Neanderpundit

Partners place has many acres out back which are- not to put too fine a point on it- wild. Took Max over there yesterday and let him run, and he went so apeshit I think he forgot how to wag. he was sort of stutter-wagging, and at one point his tail was making a circle. At the end of the day I think his butt muscles must have been sore, he was wagging so hard- and he even scared up a bunny. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that alert!

Anyway, he was sleeping like a log, and even sleep-wagging, all night long. We could hear him on the living room floor- “Thumpthump. Thump. Thumpthump.” all night long. Few things as satisfying as a happy beagle.

On the way home, head out the window, we came on two kids coming back from fishing. he waited till he was right there, and bark/howled like the hound of the baskervilles. The kids, I think, probably peed themselves a bit. he’s loud for a little dog.

Is about the blind man and the pool of Siloam. The bottomline being “Real vision comes from the Creator, it is not something you can acquire for yourself”.

Look to your friendly neighborhood antitheist for proof that this is true. It is no mistake or accident that the angriest and contrariest are the anti-theists.

Peter over at Bayou Renaissance man, posts a list of odd book titles. The one that sticks with me is “How to poo on a date”. This hits a nerve because I have been- several times- faced with this proposition.

Once upon a time, in my lush rolling youth, I had a phillipino girlfriend some nine years my junior. I was broke and she was loaded so usually she bought dinner and we retired to some secluded place to play variations on hide-the-salami. Oh, sometimes I could spring for a room but when the weather was fine we preferred the great outdoors. And one of the great outdoor places we liked a lot were industrial parks.

See, at the time, nobody could afford security cameras, and big box industrial units all had loading docks, so I would park my Probe down in the loading dock, invisible from the street, and we would get busy.

One night, after a particularly large meal, I was hiding my sausage with some vigor when I discovered I needed to drop the kids off at the pool. RIGHT NOW. So I excused myself, hurriedly grabbing the roll of blue shoptowels out of the back of the car, leaving her spread-eagled on a blanket next to the car. I ran as fast as my clenched cheeks would let me, and as I crested the ramp and crossed the lot into the shrubbery, I noticed there was a lake. “Oh, look, a lake!” I said as I squatted, I had hoped out of sight, and began to do my business.

My ladyfriend, possessed of a wicked sense of humor, turned on the car’s headlights, beaming my squatting silhouette onto the side of the adjacent building in a shadow easily thirty feet tall.

What could I do? I finished what I was doing, hoping the police wouldn’t be drawn to this unholy squatting batsignal, got the paperwork done, and returned to finish where I had started.

From that moment on, all she had to do was say “Oh, look, a lake” (Usually in front of her parents) and I turned red as a fire engine.