Caption Me, Please

The backstory:

My dogs eat crap they’re not supposed to eat. For a semi-complete listing, click here. Despite our best efforts to keep them away from things like thumbtacks and nail polish, we have a house full of teen girls plus an 11-year-old boy, and the only times our Puggles exhibit any kind of extreme intelligence is when they’re on a mission to eat something bad for them.

This means that sometimes they get chocolate.

Now, before you cart me off to the animal cops, know that these dogs, who can’t be counted upon to catch a piece of meat dropped directly over their heads, are capable of scaling seven feet of vertical wall, creating diversions, and opening zippers (despite their complete absence of thumbs) in order to get contraband that they’ve set their walnut-sized brains on. It’s not like we’re giving chocolate to them on purpose, or that we’re leaving it about the house willy-nilly; it’s that they’re ninjas.

A couple weeks ago Jack got some chocolate. Just part of a Hershey Bar. The doggie equivalent of an 8-ball. He commenced running about the house like he had some really urgent business to attend to and needed to tell us all about it. This went on for a while, and #4 took this picture.

It’s a crappy picture because she has a crappy, non-smart phone. Yes, I’m that parent. Get a job and when you’re 18 you can get your own cell phone contract, and THEN you can buy your own iPhone. Awesome, right?

 

But no matter how crappy the picture is, it never fails to render me speechless with laughter every time I look at it.

Enter your caption in the comments section below and I’ll pick a winner. The winner will receive something inexpensive but fabulous, most likely a chocolate bar. Probably something a little more exciting than a Hershey Bar, unless that’s your favorite. Contest open until 11:59pm on Thursday, October 31- Halloween!

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Does This Cat Look Like Bacon Sunday

Recently, a friend of mine lost her cat. He was a great cat named Punkin and they loved each other well for nearly twenty years. She was understandably very sad.

The night he died, she was in the vet’s office and somebody brought in a rescue cat. Who needed a home. Who looked uncannily like Punkin, except longer. And possibly a little more like bacon.

baconcat

Doesn’t he look like bacon? Like raw bacon? It’s a matter of debate at work and I would like your opinion. His name is Rosenthal, but he is Bacon Cat to me.

As far as what he’s doing in the refrigerator, I’m quite sure he’s looking for water. In addition to being Bacon Cat, he is also Water Cat.

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I just love water!

Here are your links.

Speaking of rescue pets, I’m making a plug for 11th Hour Rescue with this post by Julie Davidosky here on my own blog: Best In Shelter.

Nina Katchadourian spends her time on long flights by locking herself in the bathroom and pretending to be 15th century Dutch paintings. Airplane Lavatory Self-Portraits.

Chafe Chase McFadden has resurfaced this week and I was reading some of his older posts on his blog and cracking up. In Case You Ever Wondered What Happened to Those Children from Deliverance

There’s a distinct taxidermy void on my blog. Let’s fix that. Truth In Advertising (Warning: If taxidermy creeps you out, you probably shouldn’t be here at all.) on The Bloggess.

Cartoon polar bears and hacksaw amputations- what’s not to love? The Real Bears.

Be sure to leave your opinion on whether or not Rosenthal looks like bacon. I don’t exactly have money riding on this, but something far more valuable: an unspoken air of self-righteousness that I will get to parade in front of those who disagree. Who may or may not be my superiors.

Happy Sunday!

Releasing the Salamanders (no, that’s not a euphemism).

#5 went on a camping trip this weekend. It was the first time he’d spent the night away since he came to live with us. It was unnerving, having him gone. But he returned on Sunday with salamanders.

CC and I are up way too late, sucked in to Kill Bill like we are every time it comes on. It’s my turn to get up with the kids in the morning.

Me: Whoa. There is some serious salamander activity next to me here.

CC: In what way?

Me: There was a splash.

One salamander is still at the bottom of the bowl, but the other is very determinedly attempting to get out.

splash.

Me: Dude is getting out of that bowl for sure. What should we do?

CC: {sigh}

Me: Really. What do you do with a salamander? I feel a tremendous sense of obligation for these little guys.

CC: Fine. Get the car keys. I’ve had two scotches and half a bottle of wine. You’re driving.

Me: Okay, but you have to carry them.

CC: Oh sure. Make the impaired guy carry the salamanders.

I pause to take a picture.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We have a park near our house that has both a pond and a stream. It’s a nice park. A great place to release your salamanders. Except it’s the kind of park that has police who notice and come to question you if you’re there after dark.

Me: Wait, these aren’t like zebra mussels are they?

CC: No. Get in the car.

We go out to the car- me, CC, and two salamanders.

Me: You know, there’s an X-Files episode about this.

CC: No there isn’t.

Me: Yes there is.

CC: About dumping salamanders out in a pond?

Me: No, but about salamanders. This guy who has it out for Mulder gets worked on at prison by some crazy doctor and he gives him a salamander hand, thereby proving my theory once again.

CC: Which is?

Me: That you can name pretty much anything, and there’s an X-Files episode about it.

CC: {silence}

Me: The end.

CC: {silence}

Me: Don’t drop the salamanders.

CC: I’m not going to drop the salamanders. They’re going to get eaten by fish the instant we set them free.

Me: No they won’t.

CC: Yes they will.

Me: Well, better to be eaten by a fish than by one of the puggles, which would cost us $400 and three days of emotional duress while they’re hooked up to an I.V. at the vet.

CC: We’re going to get arrested for this on some eco-violation. They’re going to come and arrest #5, and all the rangers that took him on the camping trip, and we’re going to have to sell the house and move into some tiny apartment where we don’t all fit to pay remediation costs to remove and restore these two salamanders to Western New Jersey.

Me: I’m pretty sure we don’t have that much equity in the house.

CC: {sigh}

Me: I forgot my flashlight. Also, I’m in flip-flops.

CC: Can we just drop them in the pond instead of the creek? The last thing I need to do is break a frickin’ ankle tonight.

Me: This decision of where to drop them probably is the single most important thing that will determine their length of life, isn’t it?

CC: Who cares? The cops are gonna be here any minute. “What’s that, officer? No, sir, we’re just taking our bowl for a walk. We do it all the time.”

We dump them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Into the pond.

 

One stays put. The other heads for dry land.

I like to think he was the jumper.

Me: I wonder how long it’s going to take #5 to figure out they’re gone.

CC: About as long as it takes him to cross the floor. He did leave them on the kitchen table. It’s going to be the first thing he checks when he wakes up.

Me: Yeah.

CC: {laughs}

Me: What?

CC (re-enacting our first phone call eleven years ago when he was interviewing me to be his assistant on the Aida tour): So, I’ll hire you for the gig. In like, eleven years, you’re going to be dumping two salamanders out of a cereal bowl into a park pond in New Jersey while looking out for cops. I have no idea what happens between these two events. You still want the gig?

For the record, I still would have taken the gig.