Tag Archives: dogs

fiction, funny stories, humor, ideas, silliness

A very special double repost…

I’m running short on ideas today, and I’m feeling a bit silly. I ran across this post from October 2018 on my original blog. It’s a ridiculous story idea I had back then involving Pernell Roberts, Howard Keel, and Mr. Yuk. I used to write a lot of fiction stories to pass the time, as well as to creatively express myself when people got on my nerves. I don’t write much fiction these days, but since these two posts made me laugh, I’ve decided to share them today. I doubt anyone will read them, but at least they won’t cause controversy.

An erotic story involving Pernell Roberts, Howard Keel, and Mr. Yuk… (originally written October 10, 2018)

I’m sure I could find any number of outrageous news stories to rant about today.  I will probably do just that in a little while.  It’s just that I’ve noticed my blog is not as much fun as it has been in the past.  I’ve been dealing with a little depression and anxiety lately, which has had a noticeable effect on my writing. 

Yesterday, I had a random idea of writing a fiction story about the late actor, Pernell Roberts.  I know him best from his years as Trapper John, M.D., but other people remember him from Bonanza.  I remember he also starred in a Lassie movie back in 1978.  In that film, he played a bad guy.

Sexy Pernell Roberts… there was a time when my dad could sing sort of like this.  I can appreciate it now, but didn’t so much when I was growing up.  Pernell Roberts had a lovely singing voice, though.  Many people thought my dad had a lovely voice, too.  He probably did and I just didn’t like it because of our fucked up father/daughter relationship.  Oh… and the fact that he wasn’t trained.

I think Mr. Roberts is on my mind because I somehow wound up subscribed to a YouTube channel honoring him.  Someone uploaded a bunch of episodes of Trapper John, M.D. and I started watching them last night because Bill is in Italy.  He’ll be back tonight– it was just a one night trip– but I’ll still be alone until after bedtime.  Maybe I’ll watch more Trapper John, M.D., or maybe I’ll make music.  Who knows?  Or maybe I’ll spend the day writing silly stories for those who enjoy my warped sense of humor.

Anyway, I noticed that a number of female commenters on the YouTube videos were saying they thought Pernell Roberts was “sexy”.  I have to admit, now that I am myself middle aged, I agree that he was rather sexy in those days.  Of course, Trapper John was a typically strong male character on the TV show.  He was authoritarian, particularly with his female patients.  Some women are turned on by a strong man who tells them to get in bed and stay there.  Actor Gregory Harrison, who played hospital Lothario Gonzo Gates, was probably there for the younger crowd.  Both of them were such caring dudes… and so skilled as they saved their patients from whatever devastating malady they had while romancing them under the sheets.

Then, as I started thinking about Pernell Roberts, I remembered the late actor Howard Keel and how he always reminded me of a horse peeing on a rock.  I mean, he was really tall and probably made a lot of noise because of the length his whiz had to drop.  I remember seeing him in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, which was filmed in the 1950s, when he was young and studly.  But as a child of the 70s and 80s, I remember him best when he was on Dallas, playing Clayton Farlow.  Maybe it was because all of the horses they used on that show and the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time around horses and know what they sound like when they pee… especially the geldings.

Damn… I would love to have a horse that did this!  Cleaning up horse pee is no fun, especially when it’s hot outside.

The guy who officiated at my wedding, then a Presbyterian minister and now a Certified Nurse’s Aide and Catholic, asked me if my erotic story involving Pernell Roberts would involve surgical instruments or horses.  And that just made me think of Howard Keel peeing on a rock again.

Oh my God… speaking of piss.  This is probably one of the most cornball pop songs of the 1980s.  What in the hell possessed Howard Keel to sing this over any one of the classic standards he did in his prime?  

So then, just as I was gathering ideas about other things I could put in my erotic story, I caught this clip from 1988, starring the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.  Front and center is current Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Director, Kelli Finglass, back when she was in her prime and still on the squad…

I was about 16 when they did this.  Look at that hair!  And those shorts look almost like granny panties compared to what they wear today.  My hair was never quite that big.  For the record, I prefer Kelli’s hair the lovely shade of red it is now.  Frosted, frizzy blonde doesn’t flatter her.

Finally, someone shared this picture of Brett Kavanaugh, who will always be a glorified frat boy to me…  

And I was reminded of this…  I wonder if Kavanaugh has ever made this face before having sex with someone.  I wonder if anyone has ever made this face before having sex with him…

Wow… they could be brothers.

Maybe I should write a story involving all of these people.  It wouldn’t even have to be erotic.  I could probably have some fun with it, kill some time, and stay out of trouble.  I do have a very strange mind sometimes, especially when I’m bored.

My latest book is about the East German police, so it’s probably just as well if I write some fiction or something, before I start having nightmares about the Stasi.  Shit… I might as well do it.  

And here it is…

Mr. Yuk gets a treatment he’ll never forget… (written later on October 10, 2018)

Let’s see where my warped imagination takes me…  This story is pure fictional nonsense, pulled straight from the bowels of my mind.  It took about an hour to write this and it probably shows.


It was an unseasonably cool, fall afternoon at San Francisco Memorial Hospital.  The year was 1982.  Dr. John McIntyre, otherwise known as Trapper, was looking dashing in his surgical scrubs, having just removed Clayton Farlow’s appendix.  He was feeling pumped up, because he’d just told Farlow to go to bed and stay there.  It gave Trapper a rush to tell people what to do, especially guys who were taller and more famous than he was.

Farlow was lying in bed, groaning because the incision where his appendix had been removed was a little itchy.  But because Trapper was both authoritarian and a little kinky, he’d had Farlow’s wrists tied to the bedrails.  It was only because Farlow was just coming out of the anesthesia and might try to monkey with the tubes and such.

“Don’t worry, Kid,” Trapper had told him as he tenderly adjusted Farlow’s oxygen mask, “we’ll untie your wrists when you have your wits more about you.  I’ll be back later.”

Farlow grimaced as he watched his sexy doctor prance away.  Farlow wasn’t into men sexually, but he’d been in show business longer than Trapper had and learned to appreciate the beauty in everything and everyone.  Besides, whatever drugs Trapper had given him were wonderful, even if his incision was a little itchy.

For all of his fame on Broadway and primetime television, Farlow had not managed to score a private room.  Lying in the bed next to his was a guy popularly known as Mr. Yuk.  His name was actually Brett, though, and he was quite the whiny brat.  Farlow cast a disapproving look at the young man– all of seventeen years old– lying in his hospital bed looking really disgruntled and bored.  He looked like this…

Farlow wanted to ask Brett why he was so yucky.  The boy had a constant scowl on his face, like he smelled something disgusting or had just walked in on his parents having sex.  But the oxygen mask prevented Farlow from saying anything intelligible and he was embarrassed about his wrists being restrained.  So Farlow remained curious while Brett clicked the remote control on the boxy TV, trying to find something interesting to watch.  He finally stopped on a channel featuring a certain female collie named Lassie.

“Yeah…” Brett snarled.  “This is more like it.  I like watching bitches on TV.”

Good entertainment for the sick…

Farlow rolled his eyes as he recognized familiar faces…  There was Mickey Rooney, Pernell Roberts, who looked a whole lot like Trapper, James Stewart, Alice Faye, and music by his old friends, Pat Boone and daughter, Debby.  Good old fashioned, wholesome, kid friendly entertainment!  It was just what the doctor ordered!

“I really could use a beer.” Brett snarled to himself.  “Fuck being stuck in the hospital.  This place sucks!”

Just then, a pretty nurse named Kelli came into the room.  She was all smiles and had a figure that could stop traffic!  Her hair was as big as her smile was, and Brett could see that her starched white nurse’s uniform was just a little shorter than it should have been.  Casting his eyes downward, he could see the nurse’s adorable knees covered by her white tights.  He looked at her shoes.  They were sensible nurse’s shoes, showing that the woman was just as intelligent as she was sexy.

“Hello Mr. Farlow.” Kelli chirped as she checked his vital signs.  She moved like a dancer, her catlike grace surprisingly apparent as she moved about the tight quarters, cleverly keeping her sweet ass away from Brett’s reach.  “You’re looking much better today.” she said, checking his temperature. “Your fever is almost gone!  Trapper will be happy to hear this!  Yea!”

Farlow looked hopefully at his wrists, but the nurse didn’t seem to notice his distress.  Instead, she adjusted the oxygen mask one last time and turned her attention to Mr. Yuk, aka Brett the brat.

“How are we feeling?” Nurse Kelli asked as she recorded Brett’s blood pressure.

“This place sucks.  I have so many calendars I need to update.  I need to get back to school.  I’m missing so many keggers it’s not funny.” Brett whined.  “I’m being held against my will.”

“I’m sure you’ll be out of here before you know it.” the nurse said.  “You know, once you’re eighteen, you can check yourself out whenever you want.  For now, we have to wait for the doctor and your parents to say it’s okay.”

Kelli turned away from Brett, who then took the opportunity to pinch her ass.

“Ouch!” Kelli yelped.  “I see why they call you Mr. Yuk now!” she scolded as Brett’s face turned into that familiar scowl.  “You really are a naughty boy.  We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

“Stop trying to impugn my character.” Brett snapped. 

“I’ll be back later.” Kelli promised.  “Enjoy the movie.”

With a heavy sigh, Brett turned his attention back to Lassie and her young master, on the run from Pernell Roberts’ evil character, Jameson.  He was about to start singing along with Pat Boone when Trapper barged into the room.  He started checking Farlow and then untied the man’s wrists. 

“You seem ‘with it’ now.” Trapper said as he patted his patient on the head, patronizingly. 

Farlow eagerly reached up and pulled the mask off his face.  “Can we get rid of this damned thing too?  It feels like a gag.” he complained.

Trapper frowned a bit, looked concerned, and said, “Well, not so fast… let’s not rush things…  You’re going to be in here for a week.  What’s your hurry?”

He glanced up at the television and saw Pernell Roberts chasing Lassie, calling her Heatherbelle.  “Man, I hope that guy gets his dog back.” Trapper said under his breath.

Trapper moved over to Brett, who was looking really disagreeable.  “Fuck this place.” Brett muttered.  “I just want a motherfuckin’ beer.”

“Now now, young man…” Trapper said.  “Take it easy.  You’re in a hospital.  Time to rest.  Let Kelli take care of you.”

“Tell her to bring me a beer… and pizza.  This hospital food sucks.” Brett said with a scowl.

“Young man, your attitude could use some adjusting.  Perhaps it’s time I prescribed a treatment to help you with your problem.” Trapper suggested.

“Fuck that, and fuck you.  I need to get out of here and on with my life.  I have social ladders to climb and women to plumb.” Brett hissed. 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Trapper asked incredulously.  “You don’t realize you’ve entered another dimension.”

“The only other dimension I want to enter is a beer and nurse Kelli’s vagina.” Brett snapped.

“I see…” Trapper said, his voice steady.  “Well that makes me think you really do need treatment for your problem.  I may have to introduce you to another doctor… a woman who really knows your mind.”

“I don’t need that.  I just want to party.” Brett said.  “Why is that so hard to understand?  And why do I have to stay in this Godforsaken place?  My home is on the East Coast, with all the other snot nosed brats.”

“I see.  Well, I think it would do you some good to talk to Dr. Ford.” Trapper said.  “She’s a maverick in her field, but I think she can straighten you out… maybe get that yucky look off your face.”

“I don’t want to talk to her.” Brett sniveled.

“Okay… well then maybe Nurse Kelli can give you an enema to help kill the bug up your ass.” Trapper suggested.  “You seem a bit constipated.”

“Hmmmph.” Brett huffed, sullenly turning his eyes back to the TV.

Farlow was watching this scene with interest, although he really needed to pee.  He somehow found the energy to ask Trapper for help going to the bathroom. 

“Sure pal.” Trapper said.  “Usually, I’d let the nurses handle this, but I can see you’re a man’s man.”  The bearded, distinguished doctor came over and helped Farlow out of bed.  He was grateful Nurse Kelli had already removed the man’s catheter.  They went into the bathroom and Farlow let out a long and very loud stream of piss that reverberated throughout the semi-private room.

“For God’s sake!” Brett complained.  “Do you have to be so loud?  You sound like a horse peeing on a rock!”

“Sorry… I really had to pee.” Farlow apologized. 

“Well do you have to be so fucking loud?” Brett scowled.  “No fucking class!”

Farlow gave Trapper a grateful look as he rolled his eyes. 

“That kid is such a brat.” Trapper said sympathetically.  “Sorry you have to share quarters with him.”

“No worries… I once shared a house with six brothers.” Farlow said.  “And they were all horny because they were looking for wives.”

“I think that’s Brett’s problem, too.  He’s a spoiled, horny, little bastard.” Trapper said.  “And he’s also a drunk.  He needs a good spanking to teach him some manners.  I’m tempted to let Nurse Kelli practice some procedures on him, but he’d probably enjoy that too much.”

“I’ve never seen anyone scowl so much.” Farlow admitted as he washed his hands.  “He really is very unpleasant indeed.”

“Nurse Kelli will fix him… with help from Dr. Ford.” Trapper promised as he walked his patient back to bed.

Farlow was safely tucked into bed, where he nodded off. He was right in the middle of a pleasant dream in which he was at Southfork Ranch, making mad passionate love with Miss Ellie, when he was awakened by a blood curdling scream.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Brett was screaming.  He had climbed out of bed and was cornered by a couple of beefy orderlies who were holding a straitjacket. 

“Now, now, Mr. Yuk…” one of the orderlies soothed. Farlow blinked his eyes and realized the head orderly was a very muscular woman. She was flanked by two huge guys who looked like they could be linebackers for the Dallas Cowboys. Behind her was Nurse Kelli with a syringe at the ready. A cameraman stood in the corner, filming everything. It looked just like a dramatic scene on Trapper John, M.D.

“Get away from me! I haven’t given you CONSENT!” Brett fumed.

The head orderly advanced at her patient, and with one swift move, pinned him to the bed.  He shrieked in fear as another orderly placed his hand over the young man’s mouth and the other orderly efficiently wrapped him up in the straitjacket.  Nurse Kelli then gave him an injection that rendered him more compliant.

“Wha…” Brett stammered. “What are…”

“Shhh…” Nurse Kelli said, her Pepsodent smile radiating across her pretty features.  “It’s just part of your treatment.  Dr. Ford will be with you in a moment.  Just got to wait for you to relax a bit.  That way it won’t hurt as much.”

The orderlies tucked their patient into bed, put up the siderails, and left the room while Nurse Kelli stood by, monitoring the young man with the Mr. Yuk scowl. 

“This would go so much better if you’d just cooperate.” Nurse Kelli said.  “Take your medicine like a good boy.”

“Fucking bitch!” the young man shrieked.  “I’ll get you for this.”

“Right… I’m sure you will.  Just relax.  Dr. Ford will see you at her convenience.” Nurse Kelli said.  “If you’re lucky, she won’t make you wait for what’s coming to you.”

Brett scowled again as he glared at the nurse.  Her chirpy demeanor and perfect smile were pissing him off even more as he struggled against the rough canvas of the straitjacket.  Farlow glanced over at the spectacle, suddenly glad his own medical bondage scene had been short lived.

A minute later, the door opened and there stood a middle aged blonde woman in a very stylish business suit.  She wore glasses and sensible heels as she strode over to her unruly patient. 

“Hello Dr. Ford.” Nurse Kelli said, her voice rich with admiration.

“Nurse…” the doctor said.  “So this is the patient.  He’s permanently scowling, isn’t he?  Needs a little help with his attitude…”

“Yes, I think so.  I’ve heard you can do amazing things with the mind.” Nurse Kelli gushed.  “I would love to study under you…”

Brett and Farlow both looked at the attractive psychologist and thought the same thing.  But Farlow was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and Brett was too busy scowling to make his feelings known.

“You know…” Dr. Ford said.  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to reach him with just simple conversation.  I think it’s time we forced him to watch something other than Lassie.”  She nodded at the television.  “Change the channel… Lifetime should do it.  A nice long marathon of movies about women who have been sexually harassed and date raped ought to be a good start.”

Nurse Kelli’s eyes widened.  “Do I get to stay in the room and supervise him?” she breathed.

“I’m not opposed to it.” Dr. Ford shrugged.  “That’s just the beginning… we’ll start with Lifetime TV, then move on to Dr. Phil.  Then a steady diet of Kathie Lee Gifford…”

“What?!” Brett shouted.  “I’ve never even heard of these things!”

“Lucky for you, I’m from the future.” Dr. Ford said.  “You’re going to get a headstart on the 1990s and the 2000s.  Then I’ll go back to the future.”

“Why?” Brett asked plaintively.

“Because big things are in store for you… and if you don’t get straightened out now, you will fuck up a lot of lives.” Dr. Ford said, smoothing her blonde hair.

“I don’t have time for this.” Brett sneered.

“We’ll see that you make time.  And if you’re difficult about it, I can think of some very fun ways to make you comply.” Dr. Ford said.  “Don’t try me, young man.”

Brett sighed heavily.  “Yes Ma’am…  Let the re-education begin.”

“I’m sure you’ll be good and ready for the future after a few Lifetime movies.  Every man should watch them so they can learn proper respect.” Dr. Ford said.

END

And here is the one comment I got on this tripe…

I like it, an instant story! Write more.

Maybe I should… especially now that my former monitor is no longer monitoring me.

Standard
complaints, dogs, home, housekeeping tips

I never said it would be easy, only that it would be “worth it”…

Good afternoon, y’all. I’m getting a late start today. My house has been overtaken by alien forces.

The guys in my house right now should add this song to their playlist…

Actually, what’s happening is that this week, our landlord is having new windows put in. We’ve been through this before. When we lived in our former German house, it was half furnished with new windows. The remainder were put in within weeks of our tenancy. I remember the process to be quite a pain in the ass, especially since the people who made the windows got the wrong measurements. We had wood over our windows for about a week or so, until new ones could be made.

This time, it looks like they got the right measurements, but the whole house is being done all this week. The same guys did our landlord’s house last week. Now, it’s our turn to deal with the noise and the dust. I’m at a disadvantage, though, because I’m not the one paying the window guys. I’m just the tenant’s wife, who doesn’t really speak German and is kind of in their way.

I’d take off if I could, but that would mean leaving Noyzi home alone. He doesn’t fit in my car, and it’s not running right now, anyway. It needs a new battery, and probably new tires. And these guys have already shown me that they were born in a barn. They came into the house this morning– promptly at 8 AM– and immediately started moving stuff in my office, Noyzi’s room, and the bathroom. I had just finished writing a blog post, but hadn’t yet published it. I had to rush through that, then move to my bedroom, where I quickly practiced and restrung my guitar.

When I took Noyzi for a walk, I realized that sitting upstairs would probably be a bad idea. The workers’ crap is all over the place. I’m all hot and sweaty and I’d really like to take a shower, but the upstairs bathroom is a mess.

I asked the guys in English to keep the front door closed, because I don’t want Noyzi getting out. I don’t think he’d actually go out by himself, but I don’t want to take the risk. He spooks easily, and we live near the Autobahn. We already lost one dog that freaked out and got killed there. I don’t want that to happen to Noyzi, too. I don’t actually think Noyzi would get hit on the Autobahn. He’s very street smart, and avoids danger quite adeptly. But he’s still a dog, and he gets scared. Not only would I be heartbroken to lose him; it would also cost us a lot of money if he got hit by a car, even though we’re insured.

Far be it for me to criticize anyone for not being fluent in English when we’re in Germany. BUT… most younger people, which these guys are, know a little bit of English. I would expect them to at least know “close the door.” I mean, I could probably say that in German, if I had to, and I might have even tried, if the guy hadn’t immediately cut me off and said he doesn’t speak English without even trying to listen to my request. It’s one thing when I open the door and someone starts going off in rapid fire German at me. I never invited them to a conversation. I’m just minding my own business, in my own space.

This guy is in my home, which we’re paying a lot of money to live in, and I have the right to make a simple request that he and his colleague not leave the door open so my dog doesn’t escape. I was NOT impressed by his basic lack of respect toward me. Moreover, if Noyzi got out because those guys left the door open, I would be raising major Hell.

I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes and gave the guy a major bitch glare when I said, “Keep the door closed. Because of the dog.”

The guy seemed to understand my request. I did also ask the landlord to tell them to close the door. Nevertheless, even though they seemed to understand that I wanted them to close the door, they continued to leave it open a few times. So I moved downstairs and, much to my shame, took a passive aggressive approach to teaching them. Every time they left the door open, I closed it HARD. There were also a couple of glares, too. I know you get more bees with flies than honey, but to me this is a pretty simple thing.

Another thing that is annoying me is that these two have a love for German pop dance music. It has a very hard, driving beat that pulsates through the floor. It’s giving me a headache. So, I decided to turn on my music downstairs. It’s an eclectic mix of everything from bluegrass to disco. That should entertain them as much as it does me. And, although it’s only 2:45 PM, I’m strongly considering doing some day drinking… because fuck them. 😉

Normally, I wouldn’t take this attitude. I have a lot of respect for tradesmen and service providers. But yes, it does annoy me when someone invades my home, immediately spreads their shit all over most of the upstairs, where I do my work, and without even asking me if it’s okay to start there, and playing their crappy music, while acting like they were raised in a barn and not closing the fucking front door behind them. I don’t even care if they think I’m a raving bitch, either. They wouldn’t be the first. 😉 Besides, I’ve got underwear older than they are.

With any luck, this won’t go on for the whole week…

On the plus side, as today’s post title indicates, the end result will be worth it. I know from our last house that new windows will make our house more comfortable on many levels. The house does need them. And next year, we’ll probably get a heat pump… if we don’t move. That will mean no more buying tanks of oil every year and, maybe, better heating and cooling. Maybe… we’ll see.

I do appreciate our landlord. He’s a good guy who treats us with respect and never harasses us. I doubt we’ll have to sue him when we eventually move out. I am grateful for the upgrade in the house. I just wish these guys were more considerate and didn’t treat me like I don’t have the right to be in my own home.

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dogs, rants, travel

Pets on jets… and more dumbness from the peanut gallery…

Featured photo is of our sweet Arran, calling bullshit…

Well, hello Thursday… nice to see you, even if it’s the day I do my most dreaded chore of vacuuming. I actually can’t complain too much about this week thus far. It’s gone by rather quickly, and without too much ass pain. Yesterday, Arran had his latest chemo treatment, and I got a big box of Easter chocolates from Neuhaus, our favorite chocolatier. And tomorrow, Bill comes home for the weekend.

I have had some irritations, though… self-inflicted ones, I guess. Yesterday, I read a fabulous article in the Washington Post about people who team up with others and charter planes so they can travel with their pets without risking commercial flights. I think it’s a great idea, and sometimes it can even be less expensive than using a pet shipper.

I think it would be even better if there was a US based airline that did a better job moving animals, so that there might be fewer horror stories about flying with dogs in the news. That way, maybe fewer people would be so ignorant, and I might not get so annoyed by their comments.

I read the article when it was first posted, and the first few comments were about the obscene privilege of the wealthy, and how they should be taxed more. Those comments were obviously written by people who didn’t read the article before responding. The people quoted in the WaPo article I linked (and unlocked) above weren’t wealthy people. They’re people who need to be able to move their pets and don’t want to put them in the cargo hold of airplanes. From the article:

For travelers with pets, the options for long-distance hauls are limited and often stressful for both species. Commercial airlines place tight restrictions on airborne animals, especially ones that are too large for the cabin and must fly in the cargo hold or as freight. Owners pay hundreds of dollars to transport their pets by plane, plus more if their supersize dog requires a customized crate. For example, to fly her dogs from Germany to the States last year, Jamie Klepper contacted several pet-shipping companies for prices. The lowest quotes she received were $12,000 for Lenny, her 16-month-old Leonberger, and $5,000 for Bailey, her “exceptionally tall” golden retriever.

Passengers with brachycephalic dogs contend with even fewer choices because of a widespread ban on snub-nosed canines, which are prone to breathing issues. Adding to the anxiety: On occasion, airlines deliver animals to the wrong address. In December, British Airways flew Bluebell, a Lab mix, from London to Saudi Arabia instead of Nashville. Some animals fall ill or worse. Bailey, the Lab, suffered bloat, or a twisted stomach, soon after landing at JFK. She survived, but not all do. According to Transportation Department statistics, 11 animals died on U.S. commercial carriers in 2019, and six died in 2020.

While the horror stories regarding dogs on planes certainly aren’t the norm, when something does happen, it inevitably gets in the news, and people proceed to freak out. It never fails. And cue the comments about how people who fly with pets are irresponsible, negligent, or cruel, and how flying with animals should be illegal.

When the story about Bluebell ran in December, I blogged about our experiences flying with our dogs. I won’t lie. It’s stressful to have to travel by air with dogs, but the VAST majority of dogs who fly come through the experience just fine. But, thanks to the awful stories about dogs who have died or been traumatized by flying, it’s gotten a lot harder and more expensive to be able to travel with animals. That presents real consequences for people who need to be able to relocate worldwide with their pets.

One guy made a snarky comment about how flying animals “traumatizes them for life”. As an American who lives abroad in the military community and has flown with dogs three times, I get so tired of those kinds of flippant, vaguely accusatory comments by people who have absolutely zero experience traveling by air with dogs. They’re mostly made by well-meaning animal loving people who read and react to the news too much without rational thought. They don’t employ their critical thinking skills. If dogs being injured or dying on planes was the norm, would the horror stories be news? Wouldn’t air travel with dogs have been outlawed decades ago?

So I wrote something along the lines of, “Please. The vast majority of dogs come through the experience of flying just fine.” Naturally, I got challenged by a few people, including one who quoted the last line of the second paragraph from the post.

According to Transportation Department statistics, 11 animals died on U.S. commercial carriers in 2019, and six died in 2020.

My response? Out of how many?

I didn’t add this additional thought to my response, but I could have also asked how many of those cases involved dogs that already had health problems or were elderly? How many were drugged before they flew? How many of the dogs were snub nosed, flying in hot weather? Most dogs who fly will survive the experience with no ill effects at all. And most of them would rather fly so they can be with their families, rather than be rehomed or dumped at a shelter.

Hours later, the woman came back and shamed me for asking that question. She wrote something like, “Does it matter? Any dog who dies on a plane is too many!”

Her point was, because of those few outlying cases, flying with dogs is inherently unsafe, when it’s really not. If it were, flying with dogs would have been made illegal many years ago. Outlawing flying with pets is not a good solution, because it will ultimately mean that a hell of a lot more dogs will die while waiting for good homes. The people who react loudest to the horror stories never consider that unintended consequence, do they?

It’s the same as the well-meaning folks who want to outlaw horse and carriage rides in cities. They don’t seem to consider what will happen to the expensive horses who no longer have jobs, and will ultimately lose their homes, because their owners can no longer afford to keep them. Instead of focusing on making conditions better so the work or travel is safer, some of these idiots just want to throw the baby out with the bathwater. They don’t see the big picture, and when you try to point it out to them, they act like you’re the asshole!

I love my dogs. I’d rather spend time with my dogs than most other people. When I’ve had to travel with them, I’ve obsessively prepared, and yes, I’ve read ALL of the horror stories. The first time we flew with dogs, I was a nervous wreck. I certainly didn’t want to put them through hours in a crate in a baggage hold. I had visions of certain disaster. But what was the alternative?

That first time we flew with Flea and MacGregor, my husband was in the Army and we were ordered to move to Germany. My staying in the States while Bill went to Germany wasn’t an option, and we couldn’t bear the idea of leaving our rescue dogs behind. So we took a chance… and everything turned out fine. It was just a few hours on a plane.

We landed in Germany, and I immediately heard Flea’s distinctive beagle bellowing, which led me right to him and MacGregor in the baggage claim area at Frankfurt’s airport (which is equipped with a huge pet lounge, no less). They were examined by a vet, who told us they needed bigger carriers next time. We let them out of their carriers; they both took raging pisses; and then they spent two happy years with their people in a country where dogs are welcomed and adored!

Flea and MacGregor flew again in 2009. Flea had prostate cancer, but he still made it through the experience fine, in spite of a dramatic day’s delay. You can read about that in my other post on this topic.

In 2014, when we moved back to Germany, the rules were stricter and we weren’t coming on military orders. We booked with Lufthansa, which is probably the best airline for flying with dogs. Once again, no problems whatsoever. Y’all have seen pictures of my dogs. Do they ever look traumatized?

We lost Zane in 2019, but Arran has had eight happy years in Germany. He adores Bill, and had been rehomed more than a few times before he landed with us. Yes, it was a choice to move to Germany, but at the time we made our decision, Germany was the only place where a job offer was on the table. We don’t regret our move, either. It’s worked out great for us.

Would it have really been preferable for Arran to be rehomed again, less than two years after he was adopted for the second time (his first adopters returned him), just to avoid putting him on a plane for a few hours? Arran is a very sensitive dog who seems to take rejection personally. He and Bill are the very best of friends. I know Arran isn’t sorry we took a small risk and flew him to Germany, where he will almost certainly die, due to his cancer. He won’t have to fly again.

The woman who got all snotty when I asked her how many dogs flew safely made some comment about how she thought I was being too flippant about the risks of flying with dogs. She resented my tone– claiming that I was being “rude” for dismissing her concerns.

Well, you know WHAT? I resent the idea that because I moved my dogs from the United States to Germany, I’m some kind of cruel, irresponsible, mean-spirited dog hater! Nothing could be further from the truth! Moreover, the people who claim that flying with dogs is soooo dangerous don’t seem to consider that there are risks in literally EVERYTHING you do every day!

Yesterday, I took Arran to the vet for a chemo treatment. It was raining and snowing yesterday. We could have had a car accident on our way there and been killed. And yet, most of us don’t think twice about driving with dogs. I’ll bet a lot of the people hand wringing over flying with them don’t even use doggie seatbelts or crates when they drive! Or they let their dogs go outside off lead. Or they let their kids harass their pets to the point that the pet reacts negatively and ends up being taken away by animal control.

Stop and think about this for a moment. There are thousands of military and government families in the United States. A lot of them will end up moving abroad at some point during their careers. Some of them won’t have to move overseas. Should all of those people forego pet ownership because they might be ordered to move abroad? Do people ever stop and think about how many pets in shelters would LOVE to be adopted by those families, and would happily endure a few hours on a plane for the chance at having a good home?

How about the dogs who have been rescued from laboratories or meat markets in other countries? Would people, like the commenter on yesterday’s WaPo article, prefer us to just let those dogs languish? Not long ago, I reviewed a book about a woman who adopted a golden retriever from Turkey. Thanks to her, two dogs (her mom also adopted one) have moved to the United States– and they both arrived by aircraft, safe and sound. My Noyzi comes from Kosovo, where he was found on the streets of Pristina. If and when we have to move back to the States, should I just leave him in Germany, where locals already think Americans are shitty pet owners because so many don’t take their pets when they move?

Instead of jumping to the conclusion that flying with pets is always dangerous and traumatic, why don’t some of these folks stop and think for a moment about the many thousands of animals over the years who have flown on planes completely without incident? Seriously– every year, literally thousands of military, government service, and international business families move with their pets. The vast majority of them make the moves with no issues at all.

Yes, there are some legitimate horror stories regarding pets flying on planes. But outlawing flying with dogs isn’t the answer. Dogs and cats can fly safely, and they should be able to do so affordably, and without any clusterfucks. It should be something we expect from the airlines. Instead of calling the owners irresponsible, why not put the blame where it belongs… on the people who fuck things up and send dogs to the wrong cities, put them in overhead bins (seriously, WTF?), leave dogs on hot tarmacs, drug them, or fly with snub nosed breeds in hot weather?

I know Arran is glad we weren’t scared off by the horror stories…

Yeah, this dog is SO traumatized by his hours on a plane in 2014. NOT.

I swear, the longer I live outside of the United States, the more I think a lot of my compatriots are actual morons.

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dogs, holidays, narcissists

Sure enough, I was right again about Ex…

Hello to you folks out there in Internetland. I apologize in advance for today’s blog post. This is a tough time of year, though, when there are narcissists in your life… even if they are just on the periphery. Writing about this bizarre stuff is useful for me. It helps me process. I suspect some other people are helped by it, as well. Dealing with a personality disordered narcissistic type is jarring and isolating, at best.

Yesterday, I wrote about my father. In that post, I wrote that I don’t think he was a narcissist. I still don’t think he was. He had issues with alcoholism and PTSD, but there were many times when he had compassion and empathy. He also didn’t deliberately do things to stir up shit, especially during the holidays. It’s just that things would happen frequently in his watch, usually because of his irritability and short fuse, and shenanigans from one of my sisters. If he weren’t an alcoholic and had a chance to work on his demons, I don’t think he would have been who he frequently was. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Ex.

Recently, I wrote a post about Christmas time approaching. In that post, I wrote about how narcissists LOVE to ruin holidays. That wasn’t a new topic for me. I’ve written plenty of times about how Ex has screwed up people’s abilities to enjoy celebrations. Sure enough, it happened again this year.

Yesterday, we received a box from younger daughter. In it, there was a stocking for the dogs. It was full of rawhide treats and a toy. They went nuts for it, although we don’t give them rawhides. I used to give them to our dogs, but have since stopped, because they can break teeth and cause intestinal blockages. Still, I got some really adorable shots of their reactions to the gift. She also sent a framed photo of her family, which delighted both of us– especially Bill. It’s just so nice to finally have one of his kids back in our lives. Just talking to her brings him joy.

Arran was obsessed with the photo, because it smelled like the treats!
The dogs were delighted with younger daughter’s gift!

Of course, Ex isn’t very happy about younger daughter’s reconciliation with her father. She’s upset that younger daughter lives so far away, and resists her attempts to maintain control of her. Recently, younger daughter celebrated her birthday. Ex contacted her at midnight Ex’s time, which is two hours later than where younger daughter lives. Ex wrote that she hoped younger daughter had a good birthday, then wrote a lengthy screed about her life. It was full of the usual complaints and insults, which younger daughter wrote that she could barely stand to read.

Then she went on Facebook and liked every photo in which younger daughter was tagged, leaving her with about 35 notifications on her account. Younger daughter wisely wrote that it looked like Ex was trying to look like she was being a “good mother”. As Christmas day is approaching, I’m betting there will soon be more of the same behavior… lots of drama and actions that are designed to maintain appearances for onlookers.

Younger daughter also had a discussion with older daughter, and my suspicions about her motivation for going back to school were confirmed. It’s for the loan money… although I’m not sure Ex really thought this idea through very well. The program that older daughter is entering will introduce her to courses in psychology that may ring a bell of recognition pertaining to her own fucked up situation. I’m sure Ex will do her best to encourage older daughter not to expose herself in person to people who might recognize her plight and offer to help her escape. That could, however, wind up being exactly what happens. Who knows?

Older daughter also made it clear that she won’t leave her mother’s home, because she’s too worried about what would happen to her little brother with severe autism. If that isn’t a damning statement, I don’t know what is. Here she is, sacrificing her life to make sure her brother is taken care of. Part of me wonders, though, if she’s made this her mission in life because she’s afraid to try living on her own. I’m sure fear is a big part of it– she’s afraid for her brother, and rightfully so. But I think she’s also afraid for herself– engaging in a little “learned helplessness”. So she stays in a hellish situation, living with her narcissistic mother under the guise of “protecting” her brother, who will soon be an adult. Does she plan to stay there for the rest of her life? I don’t know… but sooner or later, she’s going to be on her own. I hope it’s not when she’s middle-aged.

Also… if her brother’s well-being would really be in jeopardy if he was left alone with Ex, perhaps it’s time for authorities to intervene. It would make sense to get him out of the home, too. Older daughter is certainly old enough to file for legal custody of her brother, if she really thinks he’s in danger, although it might not be feasible for her to care for him alone. She’d have to get a job. But there are programs and schools for people like him. It sounds like she’ll probably be taking care of him, anyway. Anyway… it’s not my business… but I do wonder. I know Bill worries about his older daughter, too.

Older daughter also used to enjoy going to meetings at the LDS church. Younger daughter said that she stopped attending, though, because people in the church were trying to help her, and that upset Ex. It was church members who helped younger daughter escape Ex, so now Ex wants no part of the religion, even though she was the one who brought them to church in the first place. The church is a source of outside influence, friends, significant others, and prying eyes that might get Ex in trouble or cause her to lose resources. I often see Ex posting about protecting children, liberal causes, autism awareness, and other “woke” stuff. But the reality is, she doesn’t even take care of her own son, let alone actually do any work that would further the causes she claims to support. Taking care of her son is her older daughter’s job. Ex doesn’t want her to leave, because she’s basically convinced her to be her slave and allow her to exploit her own child. Older daughter is a “stay at home daughter”, not unlike the unmarried daughters in large fundie families who stay home to raise their parents’ children and do chores.

I would stake money on Ex being involved in something illegal. I would not be surprised, for instance, if she’s engaged in identity theft, or something of that nature. She has a history of doing sketchy things, particularly regarding money, especially with those who get closed to her. Unfortunately, no one has ever held her legally accountable. At least not yet. Hopefully, her meeting with karma is upcoming. I certainly pray for it.

Today’s featured photo also made an appearance in my repost of my review of The Sociopath Next Door. I’m reposting it again, because Ex ticks all of the boxes. I hope younger daughter decides to block her mom soon. She deserves to enjoy her holidays in peace.

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disasters, dogs, music

“I was a fool to care”…

We’re back from our few days of whimsy in France, capped off by a concert by James Taylor. We came home last night from the show to find that Arran made a big mess. First, there was a pile of crap on the rug. I cleaned that up, as Bill discovered the mess he left in the basement, after breaking through the flimsy barrier Bill tried to erect. We keep some food in the basement, because like most German houses, this house lacks a proper pantry.

Arran got into noodles, old taco shells, chocolate drink mix (which he didn’t seem to get much of, thankfully), and graham crackers. There was chewed up cardboard and plastic everywhere, as well as drink powder, smashed pasta, and other assorted debris that we cleaned up at 11:00pm. Then, I discovered a pee spot on the same rug Arran has designated his own private indoor Klo (German for potty). I don’t know why, but he always chooses my favorite rugs to befoul. The funny thing is, it appeared that Noyzi had nothing whatsoever to do with the mischief making. He was in his bed when we got home, apparently long asleep. He saw me, wagged his tail, and asked for a belly rub.

Arran has always done this kind of stuff, given an opportunity, but the steroid meds he takes make him even hungrier and more determined than ever. Fortunately, he seems to be suffering no ill effects today. Bill usually does a very obsessive job of “beagle proofing” before we go out anywhere. He takes everything up from under the counter and puts the stuff in the bathroom or on top of the counter. And he makes a point of putting the most dangerous stuff in cupboards or high shelves.

Arran tried very hard to make up with me after trashing the basement and befouling my rug.

Unfortunately, we had forgotten about some stuff in the basement that’s been there awhile. We don’t have a door to stop Arran from going down there, though we do use a baby gate. He managed to push past it, even though Bill parked a crate of beer behind it. I guess we’re going to have to build a wall… or maybe invest in a Schrank (portable cupboard). It’s a good thing I don’t go out that often.

In spite of his raid on our dry goods, Arran seems to be fine today. He slept through the night and eagerly ate his breakfast. He could tell I was pissed at him last night, and snuggled next to me, because obviously he couldn’t help himself. Poor guy. We got the bills for his last four chemo treatments. They came to about 445 euros. Added to the first bill, which was under 300 euros, I can still say that German chemo for dogs is very reasonably priced. And even though Arran is naughtier than ever, it’s restored him to his old self… at least temporarily. So, we’ll take it and try to enjoy him, even though he really can be a little shit sometimes. But then, that’s part of his charm.

Now, to address today’s blog post title…

As I mentioned last night, Bill and I saw James Taylor perform. This show was originally supposed to happen in February 2022, but COVID numbers were too high at that time, so it was postponed until November 8. Then, James got COVID and had to cancel several shows. Luckily, Frankfurt wasn’t cancelled, but it was postponed. So we went last night and had a really good time. I see from Setlist.fm that James cut a few songs from the show– songs he did in Stuttgart, which was the last show he did before he got sick. Still, it was an excellent concert, and we were happy with the songs he did perform. There was no need for him to do more, especially since I could see that he was probably still a little fatigued from COVID. He still seemed a little pale and shaky to me, but it didn’t stop him from singing, playing, and jumping around the stage like a younger man. And as a fan since, at least, the late 70s, I left the concert hall very satisfied. I was particularly impressed that he took the time to sign a lot of stuff for his fans. I chose not to try for an autograph myself, but I enjoyed seeing how happy he made some of the other concertgoers. James Taylor obviously loves what he does, and that is a joy to see. He’s a lucky man, but we are just as lucky to witness him doing what he was obviously born to do.

One song James didn’t play was one from the 70s called “I Was a Fool to Care”. This song, from Gorilla, an album he released in 1975, was performed at a show in Knoxville, Tennessee in 2015. He looks a bit haler in the video below…

Here, he has a full band. Last night was a more pared down production, but I was in the second row, which was a great experience.

This song is about unrequited love– a man realizes that the woman he loves is not really worthy of his love. She lies and cheats. He’s heard about it through the grapevine, but brushed the warnings aside, even though she’s not a good person. He loves her anyway, even though it’s obvious she’s a liar who is using him, playing him for a fool. I’m not in a situation like that. Thankfully, I managed to find a good partner, and we love and trust each other. However, we both came with baggage… and that includes people on either side of our families who probably aren’t worth so much of our love and attention. It’s hard, though, not to care, if you are naturally a caring, decent person. Or even if you care about other people’s opinions of you…

Recently, I wrote about how my husband’s former wife has “targeted” his stepmother for financial “assistance”. I first noticed it (this time) in the spring. I write “this time” in parentheses, because Ex has a history of using people. She has used Bill’s stepmother repeatedly. In the past, nothing has really been done about it, because Ex has a way of shell-shocking people into being silent. However, we have been on the receiving end of complaints about how ungrateful and unkind Ex is. We have seen, personally, how she has used Bill’s father and stepmother for money and material goods, as well as manipulative tools/flying monkeys against her victims. And now, since he reconnected with his daughter, we’ve heard that this shit has been ongoing with a number of victims, some of whom are elderly and/or infirm.

At least one of the things Ex has been accused of doing is a felony. If she was to be caught and prosecuted, she could be heavily fined and/or spend several years in prison. Ex’s husband works in healthcare, and she has had elderly relatives living with her. She also has two children in the home who have different levels of autism, for whom she receives money from the state. I don’t know if either of them take medication, but I do know that at least one of the elderly relatives was prescribed opiates. And Ex allegedly helped herself to them, which is illegal and potentially dangerous.

As I write this post, I’m remembering that around the time she was bugging SMIL, Ex was also talking about getting a dog for her son. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t cause too much alarm… except that dogs can be exploited for drugs, too. As I was looking up laws where Ex lives, I ran across a 2017 article from the Washington Post about people who use their pets to get prescription meds. I don’t see a gift option for this article, so below are a few excerpts:

Last year in Virginia, a dog owner took his boxer to six veterinarians to get anti-anxiety pills and painkillers for his own use before he was caught, according to Fairfax County police, who said the owner was eventually charged with prescription fraud.

In Kentucky in 2014, a woman was accused of cutting her golden retriever twice with a razor so she could get drugs. And in the early 2000s, a man in Ohio allegedly taught his dog to cough on cue so the owner could get hydrocodone.

Such cases are believed to be rare, but authorities are working to cut off the supply of abused drugs. The Fairfax County Police Department recently published a brochure showing veterinarians how to spot a “vet shopper.”

The clues include: new patients bringing in seriously injured animals, requesting certain medications by name, seeking early refills of prescriptions and claiming that medications had been lost or stolen.

The Virginia Board of Veterinary Medicine issued emergency regulations in June limiting the duration of prescriptions that may be ordered for controlled substances. A vet may provide a seven-day supply and a seven-day refill only after reevaluating the animal.

For chronic conditions, the vet may prescribe an opioid for six months but must see and reevaluate the animal before prescribing more.

I absolutely do think Ex is capable of this kind of fuckery. I’d like to think she isn’t– as she comes across as a very nice, reasonable person online, or at least that is the image she tries very hard to project. But again, I know people who know her, and I’ve seen the literal scars she’s left on Bill. I don’t know if she’s abused anyone else in the way she abused my husband, but I do know that people close to her have been burned. She continues to do this stuff, though, because people allow it. It’s easier to look the other way than call the cops.

Some people seem to think there’s nothing we can do about this situation. As I have mentioned more than once, I totally disagree. However, I don’t think I’m the one who should make the report, because I’m not the one who has seen the evidence firsthand. Moreover, SMIL and I don’t have much of a relationship. From the beginning of my marriage to her stepson, she has treated me like a homewrecking interloper. I am neither of those things; however, I am also not a doormat. So I don’t get too close to her, because frankly, I don’t have to, and I don’t really want to. SMIL isn’t my responsibility. Frankly, I find her immature, manipulative, and disrespectful. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to her. It also doesn’t mean that I never hear from other people who do have a close relationship to her and love her very much. I don’t want to see SMIL being victimized. She isn’t malevolent; she’s just very insecure. And I know that she is loved by many people.

Personally, I think it’s time legal action was taken, but I also know it’s not my call to make. So maybe I am a “fool to care”. Why waste time even thinking about this? It’s not my problem, and some people already seem to think I’m a heartless bitch, anyway. I can’t win, so I might as well do whatever causes me less grief. But because I’m not actually a heartless bitch, I do write about it, which seems to make some people feel like they need to conflate their experiences with ours. These are different people in different states, and what worked or didn’t work for some people might or might not work in this situation. Moreover, it’s just not helpful to tell someone who is concerned about a problem that nothing can be done. Especially when you don’t actually know any of the people involved.

I understand that sometimes, people do this because they’re frustrated, or they tried to do something in a similar situation and were dissatisfied with the results. There’s every chance that the same thing might happen in this situation. Or, maybe it won’t. Or maybe nothing will happen. Anyway, I just don’t think being dismissive or skeptical is useful. I just fear that at some point, what Ex does is eventually going to be egregious enough that someone will be forced to take some action. There could even be a tragedy involved. And if something tragic happens, it’s highly likely that people will wonder why no one ever said or did anything about Ex before the issues managed to get to that point.

We can’t win, can we. So maybe we really are fools to care. Or maybe I am… because it’s not really my problem. So, I think I’m going to write on my travel blog… and then go read more of Michael Cohen’s latest book.

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