. It's bedtime."

As we waked back, he kept looking around cautiously, holding what remained of the ZWS in his mouth. We went inside, and Macky scanned the alley once more before I closed the door. Reluctantly, he went to bed, but not before strategically placing what remained of the ZWS by the door.

I thought little of the incident, until I found the following article in this morning's newspaper:

Police responded to a call after a man was admitted to the ER suffering injuries in which emergency personnel felt were indicative with assault. Otis Campbell, 58, arrived at the emergency room at approximately 11:38pm suffering numerous abrasions and contusions, primarily in the cranial region. After Campbell was treated, he was questioned by the responding officer, who was told by Campbell that he was attacked by a dog. According to Campbell, he had left the Bar'n'Grill and was walking home down an alley way when he was "whacked" on the head with a large stick wielded by a small dog, knocking Campbell to the ground. He attempted to stand, but the dog continued to "whack" him whenever he tried to get up. The dog eventually ran off, allowing Campbell to escape. Police investigated the area in which Campbell claimed the attack occurred, but found no evidence of an altercation. Police were able to confirm from staff at the Bar'n'Grill that Campbell had been drinking prior to the attack, and was  intoxicated when he left. Tests on Campbell's blood taken at the time he was admitted to the ER indicated a .19 blood alcohol content, more that twice the State's definition for being under the influence. "We have had other alcohol related contacts with Campbell in the past" reported Officer Malloy, "although this is the first time he claimed to have been mugged by a dog, or any other animal. I will file the report, but in all honesty I do not think anything will come of it. I do not believe the community has anything to fear from a crazed club wielding Pomeranian running loose."

I'm not saying it was or wasn't Macky Rae, but in all fairness I have seen Otis stumbling home in the evening. And in the dim light of the streetlamps, he does sort of resemble a zombie when he walks.

Have a safe and happy Halloween!

Birthdays

The dogs enjoy celebrating birthdays
because there is food involved.
But because birthday cake (sugar)
is not really good for dogs (and
chocolate is a definite no), we
celebrate by getting a birthday
Spam - the dogs prefer the bacon
flavored one. We all love bacon.

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Visit the official Spam® website.

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Macky Rae, my youngest dog, celebrated his 3rd birthday last August. He's a Leo.

Freedom, the oldest, was born in April (Aries), Sarah in November (Scorpio).

Macky enjoy birthdays, as do my other two (Freedom and Sarah). We make a special event out of it, and I go get some tasty treat for them from the store.

I celebrated my birthday last summer (Gemini).

Actually, I did not "celebrate" as much as "observed" it. I just got up one morning, and there it was. And I might have actually completely missed it, except for the numerous "Happy Birthdays" plastered on my Facebook wall from friends and loved ones.

I would have been happy not celebrating (or observing) my birthday, but my dogs were not going to allow that. The dogs enjoy celebrating birthdays (any birthday) and for me to skip my birthday, and miss out on a bacon-flavored opportunity, was out of the question for them. So we (me and the dogs) celebrated. Well, they celebrated, I just observed.

Macky Rae, my youngest dog, asked me how old I was, so I told him.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "That's over 300 in dog years."

Nothing like man's best friend to make you feel old.

The dogs love Spam, bacon, or any other pig-product. Their desire for bacon (or bacon flavored anything) is strong, and they have come up with some rather ingenious means to acquire it. Macky Rae came up to me one morning and said "Dad, you know what today is? It is my unbirthday!" I assume he got that from watching Alice in Wonderland. "We should celebrate it" he suggested. Later, I found a old, empty Spam can, and gave it to him. "What is this? he asked. "It's an unSpam for your unbirthday." He did not find that very amusing. After re-examined the can and snorting, he said "It is not even the bacon flavored one."

Birthdays are just not really all that fun anymore, at least for me. Birthdays are, for the most part, more fun for children than they are for adults.

As a child, birthdays mean you are getting older.

As an adult, birthdays mean you are getting older. 

When you are younger, there are more significant birthdays to look forward to:

• At 13, you become a teenager (much to the delight of your parents).
• At 16, you can drive the car (much to the delight of your parents).
• At 18, you are an adult. You can vote, buy cigarettes and smoke (legally), join the military - almost everything other adults can do.
• And at 21, you can drink (much to the delight of society). You can buy liquor, go into bars, get drunk, and wake up naked in the neighbors front lawn.

In addition to being 35,  to be president
you must also be a natural-born citizen,
have been a permanent resident for 14
years, and not have participated in a
rebellion against the United States.

Define "rebellion."

After your 21^st birthday, there is not much to look forward to until you are 67 and start collecting social security. Oh, there are a few insignificant birthdays of note:

• At 25, your insurance rates go down.
• At 35, you can run for President.
• At 40, you are as old as dirt.
• At 50, you are over the hill.
• At 55, you get a discount at Denny's.
• At 60, you are older than dirt.

And, if you are fortunate enough:

• At 100, you are officially ancient. If you live that long.

Hey, it could happen. Consider:

• George Burns - 100
• Moses - 120
• Abraham - 175
• Adam - 930
• Noah - 950
• Methuselah - 996

Surprise!

A lot of people do enjoy celebrating their birthday, I'm just not one of them. Many people treat their birthday as a personal holiday, going so far as to take the day off from work.

There are a few benefits to birthdays - like the free beer you get at the bar.

In our culture, birthday gifts from friends and loved ones are common, and many participate in the ritual of the birthday party.

And then there is the surprise birthday party, where the friends and loved ones plan a party without telling the birthday person. Everyone gathers and awaits the arrival of the unsuspecting birthday recipient, and then when he/she arrives, everyone yells "Surprise!' and sings the birthday song.

No one has ever thrown me a surprise birthday party.

Everyone knows I have a concealed weapons permit. 

 And you don't actually celebrate your birthday. You celebrate the anniversary of your birthday (although usually when one says "anniversary" one is referring to a wedding anniversary, unless qualified else wise, such as the anniversary of 9/11). But an anniversary, whether of a birthday, wedding, or some other event is the day that the Earth, in it's orbit around the sun reaches the approximate same position that it was at when the event being celebrated originally occurred.

When you look at it from that definition, birthdays seem a little silly.



Dog Latin The word anniversary comes from two
Latin words: Anno meaning "year, and
versar meaning "to return to the same
approximate position".

So, how did birthdays start? Many cultures, past and present, celebrated birthdays one way or another, but the origins predate written history.


The Earth has gone around

sun twenty-one times since

you were born. You are now

permitted to consume beer.

Many cultures use the birthday to delineate childhood from adulthood. The exact age depends upon the culture. In Jewish culture, you are a man at 13. In the United States, you are "a man" at 18, unless you want to drink (then it is 21). This can be traced back to the primitive rite of passages ceremonies of our hunting/gathering ancestors.

In  primate times, a "boy" was not automatically considered a man just because the Earth had gone around the Sun a perquisite number of times (and returned to the approximate same position that it was at when he was born).He had to prove he was worthy of being called a "man." There was usually a test of some sort, such as going out to hunt (and kill) a woolly mammoth (with only a sharpened stick). If he succeeded, he became a man and there was a feast held in his honor (roasted woolly mammoth). If he failed, he was probably killed (crushed by a woolly mammoth) and his unworthy DNA was removed from the tribal gene pool.

The female rite of passage was a bit simpler: Mother Nature (not the tribe) determined when a girl entered womanhood (the number of times the Earth had gone around the sun being irrelevant). The event was celebrated with craps and bloating.

Wolly Mammoth hunting has gone out of style (due in part to the lack of mammoths, woolly or otherwise). Which is sad, because there is a proliferation of stupid people in our culture. We need to return to "rites of passage" (or at least institute a written test) in order to weed out some of the "unworthy DNA" from the gene pool.

Just because the Earth has gone around sun eighteen times since you were born does not make you a man.

---

Here's an interesting piece of information: If you have at least 57 Facebook friends, there is a 99% chance any two of them share the same birthday.

If you are interested in the math, see the

birthday problem on Wikipedia.org.

In probability theory, the  birthday paradox concerns the probability that, in a set of n randomly chosen people, some pair of them will have the same birthday. By the pigeonhole principle, the probability reaches 100% when the number of people reaches 367 (since there are 366 possible birthdays, including February 29). However, 99% probability is reached with just 57 people, and 50% probability with 23 people. These conclusions include the assumption that each day of the year (except February 29) is equally probable for a birthday.

Go to your events list and see how many of your friends share the same birthday.

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Actually, more people are born in October than any other month. This means more people were conceived in January (and this indicated that the national copulation rate increases in January). Several theories have been put forth to explain this, but do not adequately explain the phenomena. A common theory is that January is a cold, dark month, and people do not have much to do, other than have sex.

Copulating is a great way to warm up, I agree, but there are other cold, dark month which do not have an increased conception rate. So this theory also does not adequately explain the phenomena.

Since the NFL expanded, the

season has been extended and

the Superbowl now occurs in

February. If my theory is right,

November will soon become the

most common birthday month.

I has a theory of my own. What does January have that other months don't? The end of the football season.

Think about it: The die hard football fan has been glued to the TV every weekend since August. Suddenly, it's all over.  He become lost. Disoriented. He looks around, and notices a strange woman in the kitchen washes dishes.  

No, wait - that's his wife. Something stirs inside him. Its been awhile, since August. He slips up behind her and begins to fondle her... well, you know where.

"Hey, baby. You is lookin' good today." 

He wants sex. The dishes need to be washed, but she gives in easily. It has been awhile, since August.

Dogs Say the Darnedest Things (part 4)

Even more conversations with my dogs:

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MACKY: Hey, Dad. I need your cellphone.

ME: Why?

MACKY: So I can make a call.

Duh.

ME: Who are you calling?

MACKY: The Juice-O-Matic™ people.

ME: Why?

MACKY: To order a juicer!

As if that should have been obvious.

ME: But you don't drink juice.

MACKY: I know, but if we call in the next 30 minutes, they will include 12 space-age designed juice glasses, at no extra charge.

ME: We already have glasses, and we don't need a juicer.

MACKY: I also need your credit card. Hurry! Operators are standing-by to take our call.

---

After being told they had to wear coats when going outside for our daily walk to the park:

MACKY: Why do we have to wear these?

ME: Because it's cold outside.

Sarah enters the living room.

SARAH: Does this outfit make me look fat?

Elton Pom

MACKY: I do not like wearing this sweater.

ME: What's wrong with it?

MACKY: I look stupid.

ME: You look handsome.

MACKY: I look gay. People are going to think I am a gay dog.

ME: No they aren't.

FREEDOM: Are there any "gay" dogs?

MACKY: Poodles.

SARAH: Poodles aren't gay.

FREEDOM: They just look like it.

MACKY: That's because people make them wear stupid sweaters. You can't look tough in a sweater.


Eastside Pomz

FREEDOM: Maybe if Dad got us matching jackets, people would think we are tough.

MACKY: How would that make us look tough?

FREEDOM: They'd think we were in a gang.

MACKY: Yeah! Eastside Pomz!

SARAH: You guys are stupid.

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Macky Rae, my youngest dog, won a goldfish at the county fair.

MACKY: Dad! I think my goldfish is sick!

ME: What's wrong with him.

MACKY: He keeps having seizures! I think he is a polectic.

I assumed he meant "epileptic".

ME: Why do you think that?

MACKY: Because he flops around a lot.

I lean over and examine the goldfish.

ME: He seems OK to me.

MACKY: Wait until I take him out of the bowl, then you will see!

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Sign posted at a local school yard

MACKY: That sign is stupid. Dogs do not even play golf.

FREEDOM: Or ride motorcycles.

MACKY: Do you know why we do not play golf?

ME: Why?

MACKY: Because we can not hold golf clubs because we do not have thumbs.

ME: Is that why dogs don't ride motorcycles?

FREEDOM: No. That's because our legs are to short.

MACKY: I wonder what they would do if a group of dogs rode up carrying golf clubs?

FREEDOM: They'd probably call the SWAT team.

SARAH: You guys are stupid.

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I enter the living room. Sarah is watching Oprah.

I found a page at Life and Dog called
Juicing For Dogs. OK, maybe they do
drink juice.

ME: Has the mail come?

SARAH: About an hour ago.

A loud whirring sound comes from the kitchen.

ME: What was that?

SARAH: The boys are making juice.

ME: When did we get a juicer?

SARAH: About an hour ago.

From the kitchen:

MACKY: Hey, Dad! Can we have this left over lasagna?

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