The Adventures of Bob the Dog – the Meat Market Massacre

Time to take a breather, so I'm taking a blogger break for a while. I notice that other bloggers, columnists, and cartoonists pull up things from their archives, so that's what I'm going to do.

As soon as I saw the story on the ten o'clock news I knew Bob the Dog had struck again. The manager of the Monterrey Meat Market up on Braker was describing in vivid Spanish how a pack of “...wild dogs had burst through the automatic door and laid waste to several thousand dollars of the finest steaks, chops and ribs this side of the Rio Grande.”

At least I think that’s what he said. My Spanish is not too good, but I did recognize the word “perro” multiple times and the camera did show a trail of meat products leading out the door, where – the TV reporter informed us – witnesses said there had been a pickup waiting for the ill-gotten gain to be loaded and “swore that some kind of dog was driving.” The police naturally were skeptical and the news reporter even rolled her eyes a little, but the fact remained, a pick-up truck filled with the Market’s finest product sped away from the store.

The next morning, the newspaper picked up the story and added that the truck, reported stolen from the River City Bingo parking lot, had been found abandoned in a ditch off of Sprinkle Cut-Off Road. There were a few scraps of cellophane and some blood stains in the back, but the police were quick to point out that the blood was not human in origin and that it was most likely from a fresh Porterhouse, recently liberated from the Monterrey Meat Market, scene of yesterday’s crime. It also appeared that there had been quite a bit of canine activity in the area, based on paw prints found in the muddy ditch.

Naturally, when I checked on Bob the Dog next door, he was in his place, nice as you please, and had nothing to say about any recent felonious activity, but his eyes had a glassy protein-suffused stare and his belly was again bloated. We did talk hypothetically about how a life of crime would probably not end well for a dog, but I don’t think it made any kind of impression on Bob. The attraction of fresh, red meat is a mighty hard demon to quell. He did agree that his prospects were limited. I thought he was talking about how a life of crime would quickly turn bad for him. Turns out that he was only talking about what a paucity of meat sources he had to choose from.

Next - Impounded!

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – the Corner Store Caper

Time to take a breather, so I'm taking a blogger break for a while. I notice that other bloggers, columnists, and cartoonists pull up things from their archives, so that's what I'm going to do.

Sure enough, on Friday I got a call from Raj, the manager up at the Valero Corner Store. Raj lives one street over and he’s well acquainted with Bob the Dog and said that Bob slipped into the store and wasted a rack of beef jerky and pushed over the hot dog cooker and escaped with about two dozen sizzling franks before they knew what had happened, and he had been trying to get in touch with Cole, but his phone was disconnected. Did I know where Cole was so that he could come and pay for all the damage before the home office made him call the cops?

I explained that Cole wasn’t going to be our neighbor any more, so calling the cops wouldn’t do any good, but I kept my mouth shut about Bob the Dog and the note, because I wondered if my failing to take action might somehow make me liable. After Raj hung up, I peeked over the fence and sure enough, Bob was back in the yard, fat and happy, but pretty bloated after all those freshly cooked wieners and a side of beef jerky.

We had a little talk about his adventures, but he showed no remorse and said quite frankly he was pretty tired of dry dog food and that fresh meat was now his new best friend forever. Or words to that effect. Sometimes Bob is hard to understand, what with the accent and all. We agreed that he should go on living next door as long as he could and that I would pick up some Bugle Boy dog food with “real beef morsels” as Bob allowed that was the only kind of dog food he would even consider.

I didn’t care for this turn of events, and I liked it even less when I found out that the only place in town that carried Bugle Boy dog food with “real beef morsels” was Callahan’s – way, way south – and that it cost about the same as steak at the HEB, and maybe I should just let Bob the Dog knock over Raj’s hot dog cooker every once in a while and plead ignorance of the whole thing. I knew calling Animal Control was out of the question. Bob was way smarter than any dog catcher; they had been called a half-dozen times about two brutish Pit Bulls that wandered loose up the street and the Pit Bulls – not known for finesse – had easily bested the catchers so often the City wouldn’t even send them out on that call anymore.

Besides, none of this was Bob’s fault; he had been left to his own devices and by nature Blue Heelers have active and fertile minds and if they are not kept busy, they will find their own activities – which might not fit in with conventional doggy behavior. I’m sure that’s what led to Bob’s heist of the Monterrey Meat Market.

Next - the Meat Market Massacre

School's out. Taking a break.

Time to take a breather, so I'm taking a blogger break for a while. I notice that other bloggers, columnists, and cartoonists pull up things from their archives, so that's what I'm going to do.

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – This is NOT my dog

Let me make one thing very clear at the outset. Bob the Dog is NOT my dog.

I do not own a dog. Bob belongs belonged to my next-door neighbor Cole, and I place all the blame directly on his doorstep. Not that that does any good, because Cole is not using that doorstep at the moment and likely will not ever again darken his door, let alone use the step.

Bob the Dog is a Blue Heeler, the Australian cattle dog. Cole paid a bunch of money for Bob in the mistaken idea that he would make a good bird dog. If cows could fly, he might be, but birds are of no interest to this dog. To hide his general annoyance with the dog, Cole took huge delight in pointing out that he named the dog Bob, and greatly enjoyed working “Bob the Dog” and “Bob the Neighbor” into the conversation. I was not amused.

I should also point out that everyone in the neighborhood is acquainted with Bob the Dog – he howls. Nay, he bays at the moon. Some even call him Bob the Bugler. Complaining to Cole has been in vain to this point and is moot now because of Cole's absence. But let me start at the beginning.

About two weeks ago Cole called me from Las Vegas, where he and his wife Murleene were burning through their inheritance, such as it was. He explained that he “was on a real streak, and up many thousands of dollars, and he wanted to ride that streak while he could, so he was not coming back on Sunday night as planned, and would I please go over and feed Bob the Dog and check on him?”

Not that I was given much choice, but Bob the Dog had been howling louder than ever, so I figured he was out of food and checking on him was to my benefit. Now Blue Heelers are a very intelligent breed of dog, and Bob the Dog had already figured out that the dog food stash was on the screened-in porch and it was mere puppy play to get in there and lay waste to what remained of the supply. All that was left was a shredded sack and some pot plants gnawed to stubs. Cole had mentioned there was more feed in the garage and I knew where the key was, but I found only a half-sack in there and I knew that wasn’t going to last long so I hoped Cole’s luck would turn and they would be back before it became a crisis.

As it turns out, his luck had turned. He called me very early Tuesday morning and in desperate whispers said he had lost the thousands he was up, lost a bunch more money that he had borrowed, lost the house, lost the furniture and cars, lost Murleene, and now some very bad people were looking for him. He thought it best if he visited Montana or Canada or someplace far away for a while and he hoped that Bob the Dog could move next door and live with Bob the Neighbor. There was an “urrk” on the phone, and that’s the last I’ve heard from my ex next door neighbor, only now there’s a “For Sale” sign in front of his house and all the furniture and his car disappeared one night.

Unfortunately, Bob the Dog did not go with the furniture. I was pretty sure by the plaintive howls that Bob was out of food again, but by the time I could get over there, he was nowhere in sight. He did leave a note, however, that said he was going to go “releve the Valero Corner store of all their Slim Jims and beef jerky, and thanks for the care, mate.” Hmm. Turns out Bob is not that smart after all. He misspelled “relieve.”

Next - the Corner Store Caper

Monday Meandering - 5.19.2014

Yesterday was Senior Sunday at our church. I speak of high school seniors, not people my age. Throughout the service I kept thinking of Lake Wobegon, where "...all the children are above average." And they are. They truly are.

Yes. Yes, we did put the blanket back on the bed this past week. It was 42 degrees, folks, never mind that it is almost June and we are in Texas! #gonnamissthisweather

For more years than I can remember, contractors for the City of Austin have been burrowing under much of downtown, creating the Cross Town Tunnel that will deliver flood waters that accumulate in Waller Creek harmlessly to Town Lake, finally allowing river-walk type development along that downtown area.

This is a big tunnel, folks. You could drive city buses through this thing! The $150 million dollar project is almost complete - all that is lacking are the finishing touches on the intake facility that will suck up all this water. Which, someone just discovered, is in violation of City and State law that mandates that certain "view corridors" of the State Capitol must be preserved. Ooops! Gotta love this town!

Watching NCAA Softball Regionals this week; kept hearing someone screaming every time a certain pitcher delivered the ball. Finally determined it was the pitcher herself, yelling something that sounded a lot like "MOMMY!" She was the losing pitcher, maybe she did need her Mommy.

In the same tournament, I noticed a team from USC Upstate. Couldn't help but wonder if the team mascot name might be the "Upstarts." Or maybe the "Upsets." No such luck.

I was assigned a Sociology book at the Learning Ally Studio this week; the section I read was on "Late Adulthood." I have encountered many definitions of the age group I am in, but this was term was new to me; late adulthood. It has a certain panache, but since the word "late" is often associated with those no longer living, I think I'll pass. Wait, that's not a good word either... oh, never mind.

More Highland stories

I posted a little while back about experiences at Highland Church early on in our family saga. It was a seminal time for Barb and I, being part of a church that had almost as many members as our home towns had citizens. Well, my hometown at least.

This was our church home when both our children were born. When the ladies from Bible Class came to clean our house and prepare it to receive our first-born (while I was trying to get some sleep after being at the hospital all night).

This was also the place where the ladies in the nursery embraced Rob in loving arms from day one. He was still in the nursery when we moved to Austin; the ladies refused to promote him to the Toddler's Class. They assured us that those older children might run rough-shod over Rob, and it was much safer to keep him right there with them. That was only the beginning of many such acts of protectionism in Rob's life; most at the hands of older women. Just saying.

And that was the church where one Wednesday night after class a good friend named Bill Gray, owner of Mackey's Sporting Goods, was playing "gotcha" with Rob just after the boy had learned to walk. Bill would crouch down around a corner in the corridor, and whenever Rob came near the edge, Bill would reach out and grab him and yell "Gotcha," and both of them would laugh like crazy.

As toddlers are prone to do, however, Rob got distracted and wandered off, leaving Bill to wait... and wait... and then, hearing someone approach the corner, he jumped out, grabbed one of the Elder's wives around the knees and yelled "Gotcha!". She took it in good grace, saying only, "Hello Bill. It's good to see you, too."

Monday Meanderings - 5.12.2014

Found out that it's a bad idea to go to our favorite Mexican food restaurant on Cinco de Mayo. Our normal Monday evening trip to Chuy's coincided with the plans of a bunch of party goers and the place be jammed! However, from a stockholder's perspective, you had to be happy with the business. Fifty-eight locations in fourteen states - and counting.

If one goes to Silver's Gym five or six days a week and pounds the treadmill for two miles each and every day, it should get easier, right? I think I must doing something wrong.

Keeping the squirrel out of the bird feeders is always a challenge; recently the pesky rodent discovered that he could chew holes in the Finch feeder "socks" and all the seed would pour out onto the ground and he could dine at his leisure. So we ordered a "squirrel resistant" Finch feeder - the barrel is metal with scores of tiny holes that the birds can feed at but the squirrel cannot. So the squirrel just chewed through the cord holding up the feeder. It dropped to the ground, the cap popped off and the squirrel won again. Let's see how well he handles the heavy wire now holding up the feeder.

You know those signs that neighborhood associations put out that say, "Yard of the Month," or some such? Our association put a sign in our yard that said, "Can't you do something with this mess?" I don't know if the quantity of tassels that grow on (and fall off of) pecan trees have any correlation to the pecan crop, but if there is one, all my friends are getting bushels of pecans for Christmas.

I have decided that I don't understand the new "Gender Reveal" parties. That sounds to me like taking your pants off at Target, or some such.

In other news, I guess I won't be going back to Target anytime soon.

Monday Meanderings - 5.5.14

This past week has been wonderfully cool with low humidity; seriously primo patio-sitting time! We know it won't last, but certainly have enjoyed this brief interlude.

Speaking of brief, for a couple of days I connected the Anderson line of my family tree to Sir Lord Justice Edmond Anderson - Queen Elizabeth's (no, the other Elizabeth, back in the late 1500's) chief jurist. Among others, he tried Mary Queen of Scots and Sir Walter Raleigh on behalf of the Crown. Impressive dude, but alas, further research proved that the family tree I found with this link was more wishful than factual. Fame is so fickle.

I've mentioned the neighbor's yappy dog before, the one that barks incessantly as it goes for a daily walk. Now there is a new wrinkle; the dog barks incessantly and the neighbor yells continuously, "Shut up! Quiet, Queenie! Quiet! That's not an improvement.