I remember the good old days when the only thing watching me was my parents, and then only for a moment or two.

You see, they’d lose interest quickly after letting me outside to do my business in the fenced in yard. I always helped my cause by laying down after my initial burst of energy. Of course I was faking being tired since there was exploring to do.

After enough time had lapsed, I’d head to the fence at the back of

They say all reporters have biases as they go out into the world and report on the goings on.

Some are able to recognize them and adjust for them accordingly. Others are less reflective and let their full biases into their finished product. These folks are usually called hacks.

I mention this because I suspect there may be a hidden agenda to a report I read this morning regarding a fire in Seattle. The Seattle Times has all the details.

The

Focus. It’s not just a car made by Ford.

It’s a skill that allows some to be better than others.

We’ve all experienced moments of intense concentration, where both time and space cease to exist. For me this mostly happens when there’s a beef stroganoff frozen dinner being cooked.

For others, this zen-like state is brought on by the thrill of a hunt.

That’s my theory anyway, for there isn’t any other way to explain this story.

KNOXVILLE, Tenn. – A Tennessee family’s

Ever been to a rodeo? OK, probably not.

Have you ever seen a rodeo on TV? You have!

Well, have you ever seen a horse race? Me too!

Is it just me that wonders why one sport has huge humans riding food while the other has one hundred and five pound satin wearing porcelain dolls riding glue?

Why isn’t it the other way around? It certainly would be more entertaining.

Imagine Secretariat with a 220lb behemoth on her back. Suddenly she looks like

Ruhh Rowww.

Tell me this wouldn’t suck. You’re chowing down on a particularly tasty tree limb, perfectly aged, perfectly tender when out of the blue you feel the talons of a big bird grip your head and pull you off the ground.

Before you know it, you’re cruising through your neighborhood with a Google mapesque, bird’s eye view. The only thing missing are the street names. The unenjoyable part? A claw, with a hangnail, puncturing the hide behind your noggin.

Soon enough you’ll be dropped off into a

As regular readers know, I’m an escape artist.

The technique I now employ differs from what I used as a puppy. These days I walk to the back of the yard to a spot outside of my parents’ view, and dig under the fence. My paw claw takes two or three strokes, then stops. I look around and make sure I’m not noticed, then continue on if appropriate. After the hole is sufficiently deep, I’ll gnaw off the

The big apple. New York City.

I drove through it once, with my parents, on the way to Georgia. It had lots of buildings, lots of big squirrels with thin tails and lots of pigeon poop.

Outside of the abundance of fire hydrants, I didn’t get the attraction to the place. But to each his own.

Like a bunch of chickens who’ve been hanging out in the city for the better part of twenty years. Yeah they got small brains, but what’s kept them there? A rooster

I’ve got a lovely pair of coconuts. Or should I say, I used to. Speaking of coconuts, let’s talk fruits and the best kind. Personally I like apples. My old man hand feeds me nicely sliced wedges. Apple cores need not apply. I think my father likes the way I chew them because he laughs while I eat. I just wish he’d let me dunk it in the caramel dip once in a while. Watermelon.

Cock-a-doodle-do. Good morning folks.

I start today with that intro because I love chickens, especially boiled. Nothing is better than sucking on the pimply rubber skin of a boiled chicken carcass. The dish is my mother’s specialty. Well, if you take the microwave away from her, and the telephone, that is.

My father? Not a fan. That’s why I get twice the helpings when she makes it. If he’d just do me a favor and keep the overcooked spinach to himself, it would be a perfect

I’m not a fan of formal ceremonies, mostly because I’m never invited.

Informal get togethers are another matter entirely. Typically they’re held in the back yard of one my parents’ friends houses, with all matter of species invited. Well, dogs mostly and the occasional cat.

For the most part we’re all relatively well behaved. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we eat our hamburgers and hot dogs with knives and forks, but rather we don’t eat the little kids out in the open.

Relax. I’m talking

We all have our vices.

My canine sister Copper is obsessed with farts, my feline sister Mothball is fascinated by the cursor on this screen and, I hate to admit it, I can’t make it through a day without barking at squirrels.

These are heavy burdens to carry but it beats the one loading down my parents. In short, they’re addicted to love. Love of the furry kind.

Our house is now fur central with the addition of several new members. In addition

I’m not a snitch.

When my father rolls in at midnight after boys’ night out, I don’t bark to alert my mother of his arrival. I wait, knowing he’ll dig into the fridge for something to eat. Sure it might be a week old plate of spaghetti or a plate of tuna salad from an era long gone by, but like him I’m not proud, just hungry.

When my sister Moose captures a mouse, chews its head off and brings it into the

I jumped into a lake once.

Not on purpose, but by accident. You see there was this leaf, cleverly disguised as a big rock, floating in the lake a few feet below me. I thought it was a perfect place for a photo opp. Humans love those.

Let’s be honest with ourselves, is there anything more majestic than a beautiful mixed breed dog, dressed up in his best fur suit, sitting in front of a colorful landscape that only fall can offer?  Of course not. Especially when