Dogs Chicks and Magnets

I went to a dog event yesterday.  The POP dog race event at Columbia Point in Richland.

I took "Biker" my 100 lb.  PitRotLaudor.  The place was bedlam with hundreds of dogs in attendance with their people. 

I lovely young woman came up to Biker who was on his leash.  She was totally dismissive of me taking no notice.  This lovely creature turned her back and bent down and loved on Biker throwing her arms around him rubbing him all over while talking to him softly in baby talk.  I examined her closely for conformation and found her and acceptable specimen - best of show -  in the 14 hand two inch  115  lb category .  Good Lord was she ever acceptable!

I was so jealous!

I need to change. 

I have decided that I am going to go for it.

I don't care how expensive  it  is;  I'm going to get that rabies shot.

BOLO Senior Smart Ass Alert

BOLO 

Dear Blog, 

The smart ass got out of the cage this morning.  Early.  I am out of the three major food groups TP, Paper towels and Dennison’s Original Canned Chili.  If the senior gets to Yokes (Pseudo Yuppie Emporium) Fresh market he can be on time for his scheduled conversation with is daughter at nine am so I go attired in my best Wall Mart retired old fart uniform.   

Earlier I had purchased a corned beef brisket about the size of an ironing board and cooked the entire thing in a fleet of crock pots and Dutch ovens. Having tired ten days of corned beef and cabbage and corned beef hash it is now time for Ruben sandwiches. Yokes have no rye bread, not on the bread isle (pathetic as it was) and not in the artisan bread display.  I’m irritated, as I told the clerk, at this affront to God’s Chosen… a conspiracy no doubt.  We do well to remember that the first thing that Hitler did when he rose to power was to suspend the courts of law.  The second thing he did was take rye bread out of stores.  

 

Being a gourmet cook I get other quality ingredients, possessed imitation Swiss cheese slices, Kraut made from real cabbage (none of that imitation stuff!) and coffee.

So another disappointment.  Coffee.  Yokes doesn’t sell the philistine coffees like other places.  You can’t buy a Colombian, a Jamaican, a French or Italian roast coffee there. No!  You can buy Super dark Breakfast Roast, Mystic River Magic Bean Double Roast, His and Her blend with real pheromones no doubt, Swine Herd’s Favorite, beans shot from an Asian Civet etc.  All of this designed to keep you from knowing what the smurf you are getting.  Now I’m irritated.  I like dark roasts so I get the blackest oiliest shiniest bean I can find.  Of course, the trendy tubes that vend the beans all work just a little bit differently.  I shove the bag up the spout as far as it will go.  I fill the bag with beans.  Then I discover that the bag is way down there and the plunger for the coffee-cut-off about a foot above the bag. my bag is full and the beans are going to spill.  A second bag is out of reach.  So I slowly withdraw my full-to-the-brim bag and the cascade of fugitive beans cascade out of the little catcher at the bottom (where the store blend is mixed no doubt) and filling that up and  many beans spill on the floor rattling, spinning and shining like crunchy jewels on the floor of the emporium. I steal away as best as I can with a cart full of treasures and a bad hip.  The trod upon the beans crackle and scream for store security while I smash them to dust as I make my escape.  

There is only one thing to make up for this dismal trip is more nutritious comfort food ; an eight piece of greasy fried chicken.  I go to the deli.  There is no Chicken in evidence.   A woman, standing perhaps fifteen feet away from me asks if she can help.  She is standing under a huge exhaust fan and cannot hear me.

 

 “When will you have chicken?” 

What?

 When will you have chicken?” 

WHAT?”

“CHICKEN!”

“what?”  (Jesus lady!)

I snapped but hadn’t realized it until after I said:

“YOU KNOW, CHICKEN; A FLIGHTLESS PRECOCIAL BIRD WHICH IS SOMETIMES ROASTED AND EATEN FOR FOOD.” Now I have hooked my thumbs in my armpits and I have begun flapping my elbows while clucking, bobbing my head and scratching the floor with my foot. 

That time Helen Keller got it. 

“Not until nine!”   

In retrospect; I regret not having gone to Wall Mart in the first place where you are allowed to  shoot a recalcitrant employee (they are totally expendable and most are forced to apply for food stamps in order to eke out their miserable existence so it’s almost a duty.)  (Besides they’re just “takers” anyway.) 

I used to be in fear of the grumpy senior citizen stereotype.  Now I see it for what it is; an art form.   

I forgot oatmeal.

I can't wait to discover who or what will piss me off next.