Specstacular

 

“The world needs heroes and it's better they be harmless men like me than villains like Hitler.”

- Albert Einstein

         In case you haven’t read, WWII historians recently unearthed a 1940s photo of this cool dog, named Jackie, that gave Hitler the canine version of the finger.

         The dog’s owners, anti-Nazi Finns Tor and Josefine Borg, razzed der Fuhrer in their own way when they referred to their mutt Jackie as “Hitler” because of the way the pup raised his paw high in the air, imitating the German salute, “Heil ...”

         Supposedly, in the final days of Hitler’s reign, with the world tumbling around him, it was the actions of the Tors and their dog that infuriated the maniac’s inner circle. It’s been reported that during Hitler’s final days, the Foreign Office, the Economy Ministry, and even his chancellors meticulously monitored Jackie’s activities.

         I don’t blame the Nazis for keeping an eye on the pooch. A dog wearing spectacles like Jackie had to be a genius, capable of world domination.

         The dog clearly played a big part in bringing down the Third Reich.

         Notice, Jackie didn’t smoke cigars like Winston Churchill or strut like General Patton (though his physical resemblance to Harry Truman was remarkable). He picked Hitler to mimic.

          Jackie knew exactly what he was doing.

         While the Nazi commanders became unhinged about Jackie belittling Hitler, Germany burned. Hitler’s advisers obviously had Jackie on their minds when they sent 4.5 million troops to invade the Russia, a death trap that ultimately ended the war.

         I don’t want to brag, but I think Vito and Jackie may share some DNA.

          I already mentioned in a previous blog that I believed Vito was partially blind in his bi-colored eye. So we got him a set of specs like Jackie’s.

         Now he’s picked up the Jackie’s half-wave/half salute, ridiculing Hitler, just like Jackie.

         Just look at that photo below -- it’s Jackie in the flesh and fur.

         Jackie is surely in doggie heaven, and he can now rest assured that his world-saving, tyrant-mocking legacy will carry on in the name of Vito.

         Now maybe he can finally enjoy a victory cigar with Winston Churchill.

          

        

         

Sign of the Times

         “It's 19 minutes after the hour, and now it's time for our daily feature: The Astrological Hour. A quick reminder - these reports are not intended to foster belief in astrology, but merely to support people who cannot take responsibility for their own lives.”


         - Newscaster Janice Kent, The Kentucky Fried Movie 

         Vito never seemed like a Capricorn, he’s too impractical.

         It seems my hunch was correct. We discovered this week that his horoscope sign shifted after astrologers changed the birth dates, based on the Earth’s current position to the stars. 

         A change of such gargantuan enormity doesn’t come easy. The Internet, Facebook, and Twitter were on the verge of collapse, what with all the back-and-forth. Not to worry. Astrologers predicted such an occurrence and told the computer people to be ready.

         I heard the change is really affecting Wall Street, a place where people base their decisions on the alignment of the stars.

         Now before you go and laser off your Virgo tattoo and replace it with a Leo, remember this change only applies to those born in the year 2009 and beyond

          Vito was born Jan. 1, 2010, so he switched from being a Capricorn to a Sagittarian, which makes sense.

         Capricorns are symbolized by the goat, which Vito just considers something okay to eat, a third-rate protein at best. Capricorns are the epitome of professionalism and traditional values. Vito likes to slack on the couch watching Jersey Shore.

         Sagittarius is more like it.

         Sagittarius is depicted as the centaur, a half-man, half-beast creature, just like Vito. The centaur is holding a bow and arrow to hunt. Vito loves to chase squirrels, and on a good day, disembowel a rabbit with his own teeth.

         So you see, the change in horoscope signs has righted the world.

         I’m just glad he’s not the new one, an ophiucus, which is a serpent holder.

         We don’t need Vito playing a flute and hypnotizing a basket of snakes.

         Not in this astrological house.

Pure Evil

Norman Bates: “She just goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you?”

Marion Crane: “Yes. Sometimes just one time can be enough.”

- Psycho

            Since he came to us last February, Vito has exhibited a “puppy love” crush on Beth, his human sister, if you will.

            His eyes alight with twinkles when they’re together. During this past Christmas break, he never left her alone, not to eat, or sleep, or take care of her personal hygiene. Everywhere Beth went, a panting, drooling Vito followed.

            We all thought it was cute, until it took a dark twist.

            That was the day her real boyfriend, a human named Chase, came to visit for a couple of days.

            With Chase in the house, Beth couldn’t give Vito the affection to which he had become accustomed.

            So Vito, like any self-respecting psycho, began to engage in depraved behaviors to get Beth’s attention.

            He’d nip at the pants of the young man as he passed, or he’d refuse to make room on the couch where Chase and Beth wanted to sit. Actions that seemed insignificant at the time, but in retrospect were gateway behaviors for the truly weird stuff to come.

            That night, as the couple went out on a date, I noticed mysterious, small spots on the carpet. A few minutes later, I saw Vito hunched over. He regurgitated a small amount of stomach content at the foot of the couch where Chase had been sitting. This discharge looked like the spots on the carpet.

            “Vito,” I accused. “Have you been pretending to be sick so Beth will notice you?”

            He looked at me, beaming with lunacy.

            “You’re unbelievable,” I said, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him outside to his pen.

            “You stay out here in solitary confinement and think about your behavior,” I lectured. “By tomorrow morning, you better be over this bizarre, inter-species love triangle that you’ve concocted in your own small, bitter mind.”

            He winked at me, much the way I imagine Jack-the-Ripper did before he cut the throats of his innocent victims.

            The night spent in the cooler didn’t change his outlook. In fact, it made matters worse.

            He acted up all day, stealing Beth’s socks and chewing on her new coat.

            But it was during dinner that he pulled the real stinker.

            I had given him a Busy Bone to occupy himself while we ate, and he seemed content.

            As I was cleaning up after dinner, I walked by the back door and happened to glance at Chase’s shoes.

            It seems that while I thought he was happy with his Busy Bone, Vito was busily doing something else. He had removed a blob of wet Kleenex from the toilet bowl and plopped the wad on Chase’s shoes.

            “Bad boy,” I hissed. “Bad Vito.”

            To which Vito opened his mouth in a wide freakazoid smile.

            I quickly cleaned up the mess, finishing in the nick of time.

             Chase rounded the corner. I stood erect in front of his shoes, shoving the wad of wet paper in the pocket of my hoodie, plastering an innocent-looking smile on my face.

            “Everything was really great," said Chase. "Thank you.” I cast my eyes down toward Vito, who was in the process of raising his leg, getting ready to further assault Chase’s shoes.

            I swatted Vito’s leg, all the while smiling at Chase.

            “You’re welcome,” I said sweetly, through gritted teeth.

            “And Vito is a great dog,” Chase said, bending down, patting the dog’s head.

            Vito was all smiles as he looked up at Chase.

            The dog is evil, I tell you, pure evil.

           

Not Christina’s Birthday

“And surely you’ll buy your pint cup, and surely I’ll buy mine.

And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.”

-Auld Lang Syne

            Today is Beth and Nick’s 23^rd birthday. And believe it or not, Vito turns one today as well.

            Seriously, what were the odds of Vito sharing a birthday with the twins?

            Not low enough, according to Christina, the only non-parent member of the household without a New Year’s Day birthday.

            When she was little, she was always miffed with the twins' Jan. 1 birthday. Think of it, two out of the three kids, older than you, get to open a whole new round of gifts on the first day of the year.

            Just when she seemed to be getting over it, we learned Vito was a New Year’s puppy.

            “Oh great,” she mumbled upon seeing the birth date on his registration papers. “We’ve gone from twins to triplets.”

            As the red-letter day approached, I could see she was upset. So I poured her a glass of Diet Coke and me a double vodka -- hard alcohol to deal with the inexplicable, mother-guilt brought on by a coincidence of birth, one that could only upset a high-schooler with a house in the suburbs, a car, and a bank account.

            Poor Christina -- she wasn’t born on the same day as the twins and Vito.

            Why, God, why?

            The booze loosened me up enough to address the elephant in the room.

            “Think,” I said, gulping the double. “You get your own special day, and the twins have to share theirs with a dog.”

            “I want to share my birthday with the dog,” she pouted.

            “That may be the strangest sentence ever uttered,” I said.

            “I know,” she said. “It’s just that there’s the three of them, and then there’s me.”

            “Well then,” I said philosophically, feeling the alcohol begin to soak my brain. “Consider it this way. Your father and I only have so much money. Having two kids with birthdays exactly one week after Christmas leaves us broke. We always have to cut back on what we might like to give the twins. Now, add in one more gift for the dog, and …”

             “… the twins get even less,” she said, her eyes beaming with enlightenment and glee.

            “Exactly,” I slurred.

            “Happy New Year,” she said. “To me!”