Well, finally I have proof. I've been claiming for years now that my 8 1/2

year *young* Golden, Becky can fly. People all look at me strange and nod

their heads in their best "yeah, sure, if you say so" style. Humor the guy.

He ain't right. So, even though I'm certain you are all **sick** of hearing

about the Richardson travels--eat your hearts out--you need to know that we

did get photographic proof of Becky's ability to fly while on the journey.

During our stay at "Faraway", the pristine cabin on Humboldt Mt. in N. CA

owned by Suzanne Bria & Ted Temple, we managed to get some great pictures of

the amazing Becky, the **Evel Knieval** of dogs doing her **gung-ho** water

entries. The picture we took has her launching off a dock, she has perhaps 5

ft. of air under her in the best photo I got. This is by **no means** the

highest "dive" she's ever taken. Probably the highest was the time I jumped

off a rock into the Washougal River while swimming, the rock is over 10 ft.

above the water. As I surfaced, my wife Michael was screaming "look out!!!"

Good thing, too, as here came Becky, right off the rock after me. Had

Michael not hollered--I think I might have found out how 63 lbs. of flying

dog feels when she hits you on the head! While getting these pictures at

"Faraway", we tried to get Peggy Sue, Earnie, and Gemma to try a

"launch"--no go! Gemma and Earnie thought about it--Peggy Sue let us know

there was **no way** a lady like her was going to high-dive. So, if you're

interested, I can send you a JPEG personally, or wait a few days and Helen

will likely have quite a few photos of the CA get-together on her web page!

Again, if you **ever** get a chance to meet up with other G&H members--do

it! What a truly wonderful, fun filled group!

Becky [Aw, shucks, I coulda got more air--but the dock was slick! Slipped

and damn near killed myself one time. Dad has a picture of that bad landing,

too. How embarrassing!]

Earnie [Uhhhhh--maybe next time? I know! Let's have a few beers, a little

liquid courage, maybe?]

Peggy Sue [I will fetch the stick, or the ball, BUT--I will enter the pool

like the lady I am, thank you very much. Becky, you're a Tomboy!]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Rolled out early this AM--was supposed to help my brother inspect some

siding on an apartment complex today. Sounds pretty cerebral, right? <VBG>

Probably a challenge for two Richardsons. Two Richardsons--double dumb.

Weather here is--horrendous. High wind. Lashing rain, some sleet, feels like

being hit with needles when you're out in it. Pulled on my long underwear.

Got out a wool shirt. Two pairs of wool socks. Wool gloves. Rubber pants,

Gore-Tex jacket. Nor'Wester hat. Ready for work! The phone rings. My little

brother claims it's too nasty to work outside. I call him a "woos" and

remind him--"if ya snooze, ya lose"--Doesn't budge him. Dang. All dressed

up, nowhere to go, right? Nah! Shoot, the dogs took one look at my

fashionable outfit and figured we were going for a run! They're FRAPing all

over the place. Excited. Great Golden weather. Looking out the back window

at the meadow, I see the creek has flooded the fields again. Perfect. Quick

breakfast--leash up the dogs--we're off! Backpack full of tennis balls,

garage-sale racquet at the ready! Into the fields--slip the leashes

off--ROCK 'N ROLL, baby! All three dogs head for the biggest pond left by

the flooded creek--SPLASH!!! All heads turn toward me--"hit the balls";

their eyes say! Does the wind and sleet bother them? You kidding? Wahoo

dogs! I whack balls for close to [gasp!] two hours! Dogs are water cooled

today, hard to wear out a water-cooled Golden. Then I notice the two girls

heading off across the field--to an area where the waters drain off rapidly.

In the past, this is the area where they usually find *dead fish* left

land-locked. Yeah, they roll in 'em. Charming. Now, I notice they're acting

strange. Pouncing, stiff-legged on something I can't see through the high

grass. Earnie joins them. I try to call them off. Uh-uh, no way, whatever

they've found is **really** Interesting. This is **not** good. The only way

for me to get to that part of the field is to wade ankle deep--and my hiking

boots aren't that high! Well, ya gotta do what ya gotta do, right? I squish

over there. Arrgggghhhh! The dogs have found a very alive, very large Eel.

Probably a Lamprey Eel--common in these parts. It's 4 feet long, as big

around as your arm--and ***ugly***!! Eels can live out of the water for a

long time--if their skin doesn't dry out. The dogs are trying to figure this

thing out. Not a snake--not a fish--nothing they're familiar with. Becky

tries to pick it up--much to my disdain! I'm making noises that sound very

much like "EEEEeeeeeeeeelllllllllll" while sloshing toward the action. Becky

makes a face, drops the Eel. Must taste bad. Really bad if a Golden thinks

it's nasty. These are the creatures who enjoy all manners of strange scat,

Peggy Sue of course eats her *own* Lawn Tacos--! Earnie pounces on it. Jumps

away quickly--looks confused. Eels don't kill easily, BTW. OK--now I'm in

the middle of the fracus, what to do with this poor Eel-- stranded 50 feet

from the creek? I'm not real squeamish--but the thought of picking up a very

alive, slimy Eel right after breakfast doesn't appeal to me, somehow. Think.

How can I get the damned thing away from the dogs and back into the creek?

If I don't it'll die here, and **then** the dogs know what to do with it.

Yeah, wait 'till it ripens, and roll in it--yechhhhhh! Ah! Brainstorm! I

take my tennis racquet, slide it under the Eel, and flip it towards the

creek. This makes the Eel *very* lively--Eels usually don't

fly--thankfully-- and *really* turns on the dogs, two of whom now have their

Prey Drive in overdrive--!! I keep flipping the Eel, 10 feet at a time,

toward the rampaging waters of the flooded creek. This thing must weight 15

lbs. The dogs keep pouncing on it. Finally, I flip the slimy sucker into the

creek, where it hastily swims away. All three disappointed dogs watch the

creek for the next 5 minutes. I get dirty looks. I spoiled their fun. I am

soaked up to my knees. I should have gone to work. Nah! Heck, this was a

*lot* more fun than working! As I write this there are three real tuckered

pups sleeping in the room. Ah, the smell of three wet dogs! Stimulating! Add

the stench of the dogs to another adventure--beats working!

Becky [Hey! Peggy Sue! Earnie! C'mon over here! I found something *really*

disgusting! Too Kewl!]

Peggy Sue [OOooooo! Neat-o! But--let's let it die and rot--then it'll be

even MORE interesting!]

Earnie [Wow! It's really *ugly*! Does it bite? I'm keeping a safe distance,

here. Becky, you're crazy for picking that sucker up!]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD

Living in SW Washington State; USA

During our visit to the Rehabilitation Center with Becky this morning, a

funny thing happened. We were making room to room visits, Michael in the

lead, me handling Becky. We'd visited with about half the residents when we

walked out of one of the rooms into a hallway. Sitting in this hallway in

her wheelchair was a very old woman, sitting stock-still, staring at the

wall. We came abreast of her wheelchair and asked our standard question:

"Would you like to meet our dog, Becky?" No response. None. Tried again.

Still nothing, her glassy eyed stare was focused on something we couldn't

see. Perhaps something in her past, who knows? One of the Care Givers passed

by and told us the woman was not very responsive. As if we couldn't see

that. Not quitting easily, I moved Becky closer to the wall, so she'd be

inside the woman's field of vision. Asked the question again--"Would you

like to meet Becky?" No response. Becky nearly had her head in this woman's

lap by now. Becky seemed to sense something--or perhaps it was the sight of

a human hand *not* petting her--you decide. Becky shoved her nose right

under the woman's hand. The woman's eyes slowly came into focus. She stared

down at Becky. She exclaimed in perfect diction "Oh, my, what a pretty dog!"

She took Becky's head in her hands and hugged her, all the time telling

anyone in the vicinity what a pretty girl Becky was! We let this go on for

perhaps 5 minutes, and then told the woman we needed to move on and visit

some of the other residents. As I turned away, I received a resounding whack

on my butt---as the woman exclaimed "Y'all C'mon back--Y'hear"?

Unbelievable--! Gee, but it's been a long time since I got patted on the

**arse** by a strange woman---! That, my friends, is a pat on the backside

I'll always remember.

Becky [I knew she was in there--I could tell! She just needs a dog buddy!]

Peggy Sue [Next week it's my turn!]

Earnie [I got to stroll down the hallways, it's fun getting used to all the

wheelchairs and stuff. One old dude really likes me! Says I have a big

head--what's he mean by that, anyway?]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD

Living in SW Washington State; USA

In light of the ongoing discussions of the "dangers" of Nursing Home

Therapy/Visitations involving our K-9 buddies, I thought I would make an

attempt at putting things in perspective. First, allow me to explain the

term "Kevorkian Award" is not my invention. I believe I may have first heard

about it from a list member, Susan Bill. The idea behind the "Kevorkian"

award is to present this not-so-coveted award to the dog/handler combination

who manages to create the most havoc in a Nursing Home situation in a given

year. Actually, if this were an award I coveted, there could be no contest.

Earnie would win it paws down. All I'd need to do is to sit with Earnie at

the end of a hallway, wait for the maximum number of Residents to totter

down said hallway, and then toss a tennis ball -- I can see the overturned

wheelchairs, the prone bodies, as Earnie loses all his marbles in pursuit of

the tennis ball. For this reason, when visiting, we always ask the Home if

they have any retired Tennis Pros, etc. Can't be too careful. It was also

mentioned that a dog could possibly scoop up a wayward pill, perhaps

ingesting a medication toxic to the dog. Yup, could happen. But--when we

lived in N. Portland, you were far more likely to find drugs laying about in

an alley, or a park. In most large cities, used syringes are a hazard. Our

Doberman was stuck with one while playing on a local beach some years back.

The parks are full of them. Also, the same folks who are afraid of catching

something in a Nursing Home environment think nothing of taking their dogs

to an off-leash park, subjecting the animals not only to possible physical

injury, but all manners of communicable diseases passed on by others

animals. Danger is a subjective matter. In my 25 years of working on the

waterfront, life was fraught with danger. Illegal methamphetimine

manufacturers regularly dumped their debris on the Port's property. This

stuff is so toxic, if your dog even walks through it, the dog is dead. Take

the time the Grain Elevator decided to begin poisoning pigeons. The pigeons

were pooping in the grain being shipped to other countries. Bad news. So

they hired this dude to poison 'em. Wow. Problem was, the birds got sick and

literally died in mid-air, falling out of the sky. Add this to the fact they

lost control of their bowels at the same time, and it gave you a really good

reason to wear a hard hat and raincoat. Hard hats. We were required to wear

them. I always wondered why--working under a waterfront crane lifting

containers, the smallest thing that might fall on you is an empty container.

5 tons. The loaded ones can weight 10 times that. It was decided that the

reasoning for this was that the little I.D. tag you wore on your hat might

be legible when the hard hat was forced out your ass when the container fell

on you. Many people died during my years down there--one fellow was in the

hold of a ship, the lashing failed on a 36 ft. Chris-Craft they were

lowering. Fell full on top of the guy. Not pretty. Another several were run

over by top-loaders--huge machines designed to move containers on & off

trucks. Shovel job to clean up the mess left by these things. So, I guess

I'd have to say the *dangers* of a Nursing Home visit don't loom too large

in my view. Perhaps getting slapped on the butt is a hazard, I hope so!

Please don't misunderstand the reason for this missive. I do not wish to

ridicule those who worry about possible problems. Problems can, and do

exist, I'm sure. Michael & I aren't exactly new to these visitations, having

done them off & on for about 12 years now--maybe more. There are as many

programs as there are cities, places to get your dogs "certified" and where

you, the handler, can obtain some training as to proper conduct in these

situations. Certification in some ways is a joke, anyway--as any liability

that may occur usually does not fall back on the person who did the

"certification" on your dog. It is *your* problem. So, **know** your dog! If

you're not sure of the dogs temperament--don't take the chance! My primary

objective for writing this is--hey, take a chance, make somebody happy. You

**can** improve somebody's day! Check with your Homeowners Policy if you're

concerned about insurance. We did, we are covered--quite handsomely, may I

add. If you worry about liability in everything you do, you won't drive a

car, you certainly won't *ever* let your dog play off lead, and you most

likely won't make a difference in your neighborhood. So go for it. The

rewards far outweigh the *dangers* involved. If we worried about being sued

all the time, my wife, who has done 35 years of volunteer work with young

mothers, juvenile offenders, girl scouts, and on and on--would have stayed

home and knitted sweaters. Has she made a difference in our community

through her efforts? Yes. You can, too. Don't let the *what ifs* stop you.

The satisfaction you receive is all the reward you'll need. Go for it. Need

direction? Call your local Humane Society. Work with a local Nursing Home.

There are **many** roads to the top of the mountain.

Becky [Chances? I dive off cliffs, hurl my body through blackberries and

brush! That's what life is about! Take a chance!]

Peggy Sue [Do the pills they drop on the floor taste like poop? I won't eat

a pill unless it's coated with butter, anyway--!]

Earnie [I wanna go to the Old Tennis Pros Home--! Move over, Jack Kevorkian!

I'm a lot like Tank MacNamara, the old football player--fumble!

Yaarrrgghhh!]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Out in the Yard, grubbin' weeds. Place is beginning to look un-occupied.

Because pulling weeds is right up there with Oral Surgery on my

"pleasuremometer" it's gotta get **bad** before I crawl around like an

Oregon Slug picking undesirable stuff out of the flowerbeds. Gotta do what

ya gotta do. I look up from my kneeling position near the street and notice

an older dude [even older than me! Just slightly younger than dirt--!] being

pulled down the street by a Golden Retriever. He's leaning backward at a 30

degree angle, this dog has it in 4-low and is really pulling. Can't ignore a

Golden Retriever, right? Michael & I both quit weeding and strike up a

conversation with this fellow. Dogs name is "Penny" and she's 2 years old.

Red in color, badly in need of grooming, considerably overweight. We kneel

to pet the dog, which is far more pleasurable than kneeling to pull weeds.

Dog of course gets excited, and begins to *mug* both of us. We don't mind.

In fact, we enjoy it! Slobbery kisses, wiggles, RRrrrrs--the whole gamut.

Sweet dog. Except this poor man is trying to get Penny to "sit". Penny is

way too excited to sit. Excited Goldens always get hard of listening, don't

they? He keeps yelling and yanking on this poor creature while we try to

assure him it's OK, it's OK---, we **love** dogs! He must be hard of

hearing, he yells louder and yanks harder, becoming a bit agitated. Finally,

in order to save the poor dog, I reach out, grab her collar, and tell her

calmly: "SIT". She does. Then, I notice that under *all* that fur, there is

not one-- not two-- but--*three* collars. A *far too tight* "choke chain"; a

leather strap collar; and a too-tight "pinch collar" which his lead is

connected to. I feel carefully around Penny's neck, trying not to be too

obvious. This really is a nice old gentleman. He does mean well. He does

love the dog. Not a mean guy--just frustrated because Penny doesn't do the

King's English. He needs some training, not Penny. As I covertly check

Penny's neck, I feel huge scabs that I assume have been caused by these

collars being improperly fitted and used. Penny doesn't have any other

obvious skin trouble, so it sure looks like collar damage. I ask him why all

the collars? He replies "oh, I only put them on when I walk her". Uh-huh. I

ask him if he's seen a "Gentle Leader". No. Michael fetches Earnie's "Gentle

Leader", I show him how it works, fit it on Penny, lead her around a bit

extolling it's virtues--no damage to the dog, lots of stress on the fact it

will help keep Penny from pulling him all over the neighborhood. Big benefit

to him, easier on the dog. Win-win situation. He's impressed. We hope he

does as he says, which is to rush right out and buy one. Then, we begin to

get the rest of the picture. Those of you in rescue can probably relate to

this. Penny has her "own" doghouse--a fact he was very proud of. Penny lives

outside. Penny is only allowed in the house occasionally, and then only

allowed to occupy one rug, near the door. Poor Penny, I'm thinking. Sigh.

Poor Penny. I wonder how many times this same story could be repeated, all

over America. I feel helpless, and depressed. Penny is by now in her "own

doghouse" all alone, out in the dark. Full of Golden love and kisses, and

nobody to share them with. No Golden wants to live that way. I think I'll go

snuggle my three. That always helps. C'mere, you fuzzbutts! Snuggle time!

Becky [Well, sure, we live in the house--but you don't let us sleep on the

bed! You should feel guilty--!]

Peggy Sue [Yeah, and mom won't let us on the upstairs couch, either! You

guys are croooooooeelllll! I'll tell the list how mean ya are!]

Earnie [You used **my** Gentle Leader? I sure hope Penny doesn't have fleas!

You got some nerve, you didn't even ask me!]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Becky has always loved playground slides. While visiting Deb Haggerty, we

were over at a local park, where Becky made some fast friends of the

"toddler" variety. These kids were scared to death of the "big dog" until

Becky began climbing up the ladder to the *Big Slide* and gliding

down--every kid in the playground wanted to "slide with the doggie" so they

could "tell their friends" about the experience. Ladders are sort of

dangerous around Becky, too. I once placed my 20 ft. extension ladder

against the side of the house and climbed onto the roof. I noticed the

ladder wiggling about--guess who? Yup, Becky was about 10 feet off the

ground and still climbing. Unfortunately, she's not nearly as good at

getting down as she is up. Since that time I'm careful to leave her in the

house if I'm on the roof--! So the Agility Equipment in our classes is no

big deal to the "Flying Red Bitch"!

Becky [I was almost on that roof, I coulda made it!]

Peggy Sue [Dumb dog. Even Blondes know better than that! Shoulda left her on

the roof!]

Earnie [Wow! Way cool! I wonder if Becky could chase that squirrel up the

tree?]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD

Living in SW Washington State; USA

> Norma Jean loves the BIG slides! When she was about 5 months old I

> decided to climb up the ladder of one in the park, just to see what her

> reaction would be to me being "way up there" without her. Well,by the

> time I reacked the top and turned to look down she was already right

> below me! We then slid down together. The ladder on this slide goes

> almost straight up from the ground and is at least 15 feet high! She

> loved it and has been doing it ever since/ She's a real crowd pleaser

> and people gather from all over to watch. The other 4 won't do it, but

> wait at the bottom to punce on her! Big fun!

>

> Amy

> Rosie, Dan, Dave, Lola, & Norma Jean

>

>

Now that the plans for the NW G&H gathering at Redmond WA on the 21st of

March have been pretty well firmed up, I have received a request. We will

make every effort to attend, so beware! Actually, I have received two

requests. One is to perform one of my patented "Anal Gland Expression

Clinics"; the other is to bring a Tennis Racquet. The Tennis Racquet

request--done! I'll bring several. But--the A.G.E.C. may be a bit more

difficult. Why? Timing. At the time the request was made, it was suggested

we could perform the Clinic once we had all eaten. Digested our food. Hmmm.

Methinks there may be a few of you a bit er, squeamish? Well, sorry--but

tradition [going back to Medieval Days--remember the movie "Tom Jones"?] is

a factor in **when** the A.G.E.C. is performed. Tradition has it that here

in N. America it should be performed just before the first course of the

dinner meal. In Europe, it will be performed just before the last course of

a dinner meal. The reason for this should be obvious. Salad Dressing. It

*must* be fresh! What's that mumbling and retching I hear--? You've never

tried it? Don't knock it! You eat Limburger Cheese, think *nothing* of

drenching your greens in Roquefort Dressing--Bleu Cheese, right? Ever give a

lot of thought to what you're eating? I thought not! While in France, I

observed my wonderful mate of some 35 years Pork Out on a dozen different

varieties of "Local Cheeses"-- most of which smelled exactly like some of

the worst beer farts you've ever smelled in the office elevator. Funny

thing, the more wine she consumed, the better those cheeses got! If you

think about it you have *absolutely* no idea where those Gourmet Delights

came from--or who was handling them with what. Ugh. I'll stick to Velveeta,

myself. So, if you've never tried A.G. Salad Dressing--you're in for a

treat! Just bring plenty of wine, everything tastes just fine!

Becky [Have any of you noticed that Anal Fluid from Red Dogs is darker than

the stuff from Blondes?]

Peggy Sue [This whole subject is disgusting. I'm going to cruise the yard

for snacks. I'm outa here.]

Earnie [Dad says I'm the test subject. My butt pooches out **just right**

for him to get a goooooood grip. Shoot, I don't mind! I'm used to it--!]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Final day. Fly out tomorrow. Flight confirmed. The day we *say goodbye,

Aloha, Manana, to our **best friends** the furkids. We've waited until the

last minute to pack. Why? Suitcases severely depress Becky. From the first

moment a suitcase exits the closet--the Red Dog goes into her "you don't

love me" mode. The recent thread on "moping" doesn't begin to describe poor

Becky's funk. Arrgghh. So this time we thought we'd be kind. No suitcases

until the dogs are at their "Country Club".

I say "wanna go?" This elicits the normal jumping, singing, running,

FRAPing, etc. I get out the collars! Even *more* excited antics! We load

them into the car, where we have already covertly loaded their two week

supply of food. All is OK until we load their beds. Uh-oh! Becky gives me

"the look". She *knows* something is amiss--the beds came out! Earnie &

Peggy Sue are pretty malleable--no problems from them. But Becky--!

To the K-9 Country Club. Earnie does his obedience classes here. He's crazy

about Susie, the owner. Much barking, excitement. We leave dogs in car, do

the paperwork. Then--it's time. We take the dogs into the "holding area".

Guilt. **Oh** **God** **The** **Guilt**! Becky does her best "Jewish

Mom" routine. Tries to escape back to the car. I swear I hear the call "Dead

Dog Walking"! Somehow Becky has insinuated this into my head. She's better

at spreading guilt than my mom ever was. Sigh. Gonna be hard to enjoy

ourselves knowing our poor puppies are without tennis balls, and the daily

use of my lap. Well, we'll give it our best shot. But, wow, will we ever

miss the daily FRAPs--Peggy Sue's Roo-Roos-- and nightly stealth attacks on

the Earnster--and Becky's use of my lap. The cuddles from the "boy". Peggy

Sues nightly "Futon Cuddles". Aw, heck, anybody want these dumb tickets to

Hawaii?

Becky [You don't love me. You're leaving me. Why can't I go? I'm always

good. What's a "quarantine" anyway? Sneak me in your bags!]

Earnie [Susie! Oh boy! Can we do some classes? I **like** Susie!]

Peggy Sue I'm like a Cockroach. I adapt. Zzzzzzz.]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang!!

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD; CGC

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD; CGC

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD; CGC

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Back home from wonderful, sunny, warm, Hawaii. It's 40 degrees here and

surprise! It's raining--! It's rained the last 93 out of 120 days. Sure

sorry we missed the last two weeks of it. Missed that rain like one misses

hemorrhoids. Picked up the Fuzz-Butts from the K-9 Country Club where

they've leisured away their last 17 days. I think they missed us. We parked

the van in the lot in front of the Kennel door--maybe 50 ft. from the Kennel

to the van. Left the sliding door open on the van. Kennel owner asked if we

brought leashes to get 'em to the car. Ha. I told her to "let 'em go"! She

did. We were nearly trampled in the rush for the van. Except for Becky, ever

the sly one, who found a large, open container of dog treats in the lobby on

her way through. Kennel owner attempted to throw her body over the treats.

Too late. The Red Bitch is **way quick** when it comes to goodies. Anyway,

all the dogs are nicely bathed, groomed, and healthy. Did we miss 'em? Oh,

yeah, we did! All the time we were in Hawaii, there seemed to be *something*

missing. Besides the dogs, of course. Couldn't quite place it. Until now

we're home. Hair. Dust Buffaloes! These things are important in ones life.

They contribute to an overall feeling of well-being. Usually, when wearing a

dark shirt, I can look down and imagine I have a hairy chest. Not in Hawaii.

No dog hair. Except for an occasional one that pops up in your food. But,

wow, only 30 minutes after picking up the dogs, I could look down and see

all this nifty blonde hair on my T-shirt! I make believe it's hair on my

chest. Makes me feel like a reeeel **man** with all that chest hair. See, I

have a lot of Indian in me. Yeah, I know, you think that explains other

facets of my personality. But--it's some strange French-Canadian Indian,

nothing as exciting as a Sioux Indian, or an Apache. At any rate, those of

us descended from Indian heritage tend to not have hairy chests. Think about

it. Seen many hairy-chested Redskins? Didn't think so. So, some of us tend

to feel inadequate and don't like to remove our shirts for fear of being

mistaken for plucked chickens with hairy legs. Particularly those of us with

a physique similar to Woody Allens. So, if I roll around a bit with the

dogs, pretty soon I'm nearly as hirsute as Burt Reynolds. I do, however,

have more hair on my head than Burt Reynolds. Less money, but I don't have

to spend a fortune for toupees. It all averages out. Well, gotta go. Think

I'll stand in front of a mirror and admire my hairy chest. While I'm at it,

I'll pick the hair out of my teeth that was in my salad.

Becky [I've been eye-ballin' that treat jar for 17 days-!]

Peggy Sue [I just wanna go home, I'll get treats there!]

Earnie [Gangway! I'm outa this place! Home, tennis balls! I'm in serious

tennis-ball deprivation here---!]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang!!

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD; CGC

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD; CGC

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD; CGC

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Sitting here with cold feet, cursing the damnable NW weather after two

*warm* weeks in Kona, Hawaii we're thinking--why not move? Then, it dawned

on me. Can't. Goldens. Three Goldens. They wouldn't survive. Why not?

Because they live to retrieve, that's why. If it's in the water, and it

moves or floats, it *must* be retrieved. The Golden creed. So what, you say?

Sharks. Yeah, Sharks, the type that swim. Here we were, standing on a remote

beach on the S. tip of the Big Island. I looked out at the water. About 100

feet off the beach, the rocks were moving. Hmmm. My sinuses were acting up.

Can't be. Rocks don't move. My imagination. Asked Michael to use her field

glasses to look at those black rocks out there. Not rocks. Sharks.

Black-tipped sharks, to be exact. Maybe 50 of them. They grow up to 5 ft.

long, and have a reputation for being aggressive. This particular bay was a

place the natives regularly made human sacrifices to sharks. Maybe the

sharks remember, I dunno. They're still hanging out there. I think about

Becky. One look at something moving out there--she'd **have** to bring it

back. This could get ugly. Doubt a batch of sharks would take kindly to

being dragged to the beach by the Red Bitch. Even the Alpha-Bitch of the

Universe might fail this test. She would likely become a part of the food

chain. Keep her out of the water, you say? Ha! Like asking Clinton to keep

his trousers on. Monica to keep her lip zipped. No way. So, think of the

expense of her custom-made Kevlar-reinforced chain mail suit, complete with

flotation devices, to allow her access to the water. Too expensive. Too

risky. Add that to the 6 month quarantine, nope. Need to move where it's

warm, no sharks. Card sharks, loan sharks, OK. Have them here. We can live

with that. Suggestions?

Becky [Shoot, they're just big ugly fish. I could fetch 'em up for ya!]

Earnie [So, you claim these big fish eat people? Even Republicans?]

Peggy Sue [What does Shark Poop taste like? ]

--

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang!!

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; TD; CGC

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet A.A.T.D; TD; CGC

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA; TD; CGC

Living in SW Washington State; USA