The periodic humor blog of off-the-wall observations by a man and his three (now four) little dogs.
First time on this blog?
Who are Freedon, Sarah, Macky Rae, and Reba? They are my little dogs!
If you are new to this blog, click here to read the introduction.
Regarding any typos you may find in this blog: Currently, I am using the computer at the library to write and publish this blog. In addition to the spellcheck on their computer, there is a spell checker on the blog-host's server - and the two programs are arguing with each other, and sometimes one or both corrects my typing, even when it doesn't need to be corrected.
The West Richland chapter of the 12th Dog Association had their annual barbecue on labor day weekend to celebrate the start of the football season.
Regular readers of this blog are aware that the 12th Dog Association is a group of canines - which includes mine -that are fans of the Seattle Seahawks.
There is also a cat, named Freddie, who is also a member.
The 12th Dog Association (and why there is a cat in the club) was covered in a previous blog.
It was a different type of barbecue than I like, but then it wasn't my barbecue. Most barbecues I go to there is beer involved, but since this was a dog barbecue, there was no beer. Just wieners. This may not sound like an exciting barbecue, but then you aren't a dog.
And the wieners were Oscar Meyer.
Macky Rae making microwave popcorn
The dogs (and cat) enjoyed it though and after all it was their barbecue. After the wieners were roasted and consumed, the dogs came in side in order to watch the game and eat popcorn.
So I got an email from on of my readers, asking what ever happened to Macky and the other dogs that got arrested in February after the Super Bowl?
For those that missed it, or just forgot, Macky Rae and a few other members of the association - and Freddie - went on a rampage after Seattle lost the Super Bowl to New England - knocking over mail boxes, dumping garbage cans...
...and even tipped over a Geo Metro that had a Patriots bumpersticker.
The police responded, and the herd of rampaging pets were located. They were herded into the back of a police cruiser and were taken to the police station where they were booked, given a court date, then released into the custody of their people.
And I grounded Macky Rae for a month.
So, what happened at court:
Me, and the other people brought their little darlings to court. Court was presided over by Judge MacGregor. All the dogs were assigned a public defender (in that, being unemployed, did not have the means to hire a real lawyer). They were all assigned the same PD (public defender), a woman named Bernice Fankle.
Actually, this was their second lawyer. The dogs didn't like the first PD they were assigned - they didn't like the way he smelled. After some discussion between the assistant prosecuter, the first lawyer, and Judge MacGregor, it was agreed it would be in the best interest to all concerned that the dogs be assigned a PD whose smell the dogs approved of. This turned out to be Ms Fankle.
The charges were read (hooliganism, vandalism, and violating city leash ordinance) and the dogs (and the cat) were asked to make a plea.
And this is where it got a bit weird.
The dogs all insisted they didn't do it, and began whining despite the Judge's request for order in the court. The Bailiff attempted to calm the dogs down, but failed. After a few minutes, the Judge was force to call a recess.
Twenty minutes later, Judge MacGregor returned with with another Bailiff, Bill Walden, who prior to becoming a Bailiff for the court had spent 21 years on the police force, 12 of them as part of the K-9 corp - thus he knew how to handle dogs.
The Judge again asked how the dogs plead, and when the whining began Walden ordered the dogs to be quite in a very commanding voice, and when the dogs became silent, he rewarded each of them with a dog treat.
Ms Fankle entered a plea of "not guilty" on behalf of her clients, which was accepted by the court. The judge then requested that the prosecuter and Ms Fankle join him in his chambers. Sometime later, they returned and Ms Fankle confered with her clients (and their people). The assistant prosecuter, she told them, was offering a plea bargain deal. If the dogs (and cat) would plead guilty to hooliganism, the other charge would be dropped. In addition, there would be no jail time or fines - but the dogs (and cat) would have to do a week on work-crew.
The dogs (and cat) decided this was acceptable, and Ms Fankle amended their plea to "guilty." Judge MacGregor accepted the assistant prosecutors recommedation, and the dogs (and cat) were sentenced to one week on work crew.
Work crew began the following Monday. Every morning, us people packed a lunch for our pets, and then took our delinquents to the sheriff's department, where they all checked in and waited for the work crew officer to arrive. Deputy Sergeant Hanson was assigned to oversee the dogs (and cat) on work crew, and was assisted by Deputy Corporal Jenkins (from the k-9 corp). Each of the dogs was issued a bright orange vest, and then were loaded up in a van and taken out to pick up garbage along side of the highway. Work crew was from 10 to 3, with an hour break at noon for lunch. We would pick our pets up in the afternoon, and return the following morning.
Finally Friday came, the dogs had completed their sentence. After being warned to behave themselves in the future by Deputy Sergeant Hanson, the dogs said good-bye, loaded into their people's cars (and trucks) and went home.
Macky Rae kept all the aluminum cans they collected on work crew, and on Saturday he took them to Gus McPhersons salvage yards to be recycled.
Gus paid him $78 dollars and some change for the Aluminum.
We are still in Pixley, but will be returning by the end of the month
August 2nd was Macky Rae's (my younger male dog's) birthday. As I mentioned in the last blog entry, Macky Rae loves seafood, so for his birthday we drove into Pixley (about 15-20 minutes from Uncle Theo's farm) to have lunch at Captain Jack's, a seafood restaurant located near the courthouse.
Actually, we had lunch at the Pixley Park. We went through the drive-thru and ordered.
Macky Rae asked if he could order. Since it was his birthday, I told him he could, so when we got to the microphone, Macky Rae stuck his head out the window and ordered the Feeding Frenzy
The Feeding Frenzy (for those of you who have never gone to Captain Jack's) is the family-pack special, consisting of 18 pieces of cod, fries, and cole slaw.
Drinks are extra - and you'd think something called Feeding Frenzy would include drinks.
So Macky Rae ordered the 'Feeding Frenzy' and then asked if we wanted to order something.
"I think we have enough fish" Sarah (my older female) said. "You just ordered the Feeding Frenzy"
We are still in Pixley, visiting with uncle Theo and Aunt Helen.
Last Weekend, we got invited to go fishing with Harold "Bubba" Johnson.
By we, I mean me and my Uncle.
My dogs were also invited, but chose not come with us, choosing instead to go on a day hike on Uncle Theo's back forty. Although my dogs enjoy eating fish, they are not into fishing, mainly do to the fact that they do not have opposable thumbs and are there for unable to properly operate a rod and reel - although Macky experimented with "bear style" fishing sometime back.
In case you are wondering, "bear style" fishing is when you wade into the water and smack the fishes onto the river bank. Macky saw it on a PBS documentary. He wasn't very successful, a factor that he attributed to his size. Bears on average weigh about 600 pounds. Macky Rae only ways about 6 1/2 pounds, which means he was outweighed by the fishes he was trying to smack.
So my dogs did not come with us fishing. We were joined by John "Bubba" Johnson, who has been Uncle Theo's best friend and fishing buddy since the were kids.
Bubba owns a dog himself, a Rottweiler named Herbert. He (the dog) also does not fish, for similar reasons.
So it was just me and Uncle Theo who went fishing with Bubba Johnson.
"Bubba" Johnson and my Uncle have been friends since childhood. Of all the people in the county, it is generally agreed that nobody loves to fish more than Bubba Johnson. And nobody knows more about fishing than Bubba. If there is anything Bubba doesn't know about fishing, then it is probably not important to the art of fishing.
Thus having received the invitation, we naturally accepted.
The place we went fishing was the Pixley river, underneath the bridge on the Davenport road. We didn't know that until the day we went. Even Bubba didn't know. After several cups of coffee, Bubba contemplated the weather, and many other factors that only a fishing master such as himself could comprehend, and determined the optimal place to fish that day was the Pixley river beneath the Davenport bridge.
It is a mystical thing, I think - sort of a fengshui thing that only true fishermen can know. It cannot be understood, just felt.
So we went to the Pixley river, beneath the Davenport bridge, and true enough it was full of fishes. Trouts and Salmons and Sturgeons and Basses and more.
There even some fishes that were not even native to the area, or even this continent, but were attracted to the Pixley river underneath the Davenport bridge by some supernatural force that summoned these exotic fish to the spot - no doubt the same experience that told Bubba Johnson that this was the spot.
As we were fishing, a funeral procession came down the Davenport road and started crossing the bridge.
For reasons long forgotten, the county cemetery was located several miles from the town of Pixley. So whenever someone passed on, after the funeral services are held at the Methodist church, the bereaving mourners proceeded several miles from Pixly, down the Davenport road (which crossed the Pixley river), until the reached the cemetery where the dearly departed was interned.
As the first car started to cross the bridge, Bubba stopped fishing. This is very unusual, because once Bubba starts fishing very little can make him stop.
It is still told about the time when Bubba continues to fish despite a storm that reached gale force winds!
But stop he did. He lowered his rod and reel, then reached up and removed his fishing hat, and held it over his heart. Me and Uncle did the same, and we stood there in the middle of the Pixley river, silently, as the funeral possession proceeded across the bridge, down the Davenport road towards the cemetery.
As soon as the funeral precession had crossed the bridge, Bubba put his hat back on his head (as me and Uncle Theo did as well) and we resumed our fishing underneath the Davenport Bridge.
"You know, Bubba" my Uncle told him. "That was quite kind of you to stop your finishing and such until the funeral procession had past. In fact, it was quite surprising. In all the years I've known you, I didn't think there was any thing that could get you to stop fishing, even for a moment."
"Well, I guess I was being respectful for a change" Bubba responded. "But then, I was married to the woman for dern near 50 years"
Uncle Theo has invited us to spend a few weeks at his farm near Pixley. He said the dogs might enjoy the country, and him and I might do some fishing.
Might? My Uncle Theo is a redneck. So when he says we "might" it means we "will" be doing some fishing.
And there will be some alcohol involved.
Regular readers of this blog are familiar with my uncle - I've mentioned my Uncle several times on this blog.
I asked the dogs if the wanted to go, and they liked the idea. They have never seen a real farm before, so they were stoked about the trip - especially Reba who was excited about getting to see some real cows. She'd only seen cows on TV and had always wanted to see real ones.
Reba is only year and a half, and small children (and puppies) get excited about such things.
We began our journey Monday morning, around 9:30. After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, oatmeal...
(Reba likes oatmeal)
...toast (apple butter on mine, plain butter for the dogs) and coffee (me only, dogs don't do coffee), we gathered up our luggage and loaded it in the trunk of the car, then loaded in ourselves.
No sooner than we got seated, and were preparing to start out, Reba announced that she needed to go potty.
Well, at least she didn't wait until we were on the highway.
Those who have kids, human or canine, are no doubt familiar with the phenomenon of juvenile bladders, and the increased likelihood of needing to pee as the length of the road trip increases. The age of the child also factors into the equation, with younger childs being more likely to make this announcement.
So I exited the vehicle, let Reba out, and she ran around the house to the designated potty spot. After she did her business, she returned to her car.
I asked if anyone else needed to go. Freedom and Sarah said they did, exited the vehicle, and went around back to the potty spot.
Macky Rae remained in the car, reading one of his comic books.
"Do you need to go?" I asked him.
"No, I am OK" he answered.
I stared at him for a couple of moments, giving him "the look" until he finally glanced up from his comic.
"Well..." he said "Maybe I do" and got out, likewise heading to the potty spot.
It take just under 3 and a half hours to drive from my home to uncle Theo's farm (not counting potty stops and lunch breaks), which isn't that long until you realize that's about 24 hours in dog time.
24 hours of whining, of bickering, of "stop touching me"...
24 hours of Reba asking "Are we there yet?" - This began as soon as I pulled out into the street, and was asked on the average of every 42 minutes.
For the first 35 minutes we were able to entertain ourselves by listening 108.5 FM (the "classic" rock station) until we got too far and the signal faded, and had to switch to CDs. Macky brought his CD collection, which consisted primarily of hard rock and heavy metal - which was totally unacceptable by Freedom (who prefers jazz and R&B) and Sarah (who preferred pop and country/western). They began bickering about what CDs should (and shouldn't) be played until I threatened to pull over and swat all three of them on the nose with a magazine.
We wound up listening to Reba's "favoritest" (and only) CD, a compilation of cute dog and puppy songs.
The other dogs were not pleased, but me and Reba enjoyed it.
We stopped for lunch around 11 when we reached Midville, which was about half way between home and Uncle Theo's farm.
We had lunch in the restaurant at the Morrison station.
I was essentially forced to stop.
There was no avoiding this, as there were signs every 5 miles on the average for forty miles alerting travelers of the upcoming Morrison station, so if my kids missed one of them (which they didn't) the odds of them missing all of them were practically nil.
With four dogs in the car, one of them was going to notice.
And all four noticed the first sign (and all subsequent signs along the road to Midville) and alerted me to the fact that we were approaching the Morrison station.
For those who don't know, Morrison stations are a combination gas, truck stop, restaurant, tavern, motel, convenience store, and gift shop. They are known for their mascot Morris the Elk and his faithful companion Stinky the Skunk.
My dogs like Morris and Stinky. Especially Stinky.
They have all 5 seasons of The Morris and Stinky Show on DVD (director's cut with bonus material), Macky owns all the Morris and Stinky comic books, and Reba has several Morris and Stinky coloring books.
They are particularly fond of Stinky, because being small dogs, Stinky is closer to their size. Elk, majestic though they may be, are somewhat intimidating to Pomeranians.
We pulled of the highway, and pulled into the parking lot of the Morrison station. We got out, and the dogs all went over to the designated pet potty area and did their business, after which we decided to go inside the station and get some food.
A sign in the window said get your picture taken with Morris and Stinky. This got the dogs excited, but the excitement was short lived when we went inside and found that instead of the real Morris and Stinky there were only two life-like replicas.
Not even two people in Elk and Skunk costumes, but mannequins.
Naturally, they were disappointed, but they posed anyhow and I took pictures of them by the "fake" Stinky.
We ate lunch at the restaurant. Freedom and Macky ate double burgers (with cheese).
Macky wanted to order chili, but I quickly prevented that. There was no way I was riding in the car with Walter the Farting Dog, and informed him that unless he was willing to ride the rest of the way time Pixley in the trunk, he'd select another entrée.
"Walter" changed his order.
Sarah had a 12 piece chicken nugget, and Reba had a kiddie meal.
The prize was a whistle that was temporarily confiscated while we were on the road.
I had the barbecue chicken sandwich.
We made a brief stop at the gift shop where Macky Rae bought a couple of picture postcards - one of Morris and Stinky (presumably the real ones) and the other was a jackalope.
Macky collects jackalope postcards.
Sarah got a pair of Morris and Stinky salt and pepper shakers (a "thank you" gift for Aunt Helen for inviting us), and I purchased a Morris and Stinky sticker book for Reba. We also purchased numerous bags of chips, beef jerky, and other "road snacks" before finally resuming our drive towards Pixley.
We reach the Pixley County line early in the afternoon. Upon entering the county, Reba commenced her search for real cows, bouncing from window to window, searching the fields on both sides of the road. But for reason unknown to us there were no cows out in the fields at the time we passed.
"Dad!" Reba said. "There are no cows. You said there would be cows."
"We'll see some, don't worry. "
"But the fields are empty."
"Yeah" Macky added, "these fields are swoc."
"Swoc?" I inquired.
"Yeah, swoc" Macky replied.
"Is that even a word?" Sarah asked.
"Yeah" Macky responded.
I had never heard that word before, so like a fool I asked him what it meant
According to Macky, "swoc" means the absence of cows.
You will note "swoc" is "cows" spelled backwards.
He explained that when you come to a pasture, but don't see any cows, you can describe the pasture as swoc, as in "look at that swoc pasture." He says the word isn't limit to pastures, it can be used to describe any place or thing that does not have cows, as in "look at that swoc barn" or "we live in a swoc neighborhood" (which we do), but proper grammer says it should only be used to describes places and things that might normally have cows (like a barn or a pasture).
"Where did you learn that?" Freedom asked.
"Online" Macky answered.
And we can probably assume it wasn't from dictionary.com
We reached the farm about 1:45. Uncle Theo and Aunt Helen came out to greet us. Aunt Helen gave us all hugs, Uncle Theo's just shook my hand and then took our luggage into the house.
Reba began looking around the farm anxiously, and appeared distraught. Aunt Helen noticed this and asked her if something was wrong?
"What happened to all the cows? Dad said Pixley was full of cows, but I didn't see any cows. I looked and looked and I didn't see any cows. Did someone come and steal everybody's cows?"
Aunt Helen looked puzzled, so I explained to her that Reba was anxious to see a real cow.
"Our cows are safe" Aunt Helen assured her. " You'll get to see real cows this afternoon."
Reba was quite pleased to hear that.
"You must be hungry after your drive" she said.
"Not really" I responded politely . "We had lunch at the Morrison station."
"I had a kiddie meal" Reba said. "And I eated it all, by myself."
"Oh dear" Aunt Helen exclaimed. "I figured you and your dogs would be famished after you car ride, so I baked a ham. I had just pulled it out of the oven when you pulled in."
"Smoked ham?" Macky asked.
"Black forest" my aunt replied.
"I'm a little hungry" Freedom said quickly.
"Me too" Sarah added.
"Well come inside then, and I'll go slice up the ham."
And with that, Aunt Helen turned and went back towards the house.
"You ate a huge lunch, plus you ate all the road snacks." I said "How can you guys be hungry?"
"We're dogs" Macky answered.
"And it's ham!" Freedom exclaimed.
Freedom has always loved baked ham with a passion.
"After she went to all that effort just for us, it would be impolite not to eat some" Sarah insisted.
And with that, all four dogs followed Aunt Helen into the house.
Most of us had to do at least one in high school English. And if you went to college, you had to do several more, usually. Outlines, 3 by 5 cards, notes, several books and/or other sources, headnotes, footnotes, bibliographies. We were told this was something that we needed to know.
They also told us that about algebra, and we know they lied about that.
The best research paper I ever did earned a 94% (which was an A-). 12 1/2 pages, a two page outline, 4 dozen index cards, footnotes, and a bibliography of about 2 dozen books that never existed.
I cheated.
The class was Communication English, a 3 credit class taught by a hippie/biker wannabe. You had to do four research papers to pass the class, and you were limited to a short list of topics, specifically: the subjects mentioned by Billy Joel in his song "We didn't start the fire." If you don't remember the song, or never heard it, here is the youtube video (if you want to hear it)
On one of my papers, I could not find enough info on the topic I had selected - this was before the internet, Google, and Wikipedia - so I expanded by research paper to cover three topics from the list (all three 20th century dictators) and entitled the paper "Totalitarianism in the 20th century." When the papers were returned, Mr Hippy Biker made a comment to the effect that my paper was on a topic /not/ on the list (and I assume down graded it for said reason). I responded that it was, if he had read the paper.
Which he didn't. I realized from his comment that he was one of those teachers who delegated the task of grading papers to his student aide. This is not an uncommon practice in the academical world, especially at the big universities, but it was one that irked me. Considering how much I had to pay per quarter, I would have like it if the teacher bothered to read my work - after all he was being paid to teach me, in theory anyhow.
But I realized at this point that he didn't care enough to read the papers, which gave me an idea.
The last paper was do shortly before the end of the term, when I was busy finishing this and that for my other classes, and preparing for finals. Not wanting to waste valuable time on a research paper that would not be read by Biker Dude, I invented one.
Paraphrasing an Encyclopedia article, I created a twelve and a half page paper, complete with footnotes and a bibliography of about two dozen books that were never published (by publishing houses that never existed).
And this is the funny part: It was the only paper for which I received an A.
It must have impressed the student aide who read and graded it.
And people wonder why I don't have respect for the academians of this world.
Actually I do, provided they are not idiots.
To these teachers, and many more who
did actually teach me something,
Thank you very much.
There were a few instructors I respected:
Mr Ownsby, my advisor/instructor for police science classes. A former Law enforcement turned instructor, his strories were not only entertaining, they usually wound up being the lectures on the subject of the day :-)
Dr Freidrick, A PhD in History that could actually teach in such a way that made history interesting (even to people not interested in history). The most important thing I learned from his classes was that, for the most part, much of what I learned about history in the public schools was either partially true, or completely wrong.
Randy Hubbs, Music instructor. I heard him on the radio recently, he now is a realator. In some ways this saddened me, but I hope he is successful in his new career. Mr Hubbs had such an enthusiasm for Jazz and music that it radiated in his lectures, and if you weren't careful, you got infected. To this day I am still a fan of the many forms of Jazz, RB, and Blues - as is my oldest dog.
My dog, in case you are wondering, did not take Mr Hubbs class.
Some years ago, I was working as a cook at a BBQ restaurant. There was a CD player, and many of us would bring in our own CDs - and the range of music that was played ranged from Butt Rock to Pop to& Country to Mexican, depending on who was playing a CD at the time.
One evening, I left my CD case at work, but the next day the kitchen manager told me he had secured it in the office. He went on to tell me that, out of curiousity he went through my collection and noticed that I had a Best of Robert Johnson CD
Robert Johnson, for those who didn't take Mr Hubbs class, was a old (old) school blues performer (c 1930s), who according to rumors sold his soul to the devil in order to acquire his superb talent.
It turns out that the kitchen manager had also taken Mr Hubbs class as well, and was a Blues fan. He told me that he borrowed the CD and played it during lunch.
I would have loved to have been there, just to see the expression on the faces of the Butt Metal fans as they were forced to listen to the twangy voice of an old (old) school blues performer.
I "cheated" a bit in school. I had a short story I wrote in Middle School for an English assignment, It got a B- the first time I turned it in. I re-used it several times in Middle School and High School (and once in college) and it recevied several different grades, although I never changed it from it's original draft.
But the classical cheat was in Consumer Economics class. Actually, there were two:
In previous blog entries, I have mentioned my friend Keith (the Redneck). We knew each other since pre-school, and for 12 years we had numerous classes together.One of the classses we were in together (in High School) was a class called Consumer Economics, which was required for graduation. The aim of the class was to teach us the basics of consumerism: opening a checking and/or savings account, balancing a checkbook, shopping, buying a car (or other vehicle), advertising, consumer fraud, etc, etc.
One of the assignment we had in the class was to go to an auto dealership, and collect some specific information about a car (as if we were actually going to but it) and write a report on it. We were to team up in groups of two, and naturally me and Keith paired up. The teacher, Mrs Hanson, arranged for us to be excused from our next class, so we had two hours (off campus) in which to do the assignment.
Now, maybe we intended to actually go to a dealership, but when the time came, we made it about 7/10th of a mile to the bowling alley/arcade, and played pool the entire time. Which meant, in theory, we were not going to be able to do the report.
In theory. In actuality, I did it
The following day, I had another excused absence from school. At the time, I was also taking a Shakepearean English class (I mentioned this in a previous blog entry). The Seattle repertoire was in town, performing Taming of the Shrew, and those of us in Shakepearean English classes were invited for a free performance at another High School. Those of us in Shakepeare class got tickets, a bus ride across town, and an excused absence from classes. This meant I would miss Consumer Econ that day, but before I boarded the bus for Shakespeare, I went into the classroom and left the completed report on the teacher's desk, along with a note explaining where I was and why I didn't turn it in during class - although she probably already knew where and why.
I had intended to inform Keith what I had done, but I was unable to find him before I had to board the bus and go, and when I got back, I spaced it off and forgot to mention it to Keith, so as far as he knew, we didn't do the assignment.
That Friday, at the start of class, Mrs. Hanson handed back the (graded) reports, which shouldn't have included ours, but did.
"Doug and Keith received an A" she said as she placed the paper on my desk. She always announced A papers when she returned them, in theory to encourage everyone to strive for excellence.
The look on Keith's face was priceless. He reached over and grabbed to paper off the desk and examined it in disbelief. In the hallway after class, he asked me "How the &%$# did we get an A? We didn't go to a car dealership, we skipped and shot pool. How the &%$# did we write a report, let alone get a &%$#ing A?"
"The Sunday paper" I explained.
Every Sunday one of the local auto dealerships ran a full page ad showing some of the cars available on their lot, including a "pick of the week" which gave detailed information on the vehicle - which happen to be most of what I needed for A- grade report. The rest of what I needed I invented.
"You'd have know that" I told him "if you ever read the paper"
"I read the paper" he told me.
"I meant besides the sports section and the comics."
Another assignment we had in that class was an oral report. At the start of the semester, Mrs Hanson had a list of consumer economics related topics, along with when each report was to be given. Keith and I paired up (as usual) and selected "going to a grocery site and reporting on in-store advertising," and the only reason we selected that topic was because it was the last one due, towards the end of the semester, so we would have plenty of time to actually do it.
Like that was going to happen.
We put it off and put it off (and put it off) until the day came when our report (which we didn't do) was due. As the class started, Mrs. Hanson in her Mary Poppins voice announced that "Doug and Keith have a report today" After a few brief announcements, she seated her self in the back of the room to listen to the reports. There were two other students who had a report due that day. They actually did the work, and gave a very interesting presentation. After they finished (and the students stopped applauding) Mrs Hanson announced "And now Doug and Keith"
Keith had that "this is going to be ungood" look on his face...
(he was good at that)
..but the look on his face when I stood up and walked up to the front of the class was priceless. He remained in his seat, and upon noticing that Keith was not going up with me, the teacher asked "Keith, are you not going to join Doug?" which was followed by several of our classmates calling "Yeah, Keith. Get up there"
Keith got up, walked to the front of the class, sat down in Mrs Hansons chair, and stared at me in disbelief.
I proceeded to give a seven and a half minute presentation on advertising techniques used in grocery stores. It was well presented, quite informative, and Keith and I received an A.
Keith facial expression was now a look of "WTF?"
I concluded my presentation with a Q and A session, and then Mrs Hanson praised us for an excellent report
After class, Keith was in awe of what had just happened.
"Doug, I was prepared for the 30 seconds of embarressment when we would have had to admit that we didn't do the work. Then you stood up and walked to the front of the class, I was like WTF is he doing? But when you made me go up there with you, I was planning to beat your @$$ after class. But when you actually gave our report... I was seriously planning to beat your @$$ for this"
" Did you really think I would march all the way to the front of the class, just to admit that we hadn't done or homework?"
"The thought crossed my mind. So when did you do the work?"
"I didn't. I found some of the information in the text book, and some I got from Mrs Hanson's lectures - you should pay attention more often, the are quite educational."
"So why didn't you tell me what you were up to /before/ class?"
I mentioned once that me and my dogs do family night things. I talked about movie night once, and I mentioned playing Bingo. We have "family night" every so often. No set day, it's just when we decide to do it, we do it.
One of their favorite is Family Game Night where (as you probably already guessed) we play games. Like Family Movie Night, this requires a trip to the local Zip-E-Mart to acquire snacks: chips, sodas, beef jerky, etc.
My dogs got interested in games after seeing the "Dogs Playing Poker" painting, and decided that they wanted to play poker too. After teaching them the basics, we attempted to play a game, but found that lacking opposable thumbs it was difficult to hold the cards. We were forced to abandon poker (and any other card) game as a form of recreation, but did find a few games that they could play and enjoy, which led to our having Family Game Nights.
My dogs like to play games. Regular readers of this blog are fully aware of Macky Rae's obsession with Zombies and an online game called ZombieLand™. And Sarah and Freedom regularly play gin rummy, although they use Rummikub tiles instead of playing cards.
One of the games they all three enjoy is dominos, although we play a simpler version because the dogs do not have the best math skills, and are a bit confused on the concept of "multiples of five."
Macky Rae especially likes the game, and has learned to SLAP dominos on the table - much like you do when playing in the county jail. I suspect he learned this from one of our neighbors, who I suspect has spent a bit of time in the county jail on several occasions.
I taught the dogs how to play called Chinese Pig. Lacking hands, dice throwing was a bit problematic. Initially, they would throw the dice by picking them up (one at a time) in their mouths and dropping them onto the table. This was a bit slow, and the dice were quickly covered in dog spit (which was not fun when it was my turn to throw). But the main issue was , during a close game, Macky Rae got excited and accidently swallowed one of the dice - leaving the outcome of the game unresolved.
Eventually, the di passed. After a couple of days, Macky Rae came inside and proudly announced that he had "number two-ed a four." This meant that he had won the game we had started (and failed to finish) a few days before.
In order to resolve the spitty dice problem and prevent future dice consumption, I went online and ordered some pop-o-matic dice poppers.
Six? Chinese Pig only needs three dice!
We also play Farkle, which requires six dice.
You probably remember the Pop-O-Matic thingies that came with Sorry, Trouble, Headache, or any of those games you played as a kid. They were designed so you (as a kid) didn't lose the dice.
Or accidently eat them.
The dogs enjoy these, as all they need to do is press down on the bubble with their paw and pop the dice. And I don't have to handle spitty dice.
They are fond of board games as well. Macky likes checkers, and Freedom is learning Chess. Sarah is fond of Parcheesi.
On of the board games my dogs like is monopoly, although they have their own rules. I will get to that in a moment. They got interested in Monopoly because of the Micky D's contest - game-piece collecting is very popular with my dogs, and we were visiting McDonalds daily while the monopoly game was going on, collecting game pieces, and sticking them onto the game board. We didn't win anything significant, the most valuable prize we won was free fries (super sized), but the dogs thought this was awesome - free fries!!!
We had a problem the first time, before we ever started playing.
No, nobody ate the dice
The first problem encountered was game pieces. There was an argument over who got to be "the dog."
Actually, it was a fight.
I tried making them take turns, each one being "the dog" on a different day. This didn't work, because the other two were mad at the one who was "the dog."
And this eventually started a fight.
So I told them nobody was going to be "the dog" and they had to choose another token.
And this made them made at me.
Freedom got the shoe, Sarah used the thimble, and Macky Rae had the Race Car - and insisted on making "vroom-vroom" noises ever time he moved his piece.
Finally, I had to go online and buy more dogs tokens. I found some on eBay, and bought enough for everyone. We then went to the hobby store and each of the dog picked a color to paint there dogs.
The dog piece is the most popular monopoly playing piece, not only with dogs but with people as well - according to a recent survey. The car was second. Monopoly has retired a few tokens, the most recent is the Iron. And they added some, the most recent addition to the line-up is the cat - which is not popular at our house.
I mentioned "dog" rules: I came home one afternoon and found the dogs engaged in a game of monopoly, which was fine until I noticed a few irregularities. The first thing I noticed was that someone had taken a sharpie and changed Free Parking to Free Barking. Similarly, Jail was crossed out, and replaced with The Pound. I also noticed hotels on the Railroad spaces, and like a fool I asked.
ME: Why is there a hotel on the Reading Railroad
MACKY: That is not a hotel, it is a train depot.
ME: And the house on Electric Company?
MACKY RAE: It's a power station
Scrabble is also popular with my dogs, especially with Macky Rae who slaps the tiles down when he plays his letters. We make allowances for spelling - after all, they are dogs. Freedom and Sarah are fairly good at spelling, mostly. Macky Rae has issues with the [C] and the [K], and words like [K][A][R] and [K][A][N][D][L][E] are frequent.
There are dog rules as well. For example: the [Q] is assumed to have a [U] (in fact, a "u" was added with the sharpie) so [Q][E][E][N] for "queen" is valid.
Q is a rather odd letter. Maybe we should do a survey or something, and maybe retire the Q from out alphabet and replace it with a more usefull letter
Another "dog" rule is double points for "dog" words: Bark, Woof, Canine, Fetch, Treat, etc. "Cat" and other feline-words are prohibited.
As I have mentioned, we have a fourth member of our pack: Reba, who now 6 month old. Reba is learning to be a dog, mainly by following the example of the other dogs. She enjoys playing games, although being a pup she has not mastered various concepts yet, but she does faily well at some of the simpler games.
We were teaching her dominoes last night (and Macky was teaching her to slap them on the table). This was going well, until she got excited during a game and ate the 4:2 domino...
Chinese Pig is played similar to regular pig, but with three dice. "Oriental" Dice are preferable, but regular dice can be used.
Asian dice are traditionally printed with
the 1 and the 4 in red.
Each turn, a player throws the dice, and scores for each [1] or [4] he throws. After each throw he may bank his points (and end his turn), or continue throwing for more points. A player must score at least one [1] or [4] each throw. If he fails to throw a [1] or a [4] he has "pigged" and loses his points for that turn. (Points earned on and banked on previous turns are kept).
First throw immunity: If a player fails to throw a [1] or a [4] on his first throw, he may continue to rethrow the dice until a [1] or [4] appears, after which if he fails to throw a [1] or [4] he is pigged and losses his points.
The first player to reach 100 points wins the game
The West Richland chapter of the 12th Dog Association had their annual barbecue on labor day weekend to celebrate the start of the football season.
The police responded, and the herd of rampaging pets were located. They were herded into the back of a police cruiser and were taken to the police station where they were booked, given a court date, then released into the custody of their people.
The dogs all insisted they didn't do it, and began whining despite the Judge's request for order in the court. The Bailiff attempted to calm the dogs down, but failed. After a few minutes, the Judge was force to call a recess.
Work crew began the following Monday. Every morning, us people packed a lunch for our pets, and then took our delinquents to the sheriff's department, where they all checked in and waited for the work crew officer to arrive. Deputy Sergeant Hanson was assigned to oversee the dogs (and cat) on work crew, and was assisted by Deputy Corporal Jenkins (from the k-9 corp). Each of the dogs was issued a bright orange vest, and then were loaded up in a van and taken out to pick up garbage along side of the highway. Work crew was from 10 to 3, with an hour break at noon for lunch. We would pick our pets up in the afternoon, and return the following morning. 
