Friday, February 27, 2015

Biggie—Year Four

There is nothing like owning a dog, except maybe taking care of someone else’s dog.  Nothing in life prepared me for having a part-time dog, or for the bonding I could have with an animal that isn’t mine to keep.  But there he is.  Right now he is asleep on his bed just beside my chair.  I’m looking down at him and thinking, “He needs a haircut.”

Oh, boy.  When it comes time to groom Biggie, it always begins with a major struggle and ends with a happy dog.  I believe many dog owners know what I am talking about.  For Biggie there is a fear of water, and consequently a fear of a bath.  Somehow, someway, he knows when he is going to get a bath, and he immediately bolts under the bed at the very center near the headboard where he can’t be reached from either side.  And almost nothing will coax him out from there.

For a long time trickery was our greatest asset.  Biggie likes to get treats, and he responds to the rustle of a bag in the kitchen instantly.  Just open the refrigerator door and he is there.  Open a pantry door and he appears underfoot as if by magic.  All of these were used effectively to lure him from under the bed at bath time, until recently.  Now if he suspects a bath is in order, not even a meaty beef rib bone will draw him out.  

Once he is in the bath, he enjoys getting attention and a massage.  And afterward he loves the blowdryer.  When everything is done, he runs up to anyone around to show off how fluffy and soft he is.  And soft he is.  Like a cloud.  Needless to say, this gets him a lot of petting, and he is one very happy dog.

The haircut is a different story.  He just doesn’t like a haircut no matter how you slice it.  It takes both Rachael and me to control most of him during the process.  The rest is done by use of a muzzle.  I really don’t like muzzling Biggie, but I really don’t like getting bit either.  Little dog, big bite.  He will tolerate trimming his body hair to some degree, but legs are a different story—and paws are a book of their own.  (We’re not even going into the art and science of nail trimming.)  When it comes to trimming his face, the muzzle has to come off, and then only my wife can get the job done.  Let me tell you, I hate giving him a haircut more than he hates receiving it.  When it comes to haircut time, I want to crawl under the bed.  If I could manage that, not even a meaty beef rib bone could draw me out.

I like having a dog, and having a part-time dog is perfect for me.  Sometimes I feel as though he is over here a bit too much, but when he is with his owner, I miss him—usually.  The advantage to sharing a dog is being able to go somewhere without worrying if he is okay—usually.

I just looked back down at Biggie sleeping beside me, and again I thought, “He needs a haircut.”  Maybe we will go for a ride in the car instead.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Super Bowl XLIX

Last week was the Annual Super Bowl Gathering at the Long Beach Casting Club.  I look forward to it every year, but not for the game.  I’m not much of a football person, but I do enjoy trying to figure it out each year.  I’m told there is strategy involved, but all I see is a bunch of men pounding each other over a fat cigar shaped ball.  My main reason for participating in the gathering is the food.  These men really know their way around a kitchen.  The measurement of a Super Bowl party is not the game being played, but the food on the table.  That’s the real superbowl.

Each year we get together about an hour or two before the game and watch some golf tournament.  None of us play golf, but none of us are interested in the pre-game stuff either.  Actually we don’t even watch the golf.  All we do is talk about fishing.  After all, that is what our club is about.  We are fly-fishermen, and that is what we do.  Even during the game our attention is more focused on fishing or food instead of who has the ball and what they are doing with it.

This year, I must admit, I found the last few minutes of the game quite interesting.  Ecstasy, agony, ecstasy, agony.  Winning, losing, winning, losing.  Quite an ending.  I just wish I understood what happened.

Oh, well.  Maybe I’ll bother to learn the game before next year, but I don’t know if I’ll have the time.  There is much fishing to be accomplished.