Parrothead Ramblings

Scully The Crime Dog Dog in action. Bet your dog can't do this. Whatever the hell this is.

Yesterday, some guys showed up at my house to pour the deck around my new swimming pool. It's about time. They framed it nearly a week ago, and I've just been waiting for some criminal to jump my fence in search of easy pickins', trip over a 2X6, plunge headlong into the shotcrete-lined deathtrap in my backyard, and sue my ass off for all I'm worth. I don't know what he's going to do with a broken-down Blazer, a bunch of DVDs, and a canoe, but that's pretty much all I have.

Oh, and my dog. Can't forget her. Most folks consider Golden Retrievers as a breed of good-natured doofus dogs. Scully would be the one the other Goldens called "a little slow." I've bought her enough balls to supply the DBacks, and she still manages to lose them, requiring her to switch over to rocks. I have to carefully recon my lawn before mowing, lest I run over one of these little jewels and turn it into a ballistic window-magnet.

Anyway, these guys showed up around 10:00 or so, stumbled around for a few minutes, then plopped their asses into my patio chairs and fired up the boombox. I went to see just what the hell was going on.

Le trucka con concreto, eet no com jet.

OK, even I get that one. So of course, using my best non-existent Spanish, I tried to pawn my camper shell off on them. Lots of nods and smiles. Why can't they just say they have no clue what I'm saying, rather than nodding and smiling?

At length, the trucka de concreto arrived, and they started running the sludge back there in wheelbarrows. It was then, about three hours into their work, that Scully the watchdog finally figured out someone was in the yard.

No warning of any kind. Usually, she's courteous enough to go with the low growl, increasing in tone and volume till reaching a crescendo punctuated by a flurry of barking. No such luck. This was the immediate-hair-standing-up-on-the-back-full-volume-from-the-diaphragm method of barking that just scares the shit out of you when you're concentrating on something else.

WHAT? WHAT? WHAT IN THE NAME OF SPOONER ARE YOU BARKING AT?????

Then I get the "Sorry, Dad" hangdog look. You know the one: head down, tail between legs. "Got a little carried away there, Dad. Won't happen again."

Her best trick is the one where she begs, all the while trying to act cool and play it off like she isn't begging. She can be sound asleep at the other end of the house, dead to the world, unresponsive to her name being called, or whistling for her, or hand clapping, or any other method used to summon her lazy ass. But just open the refrigerator, and there she is with her food-radar fully operational. That's when she sits near you, pretending to be uninterested, just kind of staring at the floor.

But watch the eyes. There you will find the truth.

Ah ha!! There it is! The peek. She's thinking "I'm just gonna glance out the corner of my eye and see if any of those chips are left. He'll never notice. OK, here goes....eeeasy. eeeeeeeasy. And there it is....Damn! I think he saw me! Be cool...eyes down......" If she could whistle nonchalantly, that's what she'd be doing at that moment. That's when I make her pay the price. I give her a treat, but I make her balance it on her nose first. She usually ends up flipping it all the way across the room, then has to go hunting for it.

Yep. Got her under complete control. Except for that barking thing. Scares the bejeezus outta me. I think I'll install a really big loudspeaker by my front door, and encourage her to go at it everytime some shithook comes up my walk with sales flyers to hang on my door. Or maybe Jehovah's Witnesses, or those guys with the white shirts and name tags.

Yeah, that's the ticket.
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