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Tuesday, January 27, 2015

MY ONE GREAT DOG


MY ONE GREAT DOG
I am currently pet less.  I will probably remain that way; Mrs. Cranky is not really that fond of animals.  I never thought I could be with a person who did not like pets.  I thought wrong.  Mrs. C. did have a rabbit in a former life.  I do like rabbits, but in the yard, not in the house.
I am not a cat person, though I can definitely see their appeal as a pet. 
I am a dog person. 
Growing up we had a Cocker Spaniel, a Boxer and a Beagle.  My family moved from Long Island, NY to California when I was five.  We left the Spaniel.  I never did find out what happened to the Spaniel, probably a friend with a farm took her.  Mom did not want to drive out to California with three kids and a dog.  Mom could be pretty practical and stoic.  She left the dog.
I loved the boxer.  The boxer came from a home that did not treat her nicely.  The boxer did not like men.  The boxer did not like my father.  The boxer bit my father.  My father took the boxer to stay with a friend on a farm.  We never visited the friend on the farm.
The beagle was a fun dog, but like many beagles, he ran away.  He ran away a lot.  He always came back.  One night he came back and he had apparently been in an car accident.  The beagle never completely recovered. He was never the same.  Among other issues he was no longer house broken.  He peed a lot.  He pooped a lot.  Dad took the beagle to his friend on the farm where we never visited.
My next dog was after I was married, it was an American Black and Tan (mutt).  He was a good dog, but he was not particularly loved by my wife.  I went away one weekend and when I came back she had taken the dog to the pound.  He was not claimed and so we took him back before he was sent to a farm.  We had the Black and Tan for 15 years.  He was also a runner and would only come back if I chased him in my VW.  If I called from the VW he would hop in and I would take him home, otherwise he would not come when called…go figure.  The black and tan lived for 15 years when he came down with Lyme’s Disease.
Then there was Minnie, a beautiful Black Lab.  Minnie was the one great dog everyone hopes to have.  You can have nice dogs, you can have fun dogs, but apparently everyone is allotted only one great dog in their life, the one that can never truly be replaced.
Minnie did not run away.  She was house trained and when out for a walk would do her business on command.  She would retrieve whatever you threw for her.  You could throw a tennis ball at her as hard as you could from just a short distance and she would catch it and beg for more.  When Minnie was tired and lying down, she still wanted to play.  I would roll a ball at her and she would stop it with her nose and then push it right back at me also with her nose.  She loved to swim.  She was smart.
Minnie was good with everyone, especially kids.  She never growled or nipped no matter what you did.  Kids might pull her ear and she would just walk away.  She was a solid dog, the kind you could thump.  My son's friend once described her as one big black muscle.
In all her life the one bad thing Minnie would do that we could not correct, was she loved tissues.  She would get them, chew them and leave a mess.  She just could not help herself.
Cancer took my one great dog when she was eleven.  We took her to the vet.  At the vets we had Minnie put down.  We stayed with her, we stroked her and we sang to her. 
There were tears.  There were tissues for the tears. 
Just before Minnie succumbed to the drugs, she reached out with her mouth and grabbed a tissue.  We did not try and correct her.
I’ve had some good dogs; The Black Lab was my one great dog.

Monday, January 26, 2015

HEH! IN A CAN


HEH! IN A CAN
My wife has a word which she often uses in our conversations.

HEH!!  Rhymes with Meh.

It is a very handy, very versatile word…it is a yell sometimes. 

Remember how many ways your mother could call you by your name and you knew immediately if you broke something, forgot something, lost something, or on a rare occasion did something good? 

Wives do the same thing with Heh!

HEH.  If said matter-of-factly it means, “So who cares.”


HEH.  When it is said loudly it means, “I don’t think so.”


HEH.  When said really loud it means, “You have got to be kidding.”


HEH!  When said loudly and with attitudinal emphasis it means, “It is not going to happen.”


HEH!!  I don’t know and I don’t want to find out.


Heh is a word I would like to use myself, but I can’t.  I think most men are just not able to hit that certain note, that special timbre, that unique way that only women have of speaking volumes, volumes with different meanings, all with one word or phrase.

So for men to compete with their wives, I propose a new invention:

“HEH! IN A CAN”

An air horn with multiple settings that blast outs your own special “HEH!”

Yes, “HEH! IN A CAN,” for those special occasions when only a HEH response will do. 

Say your wife hints she would like an expensive gift.  Pull out your “HEH! IN A CAN” set it to low and hit her with her own medicine, an “I don’t think so HEH.”

Your wife tells you that if you go out for drinks after work you can make your own damn dinner.  Pull out your “HEH! IN A CAN” and ratchet it up a notch.

Your wife claims to be good at maintaining a budget.  “HEH! IN A CAN” has a setting for that.

Your wife wants to invite her mother over on Saturday night… “HEH! IN A CAN” can respond.

Yes, “HEH! IN A CAN!”  Fight back with attitude just like your wife does, all with one simple response.  

Clearly this is a great idea.

I already have a follow up product. 


“INFLATABLE DOG HOUSE IN A CAN.”   

THE SUPER BOWL PARTY - a cranky re-run

THE SUPER BOWL PARTY
This cranky re-run is from February 2012

For the fifth straight year, I will be watching the Super Bowl at home.  No Super Bowl party for the Cranky Old Man.  I will miss watching with my 13 year old son Spencer as he has been whisked off to another state by his BPD mom (thanks a lot NJ Custody Courts and its dumb ass judge who has absolute ZERO understanding of the relationship between a teenage boy and his dad.)  I will NOT miss the Super Bowl Party.

The Super Bowl Party is not about the Super Bowl.  It is not about football.  It is about showing off food, and 58 inch TV sets.  The Super Bowl party is to football fans, what the New Years Eve party is to alcoholics; strictly for amateurs. 

Part of the problem with the Super Bowl party is women. Super Bowl parties all have women.  Don’t take offence ladies, but when you all talk about breast feeding, child birth, monthly visits and shoes, I step the frick out of the conversation.  At the Super Bowl party I really don’t want to hear that the Patriots will win because Tom Brady is “Like way more awesomer than Eli Maningham.” 

Every Super Bowl party should have a large poster by the TV stating:

1.    The names of the teams and their uniform colors


2.    Where the game is being played


3.    The temperature at game time


4.    Who is lip-synching at half time


These are the questions asked by every woman who enters the Super Bowl party; there is no need to answer them 18 times.

This one fries my patoot.  A controversial play ends in a loss of downs and change of possession, when the commercial comes on and the men strike up a discussion about what just transpired on the field, they get shouted down by the women, “SHHHH, it’s the new “Bank One” commercial!”  I can’t talk football because it interrupts the fucking commercials?  WTF!

Half time should be for recapping the first half, arguing over play selection, going to the bathroom, eating chili, drinking beer and marching bands.  Not at the Super Bowl party.  Half time is for quieting down, dropping everything, and watching this year’s superstar lip-synch her latest hit song to the backdrop of 287 dancers, 5000 fans fucking up the field, and $500,000 worth of fireworks. 

W O-fucking W!!

CAN WE PLEASE GET BACK TO FOOTBALL?

The second half is played with critiques of the half-time show and endless discussions of 47 different commercials competing with the play by play calling of the game on TV.  The game is always secondary at the Super Bowl party. 

The Super Bowl party sucks!
Can anyone guess why the Cranky Old Man has not been invited to a Super Bowl party in the last five years?  

It does not matter. I am not seeking a party invite, if invited I will not accept, and if my wife accepts, I will not attend.