Parrothead Ramblings

Scully, in full riot gear and ready for action. Go ahead. Make my Day.

Anybody got the number of a good dog trainer? I don't care about any of that sit, stay, fetch and rollover schtick. We got that part down. I need somebody that can teach my golden retriever to tell time.

Here's the deal: There's five of us living in this house at the moment. I work from home, and The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog works a regular day job. Z-Man and Mateo work nights, and come in usually around midnight. Therein lies the rub. They come home every night at about the same time. They have keys. The keys make the same scratching sound in the same way every night as they open the door. The little bell hanging on the door knob tinkles at the same volume at the same time every night.

Doesn't matter.

My dumbass dog sleeps on the floor beside our bed every night. Every night at about the same time, the key slides in the lock, the doorknob turns, the door opens, the little bell rings, and the door closes again. In her entire life, Scully has never known her family to be attacked by any Freddy Kruegerish characters wielding axes and chainsaws.

And yet, every night, she is completely convinced this event is about to occur for the first time.

Some dogs have an early-warning system: Head pops up, tags clink together, ears perk up, maybe there's a little growl. Some have a pre-bark. You know, one of those little under the breath jobs that sounds like "boof!" Sometimes, instead of the exclamantion point, the "boof" comes with a question mark after it, and is loosely translated to "what the hell was that noise?" Those are the kind of early warnings that allow the master to stir a bit, issue a drowsy "It's just Z-Man. Shhhhh. It's OK," and go right back to sleep.

Scully has no early warning system. She goes immediately and without warning into "defend against the crazed meth freak axe murderer mode." That full-throated from the diaphragm window-rattling master-levitating-out-of-the-bed bark that sends a lightning bolt through my brain and down my spine in .5 seconds, assuring that I am finished sleeping for a while.

DAMMIT SCULLY!!! WOULD YOU KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF!!

She does it just to piss me off. I know she's silently laughing her ass off every time. See, we both know that if she really thought there was an evildoer coming through the door, she'd be up on our bed, under the sheets, cowering between us and probably pissing on our fine linen.

If she could just hear the sound, look at the damned clock, and say to herself: "Hmmmm. 1:00AM. Door opened with a key. Z-Man must be home from work," maybe we'd both get more sleep.

So, if you know anyone who can teach golden retriever to tell time, wanna send him my way?

Progress Note: As of this afternoon, the cement pond is still crystal clear and gorgeous, and I haven't added so much as a teaspoonful of chlorine. If you're thinking of having your water tested by Paddock.....don't. You might recall they checked my water last week, and said if I didn't immediately add ten pounds - not ounces or cups - but ten pounds of pool shock, then something akin to Jabba The Hut would come crawling out of my cement pond, put a chain around my neck, dress me in a brass bikini, and make me his bitch. Didn't happen.
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