The Right to Wear Powdered Wigs and Use Outhouses

The truth is, I’ve got nothing to blog about. The longer I’ve stayed away from blogging, the harder it’s been to get back into the groove. Not because I’ve been working on some important pursuit, like writing the Great American Novel. Sadly, that’s not why. Continue reading

It’s My WordPress Anniversary!

It’s My WordPress Anniversary!

Happy Anniversary to me! Happy three years of blogging!

Yep, another year has gone by. Summer’s almost over, all the big stores are out with their back-to-school ads, and somewhere, someone is baking a pumpkin pie.

Time flies when you’re having fun. And, I’m having loads of fun because it’s my blogging anniversary! Continue reading

Henry’s Holiday Woes

Henry hasn’t been the same since he’s returned from his Thanksgiving week in the country. He slept through his first day back home. Not so much as a grain of his favorite dog food could persuade this Cavalier King Charles Spaniel to get out of his bed. I even pulled out his absolute favorite delicacy, salmon biscuits.

The parlor maid's ward frolics with Henry and Elwood--much to Henry's chagrin.

The parlor maid’s ward frolics with Henry and Elwood–much to Henry’s chagrin.

But, no. For a moment, he raised his head from its resting place. His lip quivered as his nose took in the scent of fish. But alas, he put his head back down, as if to say, “not interested.”

Every once in a while he’d roll over and sigh, and at least once I heard him softly moan, “Woe is me.”

On his second day home, he stirred.

“Henry, get up!” I cried. “There’s a world out there waiting for you to pee on. Whatever happened in the country couldn’t have been that bad. Besides, the parlor maid and the kids think you’re a good egg.”

Henry looked at me sheepishly and said, “Where do I begin to describe my week in the country? With the turkey and the promise of dining on the white meat?”

“So, did you?”

“Not a scrap. The parlor maid’s a vegetarian, of all things, and I would have none of her tofu-turkey. The outrage! I had to resort to fortifying myself with leftover doggie treats.”

“Well, at least you had time to rest, right?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. There is the matter of he, who shall not be named.”

“He? Do you mean Lord Voldemort?”

“Don’t be absurd! I’m talking about Elwood, the new puppy. Apparently, he’s a Great Pyrenees who hails from France—and you know what we Brits think of the French and their penchant for snails.”

“So, what did he do to you?”

“It’s what he didn’t do. Showed me no respect, he did. Never bowed in my presence. Though, he did drool, slobber and attempted to jump me as if I was nothing more than a rapscallion.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“Let’s just say I held my own. But, frankly, I’ll never be the same again. Takes a lot of grit, sweat and determination to hold such wild beasts at bay. Luckily my royal blood is full of it.”

Full of it?”

“Yes, when we Cavaliers put our minds to it, there’s nothing we can’t overcome, including dogs determined to suck our souls right out of us. Where are my vapors?!”

“Henry, you don’t have any vapors. Anyway, I’m sure that’s not what Elwood was trying to do. He’s a puppy, for goodness sake. He just wanted to be friends with you.”

“Friends? I think not! Don’t be naive, Cook. The likes of Elwood want nothing more than to dethrone my breed, usurp our good standing, and take over the world. In other words, he was prepared to do anything to steal my doggie bed. Luckily he’s way too big for it. And I say, let sleeping dogs lie. And, by sleeping dogs, I mean, me!”

“Well did you at least take nice walks for your daily constitutional?”

“Not really. Have you seen how many hills there are in the country? After walking 50 feet, I’d refuse to budge until the little boy ward had no choice but to carry me home. I even slept in his bed at night, taking up as much room as I could, and he never complained. Good sport, that one.”

“Was there anything else that happened while you were there?”

“As a matter of fact, they had the nerve to allow a visitor, but not just any visitor.  This dog was an Australian cattle dog, with convict bloodlines to be certain.  I stared at her the whole time and it was completely exhausting because I was afraid she was going to steal my imported Alaskan salmon treats.”

“Oh, dear, you have had a go of it, haven’t you. Well, the next time you visit the country, I’m sure—.”

Next time, Cook? Oh no, not if I can help it! From now on you’re staying put. Hmmph! The very idea of a next time. No, ma’am!”

“Henry! What’s that I hear?” I exclaim, in my attempt to distract him. Sounds like a truck coming this way!”

“Good Lord,” Henry cries. “Must run to the window and bark like a banshee! We’ll finish this discussion next time, Cook! Pressing matters await!”

And with that, Henry flew off to ward off a possible attack from the passing truck.

So, how do your pets fare when you leave town?

Henry the Blogger

If you ask me, my dog, Henry, is getting kind of uppity.  Sure, he’s a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, which means he descends from royalty. And, yes, he also expects a certain lifestyle, one befitting a king. Some might even say that Henry is a high-maintenance dog. But that would be an understatement.

Does this dog deserve a blog of his own? Hmm...

Recently, Henry noticed that there are many dogs out there with a blog, and now he has decided that he wants one, too. But here’s the thing: Henry can’t type to save his life. I don’t know how the other dogs do it, like Lola, Bassa or Uptown Dog. They have great blogs. But, when it comes to typing, Henry is all, ahem, thumbs. I’ve tried to teach him the basics. I figured, if he could type with just one paw, he’d be ahead of the game. But he refuses to even learn, and often ends up just pawing at my desk.

Clearly, this is one dog that cannot learn new tricks. Which is why, last night, during dinner, he asked me to be his secretary.  I nearly choked on my peas.

“I beg your pardon, Sir?” (You need to use words like  “pardon” and “Sir” when addressing royalty.)

Henry then said that what he really means is, he wants me to take dictation for his new blog.  But he doesn’t understand that:

  • I’m pretty busy as it is, and can’t take on yet another project, even if it is for a good cause.
  • He barks his thoughts rather slowly, which in turn, would take me forever to write down.
  • Sometimes I can’t figure out what he’s trying to say. Learning bark language isn’t the easiest, you know.  Like one time, when he said, “Cavaliers make amazing….and that’s how I lost my dignity…if only they fed me better.”

That’s all I could get out him. “Make amazing” what? Crocheted sweaters? Annoyances? And what’s this about losing his dignity? I’ll never know.

So I asked Henry, what he would call his blog if he had one.

“Untangling the Web,” was his immediate reply.

Apparently, he’s under the misguided impression that I’ve been successful with my tangled web of a blog, and so, he wants a crack at untangling it.

“After all,” he added, “Your readers have yet to hear my side of the story.”

His side? “What exactly is your side of the story?” I boldly asked. He shrugged and told me I could read about it in his blog, if he had one.

I then said, “A year ago you didn’t even know what a blog is.” He curtly countered that, a year ago, I didn’t have much of a following, and suggested that it is only when I’ve used photos of him that my readership has seen a spike.

“Not true!” I cried. “You haven’t seen my stats lately!” I then reminded him that he cannot have a blog, simply because he cannot type. To which, Henry said, rather miffed, that it was rather unseemly of me to remind a king of his flaws.

Henry retreats in a huff.

Feeling guilty, I said, “Cheer up, little man. I’m happy to write about you in my blog, now and then.”

He, cheekily replied, it’s the then I’m concerned about. The tall person allows Bassa to blog everyday. With you, I’ll be lucky to get exposure twice a year. I pointed out that he likes Roxy and she doesn’t have her own blog.

Which is when he gave me the stink eye, and retreated to one of his many plush beds, looking a bit despondent.

“Well, Henry,” I said, “Is there anything else you want to add in your defense?”

“Blogs about dogs are trending now, you know,” he said, wagging his tail.

Shaking my head, I went to wash the dishes. Oh, Henry, it seems we are at a standstill.

For a royal dog, he’s quite good at laying on the guilt. In fact, you could say, he’s got me feeling rather sheepish these days. Still, I’m not ready to give in and will have to think about this some more. After all, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.