Vito's First Christmas!

Vito singing "The 12 Days of Christmas."

Write Faster

Don Corleone: “Well, there wasn't enough time, Michael. There just wasn't enough time.”

Michael: “We'll get there, Pop. We'll get there.”

- The Godfather

            Just suppose that one day you went insane and decided to build a house from scratch.

            To accomplish this, you’d have to find a site, draw the plans, scoop the foundation, and buy the materials. Piece by piece, you’d put it together. And if it didn’t all fit, your house would completely fall apart.

            Since you wouldn’t want the house being boring, you’d figure out colors and furniture.  You'd buy stuff and decorate it.

            In the meantime, you’d have to eat, clean, and sleep. Sometimes you’d have to talk to your family and friends, maybe even visit your psychiatrist.

            You’d probably have to take your dog for a walk.

            While you were planning and building, you probably thought you’d finish the house in about three months.

            You really were insane.

            I know this because it takes an insane person to know one.

            After all this time on hiatus, I’m only two-thirds of the way through the first draft of my novel. I thought I’d be done by now.

            It hasn’t quite worked out that way. I know I said I’d be done by now, but I need more time. I’m not quite ready to come back to the blog.

            I read that Stephen King writes 10,000 words a day. I’m doing great at 5,000 per week.

            He can probably build a house faster than me too.

            But I bet he’s more insane.

Dog Days

Christina and Vito chill out during the dog days of summer (Photo by Brian Pedersen)

            Annemarie and Vito will be on hiatus for the next ten weeks.

            During that time, Annemarie will channel all of her creative juices into her novel. Vito will do his part by behaving himself and lying quietly at her feet, as she quickly and effortlessly produces a bestseller.

            That’s the plan anyway …

Fur Ball

Vito guards his fur

“We're all born bald, baby.”

- Telly Savalas

            Vito is one serious fur ball.

            Some call this time of year the shedding season, but what happens to Siberian Huskies once or twice a year is far more ominous than an ordinary word like “shedding” could describe. Think fur explosion.

            The fur comes out in stages. First, the undercoat blows. White, lighter-than air tumbleweeds of fur roll over the floor. When you reach to pick one up, the nearly imperceptible wind generated by your movement causes the ball of fur to shift continuously out of your reach.

            Next, the darker undercoat falls out. The heavier, dark fur coats the carpet. It takes three or four swipes with a vacuum cleaner to pick it up.

            Finally, the outer coat goes. These hairs look like black and silver needles. They stick to upholstered chairs

            For 45 minutes one afternoon and then again a few hours later, I brushed Vito. I removed so much fur that he now resembles a dog more than some freak black and white polar bear.

            The fur pictured is from that long and hairy day.

Eat Me

“You ever think what a coincidence it is that Lou Gehrig died of Lou Gehrig's disease?”

- Christopher Moltisanti

The Sopranos           

            I read that a Downriver man was grateful his dog ate most of his toe while he was passed out drunk. Maybe he was thankful because he got to save on dog food that day. A human toe can be a good source of protein for an animal.

            The article continued that the man was grateful for the dog’s action because it helped uncover an undiagnosed diabetic condition and led to treatment that could save his life. Doctors found an unknown bone infection, and they amputated the rest of the man’s toe.

            The same thing happened to me. I was drinking a pitcher of margaritas to dull the pain of arthritis in my thumb. After about four tumblers, while splayed in the La-Z-Boy, I had an idea -- let’s me and Vito end this thumb pain forever. What the heck.

            “Vito,” I slurred, “Come over and eat this finger hangin’ off the side of my hand.”           

            Really, though, I don’t want Vito to diagnose any of my medical conditions. Every time I read one of those stories about trained dogs that sniff out cancer tumors in places like the prostrate, breast or lung, it makes me nervous.

            Vito is not big on respecting personal boundaries in the first place, and if it were up to him he’d spend about a quarter of his day with his nose jammed into a human body part.  I forbid this -- for several reasons –  because it freaks me out to think he would know more about my health status than I would know. What if he smelled an undiagnosed brain problem? How would he communicate this important information?

            Perhaps he could eat part of my head, which would certainly warrant a trip to the hospital, and lead to a diagnosis, I guess.

Wooly Bully

Hugo, taking himself on a walk

             I woke the other morning to find this Facebook message from my friend and fellow puppy owner Holly Gilbert, former features editor for The Oakland Press: “Don't give your dogs Nylabones. Trust me on this one. Hugo is fine now but it was a long night and an expensive trip to the vet.”

            Hugo is her very gorgeous parti-colored Standard Poodle, who is a couple of months older than Vito. Holly said Hugo had eaten both knobs off a chicken-flavored Nylabone, and then spent the next six hours throwing up. She and her husband Garry rushed him to the vet. Some $230 later, Hugo was deemed okay, but he needed medication for irritation from ingested bone bits.

            Quite a rollicking Facebook conversation followed Holly’s news. One woman wrote that besides Nylabones, pet owners are not supposed to give dogs rawhide bones or “greenies.” I have no idea what a “greenie” is, but it sounds like a doggie doobie to me.

            Another of Holly’s friends wrote: “I read Cesar Milan's (The Dog Whisperer) website and he suggested Bully sticks ... they stink to high heaven but my dog cannot seem to break off little chunks, he just chews and chews and when it is a nub we throw it away.”

            Yes, if you read a Dog Whisperer book, you know that Cesar Milan is a big fan of bully sticks. I don’t know if you are familiar with the things, but if you aren’t you may want to stop reading now, or at least set yourself up with a barf bag, because bully sticks are dried bull penises that are smoked and then cut to size. Who thought up that one? Dried bull penises, no wonder they stink!

            Anyway, after Hugo’s ordeal, I’m going to throw away Vito’s Nylabone. But I don’t know if I’m going to replace it with a bully stick. Vito loves to chew on bones, and I love Vito. But the thought of picking up the leftover chunk of a soft, soggy, chewed-up bull penis is farther than I’d be willing to go, even for Vito.

            That still leaves Vito needing something to chew on.

            Any of you dudes out there know where I can buy a greenie?

Shark!

I renewed my Valium prescription after overdosing on The Discovery Channel’s Shark Week. Did you see some of those shows? Monstrous sharks that skyrocket 15 feet out of the water to wrap their jaws around giant birds in flight. And how about those nuts, victims of a shark attack, who can’t wait to get back in the water with them?
Now I see man-eaters everywhere.
Check out this innocent and touching portrait of Christina and Vito on a Northern Michigan dock. Now look at the background.
Shark!