THE DOG CLOCK

Chrissy made the observation to me the other day that I haven’t written a blog post about Sydney recently.  She said that lots of people who have blogs write about their dogs, that I should write something about the dog.

I mentioned that I had offered an installment about Sydney a couple of years ago.

Her retort was that back then even I wasn’t reading this stupid blog.  Today, there’s probably tens of people who’d like to know what our Australian Sheppard is up to.  So in order to appease my lovely wife, and avoid getting smacked in the head with a shoe – here’s what’s new with Sydney…in her own words.

Bone: So Sydney – what’s crackin’?
 

Sydney: (Blank stare)
 

Bone: Have you read any good books lately?
 

Sydney: (Blank stare)
 

Bone: Any luck catching that damn squirrel?
 

Sydney: (Blank stare)
 

Bone: What’s the floor taste like?  I notice you lick it a lot.
 

Sydney: (Blank stare)
 

Bone: Hey nice job on hiding that rawhide last week, I never would have found it under my pillow.
 

Sydney: (Blank stare, then walks away)

You see, I talk to the dog all the time but yet she never has anything interesting to add to the conversation.  Oh she’ll tell you when she’s looking for a biscuit or ready for dinner, and she’ll alert the neighborhood when the pizza guy shows up at the door.  But a simple question like “Who’s a good doggie?” is typically followed with a look like she’s thinking “Shut the fuck up and get me a milk bone bitch.”   Spoiled indignation.

Not surprising, the dog is treated like royalty here in Giddyland.  She gets home cooked meals every night, sleeps in the bed every night as well (she snores).  The top of the refrigerator is a vertible who’s who in the land of dog treats. 

Recently, Sydney wielded her influence while shopping with my wife at Petco.  She selected a new clock for our kitchen wall.  Here’s a photo – yup instead of numbers, there’s doggies. 

I know – it’s hideously ugly.  Even worse, at the top of every hour the fucking clock barks.  You could be enjoying a nice bowl of gruel and a glass of buttermilk when the damn thing starts barking.  Then Sydney, being the brainiac that she is starts barking thinking there’s another dog in the house.  Oh its just a ball of laughs.

What’s worse is that the dog clock is an upgrade.  It replaced the bird clock that chirped a different bird song at the top of every hour.  It came with the house (see it actually ON THE WALL highlighted in red in the picture at the top of this post!) and we only just now got around to “upgrading” it.  Problem here is, we’ve grown accustomed to the bird noises, so we’ve hung the bird clock at the other side of the kitchen, thereby, when combined with the clock on the stove and the one on the microwave lets us know exactly what time it is no matter where we are in the kitchen.

We’ve come to develop a new method for telling time.

BONE:  Sweety! What time is it?
 

CHRISSY:  It’s half past Bulldog.
 

BONE: Thanks, let me know when it’s Poodle fifteen, I have to call my probation officer!
 

CHRISSY: OK sweety!

So on any given day, should you find yourself in our kitchen at the top of the hour, you’ll hear birds singing, dogs barking, and me banging my head against the table.