Hoops

Vito picks the Huskies. Go figure.

Do you believe in miracles?

I wish St. Patrick could come back to Earth for one day. Surely we'd find him in Japan, leading his flock away from radiation, into a field of soft shamrocks.

Vito Gras!

Vito went a little nutty and spilled a glass of wine on himself during his annual Mardi Gras party (for the second year in a row,  he was his only guest).  We called for an intervention.  He promised to lay off the parties and stick to water.
Photo by Brian Pedersen.

Epic

Vito waits sadly

"I am on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen. It's not available. If you try it once, you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body."

- Charlie Sheen

Here’s what my day is like: revise my novel, feed myself, revise my novel, relieve myself, revise my novel, feed my family, revise my novel, go to sleep.

There’s no energy left for Vito, or the two porn gods who live with my family.

Vito looks at me pleadingly (The brown eyes pleads. I never know what’s going on with that half colorless one). He is beginning to remind me of that thin, sad dog in the commercial for the antidepressant Abilify, waiting by the door for his owner to finally take him on a walk.

But I am not allowing myself go anywhere until I’m done revising my novel. I’ve chained myself to my dictionary and thesaurus, a prisoner of grammar.

Revising a novel is nothing like actually creating one

             The act of inventing a book is like a narcotic. When the words pour forth onto the paper, I’m a bitchin’ rock star. Tiger blood courses through my veins!  After 1,000 words each day, I’m done. Vito and I slap on our alien brains and we become a pair of high priest assassin warlocks to be reckoned with.

For me, revising a novel is the opposite of writing it. It’s like Charlie Sheen without the “Adonis DNA.” Studying every tense and analyzing every analogy is all work. I barely have the energy left to help Vito brush his teeth, and this is not okay with him.

When I told him that I’m doing this for us, so that we’d be winners, he opened his mouth and burped, “D-u-u-uh.” When I asked him if he thought I should spell “d-u-u-uh” with two “u’s” or three, he got mad. He grabbed my Chicago Manual of Style and buried it somewhere. I still haven’t found it.

He is showing signs of depression from my neglect. If I don’t snap this novel into shape soon Vito is going to need a prescription for Abilify.

 Or maybe a transfusion of gnarly tiger blood.

That would be epic, man.

Merry Go Vito

We have snow one day, temps in the 50s the next, and then more snow. It’s enough to make us people feel like we’re on a carousel. For Vito, all the snow is as fun as a ride in the amusement park.  Photo by Brian Pedersen.

Hearts and Stalkers

“Danielle is at the house tonight. Stalker! Stage-five clinger alert!”

- Vinny

Jersey Shore

No Valentine’s Day is complete without a tale about love gone mad.

Vito has turned into a stalker.

He used to follow me around the house like any regular puppy dog. But I always knew he had an agenda.

I feed him, and I prepare most of the meals in our house, so I represent the source of all food. I thought he liked me basically because I was his meal ticket. When he stands between my legs when I’m at the counter preparing a meal, I thought he was waiting for an errant crumb of ground beef to roll off and into his mouth.

Now I’m not so sure.

Lately, his interest in me is becoming weird. He tries to follow me into the bathroom. I push him out, but he waits outside the door. He won’t leave. I think he’s standing guard to make sure I don’t slip out the window to escape his “love.”

Today, the day before Valentine’s Day, he went too far. As I headed in to take a shower, I noticed the shower door was ajar. As I slid it open to turn on the hot water, my heart jumped into my throat.

Vito was sitting in the shower stall. I didn’t even know he was in the bathroom. And only God knows how long he’d been in there … waiting for me.

I ordered him out and locked the door behind me, but I was anxious the whole time in there.

He’s beginning to remind me of another famous shower stalker …Vito is even starting to look like Norman Bates. 

Norman Bates

Game Day

Max

Koda

“What are you asking (Tony) for? He never had what it took to be a varsity athlete.”

- Uncle Junior

The Sopranos

Vito and I have waited for this day all year. The big game!

         All diets are off today. For us, it’s all about the tailgate -- beer and pig ears.

We also like to gamble, so we carefully picked our squares for the betting pool. Vito made his mark with his snout.  

We’ve pulled our favorite jerseys out of the back of the closet. Vito likes wearing Pittsburgh Steelers Quarterback Ben Roethlisberger’s jersey because they’re both dogs.

Come game time, we wrestle for our favorite spot on the couch. Vito always wins. We warm up the big screen. Our stomachs are in knots as we await the 3 p.m. kickoff.

Puppy Bowl VII!

The best football game of the year!

Animal Planet puts on a heck of a show. Terriers tackling setters, chickens leading cheers, and kittens grinding during the half-time show, it’s the greatest sporting production ever.

And the commercials are awesome, like the one where a driving dog does doughnuts in a Subaru.

         This year, Vito’s favorite player is Koda, a 16-week-old Siberian Husky. During his player interview, Koda indicated that his favorite holiday is Columbus Day. Vito thought that was quirky, but I told him that finely tuned athletes are somewhat high strung.        

This year, my guy is Max, a 10-week-old lab-spaniel mix that likes show tunes.

At the end of the game, when the score is cast in the record books and the trophy awarded, Vito and I immediately begin to look forward to next year’s game.

I always hope to win a major credit card contest and get to the Puppy Bowl one day. Maybe next year will be the year.

If I were lucky enough to go, I’d try to get a big, fat, wet kiss on the cheek from one of the quarterbacks. Maybe some fox like a poodle named Tom Brady.