Temporary Address

Temporary Address

Saturday, March 30, 2013


I'm finding that I need to be grateful. As much as I need to breathe, as much as I need water and food, I need to be greatful. When things are sad, and bad, and mad, I need to acknowledge and learn from the sadness, and the maddness, and the badness, and still be greatful.

Friday, March 29, 2013

The taxes are done.

The taxes are done.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

The Molly Chronicles

So I've been researching my lineage on Ancestry.com, and, remember, I'm related to the great border collies, Old Hemp, and Mirk, and the world renowned Wiston Cap. That's on my father's side. Well, my mother was an Aussie - an Australian shepherd. The funny thing is - no one in the family lived in Australia. They just herded Australian sheep in a place called California.

I can trace my line back to great… great … lots-of-greats… grandmother Sadie, who lived about fifty miles east of Sacramento. That was back in the Wild West days. So she and her human Jimmie were out on patrol when suddenly this gopher - the biggest gopher you'd ever want to see - poked his whiskers up from the ground and started giving Sadie some serious attitude. Like “I dare you to catch me."

In no time at all, Sadie was head deep up to her shoulders in the hole, and brick-orange dirt was flying around like mosquitoes in August. Faster and harder - Sadie kept digging, harder and harder still. Clay, small rocks, chunks of tree roots, they all got launched through the air.

Well, wouldn't you know it - a small rock hit Jimmie Marshall in the head, and when he picked it up, he noticed it was shiny. And that was when he went all discombobulated. He was whoopin' and stompin' and hollerin' like a cow on loco weed, and he ran all the way into town yelling "Eureka!!! Gold!!!!  Gold!!!!" So that's how they say James Marshall discovered gold in California.

They never did give Sadie any credit, but I don't think she minded much.

The gopher got away.

Neighborhood Watch - The Musical

The LAARCWC and The Rights of Laborers

The Liberation Army Auto Repair and Car Wash Center (LAARCWC) is in hot water (figuratively not literally) with Hyacinth Smyth, who lives next door.
Ms. Smyth was awakened at precisely 2:47 A.M. to a bright light and the sound of an electric sander scraping metal. Naturally, Ms. Smyth assumed that alien beings had invaded earth, and immediately called 911. “Supernatural creatures, seventeen feet high, with semiautomatic pneumatic drills for hands, and powerful luminescent eyes with the wattage of flood lamps,” she shrieked.
The dispatcher, Alice Potash, said that the rest of Ms. Smyth’s call was unintelligible except for a few phrases: “attach on my person,” “metal robots,” “alien invasion,” “catastrophe,” and “night of the living dead.”
Officer Mijinsky arrived on the scene at precisely 5:42 A.M. According to Officer Mijinsky, Ms. Smyth grabbed him by the collar and began ranting wildly about robots from Mars, and being eaten alive by Venusians.
Ms. Smyth was taken to J Ward for observation.
“I may have overreacted,” she was later quoted as saying. “But you have to understand the pressure I was under. It’s the LAARCWC, they’re at it all day and all night, with the sanding and the drilling and the pounding and the sawing, and Heaven only knows what else! And the smells!!! Gasoline, and kerosene, and other ines that I don’t even know the name of! And all those cars parked from one end of the street to the other! It’s no wonder I’m a wreck!” (Ms. Smyth has always had a flare for the dramatic.) “They won’t get away with any of it. Mark my words!”
When asked to comment, Code Enforcement Officer Gary Frisbee responded, “There’s nothing we can do. According to code, the limit for residential parking is three vehicles in the driveway, and, clearly, there are only three vehicles in the driveway. I’m not on duty at 2 in the morning. I haven’t witnessed any auto repair work during night hours. My hands are tied.”

Saturday, March 23, 2013

The Molly Chronicles

I buried my chew striip in my humans' planter box. I wasn't supposed to do that. Who knew????

Molly, signing off.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Neighborhood Watch - The Musical

Neighborhood Watch – The Musical

Fence War Escalates As Stucco And Juniper Branches Fly.

Who says "Good fences make good neighbors?” Harken back to the spite fence of 1876. Charles Crocker (of the San Francisco Crockers), incensed that his neighbor Mr. Yung would not sell his property to Mr. Crocker, built a twenty-foot high fence completely surrounding the Yung property. The Yung property was the only property on the city block that Charles Crocker did not own.
Fast-forward to the twenty-first century when Mrs. Mildred Galworthy returned home from a shopping excursion - a dozen eggs, a chub of liverwurst, a roll of duct tape, and a ten-lb. sack of ostrich feed (don’t ask – you don’t want to know) –to find three heavily bearded muscular “gentlemen” hard at work tearing down the trees and shrubs which formed a hedge between her property and that of her neighbor. As the owner of the aforementioned property Jeremiah Minchaps sat back admiring the work being done, Mrs. Galworthy flew into a rage and asked  Mr. Minchaps what the %@$@#%@!$%!!!!! he though he was doing with her trees.
“She appeared quite deranged,” Mr Minchaps was quoted as saying. “I feared for our safety. I explained that I planned to build a lovely fence between our properties, a fence that she would surely admire, but Mrs. Galworthy just kept on ranting like a crazy woman.”
“Those are thirty-year-old trees,” Mrs. Galworthy was heard to say. “I planted them with my own two hands.” Later she admitted to Mr. Minchaps, “You have the right to prune away whatever hangs over onto your property, but do not injure the trees.”
The following day, a strip of yellow “caution” tape was seen marking the boundary between the Galworthy property and the Minchaps property, and a satisfied smirk appeared on Mrs. Galworthy’s face.
Nothing transpired for several weeks, and Mrs. Galworthy appeared mollified until the aforementioned fuzzy-faced gentlemen reappeared on the property digging fence posts and cutting back more branches.  As the work was obviously occurring on the Minchaps property, Mrs. Galworthy had no recourse but to utter a polite “humph” and allow the work to proceed.
“My tenants heard gunshots’” Mr. Minchaps was later quoted as saying. “The fence is built for their safety.”
“Baloney,” was Mrs. Galworthy’s comment. That fence wouldn’t stop a rooster in heat.”
The fence could more accurately be described as a wall, as it is built of stucco and wrought iron and provides a Latino appearance to the front of the property.
That would have been the end, had not Mrs. Galworthy noticed the debris - board trimmings, paper, wire, and stucco - splashed and thrown over the fence and onto her property. “$#@%$^%!$!!!!!,” Mrs. Galworthy was heard to exclaim. “It’s a spite fence. Just like Charles Crocker put up in 1876. I asked politely for the workers to pick up their “^$@#$%^#$!!!!, and, as you can see, they didn’t do any such thing.”
“My workers are old men,” was Mr. Menchaps’ response. “Their backs and hips are stiff with arthritis, and it’s very difficult for them to stoop down and pick up garbage. They are not lazy, but rather infirmed, and not be maligned, but to be pitied. ”
“^$@$%^#$@!!!!!” was Mrs. Galworthy’s response.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

The Molly Chronicles

My human just got a terrible idea. She wants me to pick up the mess in our house. She thinks that's what "fetch" means. I quickly put her straight. This dog does not clean (except for dishes with meat juice on them.)

A squirrel was sighted in our back yard. - Yesterday at 5 o'clock in the plum tree!!!!

This is Molly, AFK (away from keyboard.)

Saturday, March 9, 2013

The Molly Chronicles

Hello, it's Molly back again on my human's blog. There hasn't been much activity lately, as my human has been AFH (away from home) and I have had nothing to do but take naps. This is no life for a working dog, I tell you.The gophers are back in numbers, but there's only so much I can do about them (especially since  my human discourages my digging extra large holes, which is the only way to catch them.) So far, the squirrels haven't dare to invade our back yard, which shows good judgement on their part. (I hate squirrels.)

A hearty "hello" to Shadow, and I hope your human is still diligent with the long walks and throwing sticks. Okay, I have to go nag my human into taking me for a walk. She needs the excercise, as she's getting somewhat plumpish lately.

Molly, signing off.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013


(or "How Long, Oh, Lord?)

Sung to the tune of "The Toreador Song"

I'm having trouble
Not to burst your bubble
Trouble on the double
I'm in a stew

I'm in a quandary.
Need to do the laundry
See the grey cloud on me
What shall I do?

Writing's not for sissies
It's not for quiet prissies
I'll stop and read Ulysses
or maybe I'll call you.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

The Molly Chronicles

Hello to all my fans.

Being a dog, I wasn't invited to Mac's fifth birthday. (This had nothing to do with the incident concerning Lucy the rabbit, which was all a misunderstanding.) (And the reason that I didn't come when called is that I went suddenly, unexplainedly deaf.)

I wasn't invited and had to stow away inside the bounce house, which is a lot more fun for humans than it is for dogs.

Anyway, we hade a lot of fun, especially the grown up humans because the bounce house was sturdy enough for adults to play in.

I particularly enjoyed the corn dogs and the ham and cheese sandwiches.

Molly, signing off