When I was married, I had a little Yorkshire Terrier named Honey. One day a stray dog showed up in our yard and he looked hungry, so I fed him. By the time my husband noticed him hanging around and said not to feed that dog, well, I’d already been feeding him for over two weeks. I couldn’t stop now.

So the dog continued to hang around, but everytime I tried to bring him in the house, my husband fussed so much that I just let him stay in the front yard. I did try putting him in the backyard, but found out that he could climb the fence and would climb the fence if confined . . .

One winter night I opened the front door to see how much it had snowed, and there curled up on my doormat was the stray dog . . . I called my husband to come look . . . and he said to put him in the basement . . . so Tramp got to walk through the house that night and slept in our warm basement.

Fast forward a few months and the stray dog had been named Tramp, since he looked so much like the dog in “Lady and the Tramp” by Disney . . . the movie dog . . .But a few months after that snowy night, my Yorkie went into heat. Someone forgot and left a door open and Tramp got to Honey, and I was devastated. So I called the vet.

The vet said with Tramp’s testicles never descending like they should have, he expected that Tramp was sterile. Make an appointment and bring him in and he’d get a sample and check it for sperm.

So the next morning at breakfast, I told my husband that Tramp had a vet appointment and I needed him to take Tramp in. He looked confused and asked “why?” Why did he have to take Tramp in and not me?

So I explained that the vet would be trying to get a sperm sample and I was too embarrassed to be there.

My husband fussed and he complained, but he called into work and said he’d be a little late . . .

Off they went!

A couple hours later my husband stormed into the house and threw Tramp’s leash on the floor and said Tramp would not cooperate and the vet said to bring him back at 2:00 so he could try again. Tramp was tired of being manipulated.

So I said I guess he’d miss a whole day of work, and he said, “Hell no!” and stormed out the door muttering about not staying home all day jerking the dog off.

I called the vet and asked if I could bring Tramp in? He said sure, and bring Honey . . . it might help.

We found out that Tramp was indeed sterile, which came in handy when Tramp climbed over my neighbor’s fence to get to her dog who was out in her backyard and in heat. When my neighbor called me and finally quit calling my dog names and yelling, I assured her that her dog was not pregnant. Tramp was sterile. She asked how I knew that and didn’t seem to believe me. She insisted on getting the name and number of my vet. He assured her that Tramp was sterile and yes, he was sure.


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Freudian Slip?

If I notice an error when proofreading what I’ve typed, was it a Freudian slip?

Freud·i·an slip
ˌfroidēən ˈslip/
  1. an unintentional error regarded as revealing subconscious feelings.

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Not a Penny Left

I took one of my sons out for dinner last night. I insisted on picking up the check. I enjoy spending money on those I love.

I know my sons worry about my finances, but until I have to ask them for money, it’s none of their business how I spend mine. This one worried aloud if I should be paying for this. I told him, “It’s twenty-five dollars. What else am I going to do with my money, if I don’t enjoy it while I’m still here?” I went on to explain “That’s twenty-five dollars you three won’t argue about when I’m gone. I’m keeping you from fighting over it.” He smiled and didn’t say anything.

It’s my money. If I want to enjoy it while I’m alive, I will.

I plan to die penniless.

They all know I don’t want to live, if I can’t get up and do for myself. I’ve researched the states that allow euthanasia. As we baby boomers age, I imagine there will be more of those states. I’ve told them to send me to Ohio with a note directing the taxi to the Euthanasia Clinic.

They’re going to love each other when I’m gone because there will be nothing left to argue about.

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I Can See Clearly . . .

Old people’s eyelids are so thin that when they close their eyes and tell you they’re “just resting their eyes”, they’re really still watching you.

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The ifetch too and Joy

I bought my younger dog, Joy, an ifetch too for Christmas.Yesterday we tried using it with her. My middle son, Conrad, helped with putting balls in it. Joy did not grasp the concept of what was going on. At one point she stuck her nose in the ifetch too to try to get back the ball he had just dropped into it. I made three videos of them with the ifetch. I will post one of them here.

This morning I put the ifetch into a chair. I taught Joy one summer to put the ball she fetched outside into the lawn chair. If I can get her to understand what is going on, I can train her to use the ifetch. She seemed to realize the machine was throwing the balls today. That will be today’s lesson. I’ll play with her and the ifetch in the chair a few more times. I’ve asked Conrad to record me putting the ball into the machine and Joy watching and running after it. When that is recorded, I’ll add that video to this post as well.

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The Hidden Pill

I think my dog gets as angry with me when I hide a pill in her treat as I get with her when she finds it and spits it out. She seldom finds it, but when she does, we both stay angry too long.

She has Arthritis. This expensive, expensive pill will help her pain.

She foolishly spits it out.

I vow not to ever buy more. I lie. She always gets another bottle of them when what she has runs out.

But it galls me to see her ingratitude.

She hurts so bad that once in awhile, she falls down. She looks at me in consternation when it happens.

I tell her “Get up”, as if it’s fine and nothing to worry about. Sometimes I help her up.

Her pill lies beside her plate, spit out again for the second time.

I am angry and so is she.


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We Baby Boomers made it easy for you until we couldn’t any more.

Now it’s our fault your easy ride has ended?

Point taken.

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