Happy 2010

Around here we know another year is upon us when the Christmas stuff starts coming down around the house and heads up to the attic. Cheryl accomplished that this morning. We had a very merry Christmas. Santa filled our stockings with new collars and bones. Thanks Santa. Santa, you should know that Lexie already has been a bad girl and slipped out of her new collar. Please don't think I'm naughty for using it to play tug of war with her. Thankfully Cheryl had the foresight to keep the old collars, which Lexie is now donning. In the photos above, Lexie and I are chewing on our bones and you can get a glimpse of Duchess' new collar. This morning Cheryl asked me what my New Year's resolution is. After careful consideration, I think I'm going with some advice I saw on a recent bumper sticker: Wag more, bark less. Happy New Year!

A snowman with no name

We built a snowman today, but couldn't come up with a name. Lexie didn't like it too much anyway. Here are some pictures from our play day in the snow. Even Duchess had fun. She's so light she was the only one who didn't have trouble walking in it.

Let it snow

We are snowed in and loving it. Here's my attempt at making a snow angel. Why is Lexie looking at me like I'm crazy?

Who took the green out of Christmas?

Last week, with help from our Grams, Cheryl finally went up in the attic and pulled down the Christmas decorations. Frosty the Snowman took his place in the front yard, the manger scene was laid out on the table in the living room and the ornaments were unpacked from their boxes. The only thing missing was the big, green Christmas tree. Instead a much smaller white tree emerged from the box this year.
“Who ever heard of a little, white Christmas tree?” I protested. “Christmas trees are supposed to be big and green. All of our ornaments won’t fit on that thing.”
Cheryl went on to explain that because of the lack of space and time this year we were paring down our decorations.
“And, Wes and Alison have always wanted a white tree,” she said.
Though I was still reluctant about this major change, we started decorating the tree.
It already had lights so we started with red beads.
Then we each got to pick our favorite ornament.
My favorite ornament looks like me, Lexie’s looks like her and Duchess’ is a bone that says “Bow Wow.”
Cheryl and Alison put on ornaments they received from an ornament exchange at church.
Also on the tree went some ornaments from Cheryl’s childhood. They are ceramic mice her great aunt painted and gave to her each year.
We also added the ornaments Wes brought back from his trip to Germany a few years ago.
The last ornament to go on the tree will be one of Wes’ Christmas presents. To tell you what it is would give his present away, but I’ll give you a few hints: It’s from his favorite Christmas movie and it talks.
I’ll have to admit the tree turned out pretty pretty.
Besides, it’s not about the size of the tree or the presents under it. It’s about Jesus and family and peace on earth.

Jingle Bells

Alison's 8th grade band Christmas concert was held at Walter R. Johnson Middle School on Monday night. She's the drummer whose head you can barely see behind the flute player. Next year we think they should put the drummers on the front row.

Tinker what?

This is Tinker Bell. She’s the newest addition to our extended family and belongs to our cousins who live in Raleigh. If you’re wondering about her name, 5-year-old Kira is responsible for that. Our Uncle Jamie, Kira’s dad, will stick to calling the beagle either Tinker or Bell, but refuses to yell both names while outside and in earshot of the other neighbors. Tinker Bell is a friendly sweet heart who loves to cuddle and be held, unlike our Duchess. Tinker Bell is not a fan of those dog treats that look like bacon strips so our Aunt Tammy sent them home with Cheryl who said she was going to pass them on to our cousin Trip on the Shuffler side of the family. Thank goodness she decided to half the bag and share some with us. Thanks, Tinker Bell, for the treats and welcome to the pack.

We'll be good, we promise

Remember when you were little and you were being bad, especially in the car, and your parents threatened to call the police and have them haul you off to jail if you didn’t start being good?
We’ll, we got that speech yesterday when the dogcatcher showed up in the neighborhood.
Fearless little Duchess went running and barking after him, so she got the first and longest speech from our person, Cheryl.
“The dogcatcher comes after little, white fluffy things who go through the trashcans an eat tissue and other unmentionables. He also comes after little girls who use the bathroom on the carpet. And little doggies who wake up their people in the middle of the night when they bark.”
As Cheryl kept rattling off doggie sins, Duchess’ big black eyes got this worried look in them. “Really? That man would take me away from my Daddy if I did those things? That would not be good for my severe case of separation anxiety.”
Lexie and I got the barking speech, too.
We also got this speech, “The dogcatcher comes for big, golden fluffy things who dig up the backyard and kill innocent moles.”
Guilty as charged. We bagged one just before the dogcatcher turned on our street.
Cheryl continued, “He comes for big girl dogs who eat their brother’s food.” (That one was for Lexie). “And he comes for big boy dogs who whine during thunderstorms.”
“Let’s get back to Duchess and Lexie’s bad habits,” I said.
On the dogcatcher’s way out of the neighborhood he stopped to talk to Cheryl and another neighbor.
I stood on top of Lexie and Duchess stood on top of me and we cupped our ears to gate to hear what they were saying.
“Why do I always have to be on the bottom,” Lexie complained.
(I think that’s a rhetorical question.)
“Shh,” Duchess said, “He’s saying something about a fat flea.”
“I think that’s a cat in a tree,” I corrected.
From what we could gather, the dogcatcher’s visit had nothing to do with us being bad but everything to do with two dogs running loose in the hood, treeing cats and spreading rich people’s trash throughout their yards in the next hood over.
That dogcatcher must be good. He got his man – I mean dogs.
And for at least the next hour, we were good, too. Until Duchess, who suffers from short-term memory loss, went through the trashcan in the people’s bedroom. Then came the Santa-Claus-is-watching speech.

They say it's your birthday

Roses are red, violets are sometimes wine, we’re here to wish Baxter a happy birthday as he turns 9. (From Lexie and Duchess who hacked into Baxter’s blog account to secretly post this message. The big day is Tuesday, Dec. 8.)

How much do you weigh after turkey day?

Hope everyone survived turkey day and didn't put on too many lbs eating all of that food. My people celebrated Thanksgiving all week with meals at Cheryl's grandparents' in Statesville and Wes' family at the foot of Table Rock. (The photo is of my cousin Barkley on Thanksgiving). Though there were plenty of leftovers to fill the fridges, apparently no doggie bags. The closest thing we get to a traditional Thanksgiving feast is when one of us has an upset tummy and Cheryl feeds us plain pumpkin. Duchess has been through a whole can herself here lately, but we are thankful to report her runs appear to have gotten a lot less runny. Back to packing on the pounds, remember Monday is coming and that's always a good day to start a diet. Or you can wait a month and make it your New Year's resolution to drop all the weight you want to lose now plus what you'll put on over Christmas. Not that I would snitch on anyone about their weight, but between Wes and Cheryl the number on the bathroom scales as of this morning inched up by 8.

Happy B-day, little sis

Eight (human) years ago, my little sister, Lexie, came into this world. She had a much more privileged start in life than I did. She was born in a nice house on Lake Norman. I was born in the backwoods of Catawba County, in a blue plastic swimming pool in a single-wide trailer. Like me, though, Lexie was the last of her litter to find a home. She was first tagged to be some hunter’s dog, but when he actually went to pick her up he chose her sister, instead. I remember the first night Lexie spent at our house. Cheryl was afraid she was too little and I was too big to leave Lexie in my room, so she got to sleep on newspapers in the bathroom. Every time she moved, though, Cheryl woke up, so that only lasted one night. The next nights, until she put on some puppy pounds, Lexie slept in a crate in my room. I was always too scared to go in it, so she would swat and nip and torture me in general and then when she wanted a refuge or a nap, she’d seek shelter in her crate. It seems like it was only yesterday, but in reality, it’s been 56 dog years. Though she eats my food, hides my balls and refuses to get along with Duchess, I can’t imagine life without her. Happy birthday, Lexie.

Better to be a dog than a hog

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. It’s a simple holiday, no gifts to buy and wrap, just turkey to eat and a chance to spend time with family and count your blessings.
Recently, Cheryl has been telling us stories of Thanksgivings past.
When she was but a pup, her family was into killing hogs (which rhymes too close for comfort with dogs) on Thanksgiving.
A few years ago, when Cheryl wrote columns, she recounted, in the newspaper, her days as a youngster on a small Iredell County farm killin’ hogs.
She recently read that column to me and my sisters, Lexie and Duchess, as one of our bedtime stories. It went something like this:

Once upon a time when I was a child (which was long, long ago I whispered to the girls), Thanksgiving mornings began at dawn for me and my family.
Mom would dress me in my not-so-finest of clothes and dad would help me into my oldest coat and pair of gloves.
Together we would make the trek out our back door, through the woods, across my aunt and uncle’s yard, between two hay fields, through my grandparents’ yard and across the street to my grandfather’s pasture.
From there, my dad would meet up with the other men, I would find my cousins and my mom would head toward my great uncle’s basement where all the women had gathered.
It was hog-killing time.
I still vividly remember the process of slaying a hog and harvesting its edible parts.
I remember where the hog had to be shot and how it was such a big deal when my cousin, Robert, who is only 18-months older than I, became of age to shoot his first hog.
I remember how the lifeless hog was dragged across the fallen leaves and then hung upside down.
I remember how the hog was de-

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said stopping her. “This is too graphic. I cannot let you go on. Lexie and Duchess will have nightmares for months and those PETA people will be all over this.”
She continued, skipping over some of the most graphic parts and came to the part where the pig intestines, which I hear a News Herald reporter actually ate, ended up in a wheelbarrow. Cheryl said her great grandfather would pull out his pocketknife from his bib overalls and slit open the intestines, which she said looked like grub worms on steroids.
Cheryl and her cousins were responsible for running the meat across the street and down to the basement.
“There is nothing like sausage fresh from the hog to the grinder to the frying pan,” she said.
The annual event was over by early afternoon, Cheryl explained, and after the hog meat was divided among the various family members, the traditional Thanksgiving feast would start.
And so would the tradition of giving thanks.Lexie and I decided this year to put paw to paper and make our on list of all the things for which we are thankful. After Cheryl’s story, at the top of our list that it is not common practice to kill and eat dogs. Here’s the rest of our list:

Here are nine other things for which we are thankful.
9. rubs — belly, ear, back, chest
8. naps and stretches after naps
7. sweet puppy dog dreams
6. our back yard, its red dirt, leaves and critters
5. friends and neighbors
4. a fan in the summer and a heater in the winter
3. balls and bones
2. the weather, sunshine, rain, snow (but not thunder storms)
1. the hands that feed and water us

It's gettin' hot out here

I'm confused. The leaves are almost off the trees, but it's 80 degrees outside. Would you call this an Indian summer or the dog days of fall? Do I keep working on my winter coat, or should I start shedding again? The mild summer we had had me second guessing this global warming thing. But now that fall has been so warm maybe there's something to it. I'm not complaining. I love mild temperatures. Cheryl calls it long sleeves and shorts weather. I say it's good for the hogs. When Cheryl was little her family killed hogs on Thanksgiving. Way way back then during the ice age it was cold enough to practice that tradition. Today not so much. The poor oinkers would spoil between the barn and the processing basement. So once again this year the hogs should be safe.

PS What do you think of my photo? Cheryl finally captured my best side with her new camera.

Happy Veterans Day

Nov. 11 each year is the day set aside to honor and say thank you to all of the vets out there. Not the V-E-Ts that keep us pets healthy, but the men and women in uniform who keep our country safe and free. Our family has a long line of veterans, all of whom have served in the Army. They include my Great-grandpas Grier Bustle and Mack Moose; my Gramps, Gary Moose; my PawPaw Dude Shuffler; my Uncle Greg Shuffler; and my Cousin Josh Shuffler. But the one I am most proud of and thankful for right now is my Pops, Capt. Wes Shuffler. If I could salute you with my paw, I would.

Happy anniversary

Today is my people's one-year wedding anniversary. You know I'm not one for change, but looking back on the past year, it's been a good year of changes. We blended our family pretty effortlessly. No longer am I the man of the house, which is a big load off my shoulders. There's a teenager in the house now, which bumps me down to the second-oldest in the birth order. Lexie and I gained a step-sister in Duchess. Lexie and Duchess still have a rocky relationship, but we are working on it. Since I'm not one for confrontations, I just deal with Duchess by avoiding her (Except for when she comes back from the doggie cleaners like she did Friday and smells really good. I couldn't help but sniff her and she didn't bite me, so I consider that a moment to cherish.) We added a shed to the backyard to make room for all of the people's stuff. There's more people around to throw balls, give belly rubs and keep us fed and watered at descent hours. The male-to-female ratio didn't change as Wes and I are outnumbered by 4-2, but overall, life is good. I'm even thinking about settling down and getting married if for no other reason then to have someone smear caked in my face.

Catch me if you can

Cheryl has had her new camera for three weeks today. She's taken about 250 pictures with it, but still can't seem to take a good one of me. She blames me for not being still. I remind her that a good photographer can capture athletes in motion. You be the judge.

Good neighbors

We have the best neighbors. For the past few weeks Lexie and I have watched and counted leaves as one by one they fall from their trees and litter our yard. Knowing how busy Cheryl is, we wondered when and if they would all get picked up. Last Thursday, Opie's people, Bob and Donna, pulled up in our driveway and unloaded a giant hair-dryer-looking thing and a long orange chord. In no time, all of the beautiful but pesky golden leaves in the front yard were corralled to the road for the big city vacuum cleaner to come and suck up. The undercover leaf pushes' goal was to get the job done and get out of the yard before Cheryl knew who had come to do the good deed. What they didn't know was because of Duchess' runs, Cheryl has been coming home during the day to let her out. (Opie's people really should read my blog). Imagine Cheryl's surprise when she pulled up in the driveway and realized the chore she had been dreading most was taken care of. Though they tried to avoid getting busted, I'm glad Bob and Donna got caught red handed in an act of random kindness. There's no way Lexie and Duchess would have been able to keep the secret. So once again we give a big 'Thank You' shout out to our good neighbors.

PS: In the time it has taken me to write this, 50, no 57, no 63 ... well anyway, lots more leaves have fallen.

What ails her?

Duchess has - and how do I put this delicately? - the runs. She has had this condition off and on for about 6 weeks now. If she makes it outside to do her business, it's not too bad - save for the mess that sometimes is left under the tail area. But if she can't hold it until she gets outside and happens to let loose on the carpet, it's not pretty. After cleaning up one such mess last night and fearing something was horribly wrong with the little white fluffy thing with a dirty behind, Cheryl broke down and made a V-E-T appointment today. After a thorough interrogation of Duchess' eating habits, the doc ran a few tests. His diagnosis: too much protein in her diet. Prescription: white rice, potatoes and boiled chicken for a week. Then she can slowly start eating low-protein dog food and treats, but still no people food, which is hard for dogs to come by around this house anyway. Hopefully with a few changes in her diet Duchess will be on the mend. And thankfully the V-E-T doesn't charge extra if one of his patients bites him.

Fall fun

Fall is my favorite time of the year. Cool nights, warm days and all of those leaves. We spent this afternoon watching Cheryl round up all of those leaves. Around our house none of the trees lose their leaves at the same time. One big oak tree in the front yard goes first. Then the other big oak tree in the front yard goes next. The trees in our back yard are last. While there's not enough leaves in the back yard to pile up and bounce through yet, we still enjoyed the afternoon playing ball with Cheryl after her work was done. We even let Duchess in on the fun.

Say 'CHEESE'

We've been a household without a camera for about a month now, hence the reason I haven't updated my blog in about a month now. Finally over the weekend Cheryl got a new camera for her birthday (which was nearly 3 months ago). Cheryl brags about how nice it is and all of these features it has on it. Blah, blah, blah. All I want to know is if it takes good pictures of me. So far, the answer is no. Cheryl got it out of the box and started shooting away today. We then installed the software that lets us see the pictures on the computer. There is a picture of a flower. Some berries. Another flower. A laundry basket. More flowers. Alison with her braces off. Cows. Lexie. Ouch, bad picture of me, Delete that one. Another bad pic of me. Delete, delete, delete. Even the picture of Duchess is better than mine. Cheryl likes this one of the cow best, so that's why it's posted. She's proud of the zoom capabilities of this new camera. Apparently it even takes really great pictures in the dark. Maybe we'll try to take mine again with the lights off.

The barn in the backyard

Rome wasn't built in a day and neither was our shed. But after 2 months of stop-and-go work, we finally finished it. Because of its color and shape, we no longer call it a shed, but affectionately refer to it as "the barn." Thankfully there's been no talk of adding anymore animals to the property. Which is a good thing because there's so much stuff packed in "the barn" that there's no room for anything to live in it (except for snakes and spiders.)

Staycation's over

Lexie, Duchess and I have enjoyed a few weekends away from the people while they were away from home. While they made recent trips to Charleston, S.C. and Lubbock, Texas, Lexie and I had a staycation (with Aunt Kerri attending to our needs) and Duchess made weekend trips to Nana's house. The Charleston trip was to celebrate Gramps and Cheryl's birthdays. Gramps turned 399 (in dog years) on July 21 and Cheryl turned 252 (though she tells everyone she's only 203) on July 25. The most interesting tale we heard about Charleston was the ghost tour they took. There's this one house, Poogan's Porch, that's now a restaurant. Poogan is the name of a dog who used to live there and now haunts the place. He's not a scary dog ghost, though, more like Casper was. The trip to Lubbock was to meet up with some Army buddies of Wes'. After two weekends away, the work around the house has started to pile up. You should her Cheryl's laundry list of chores - which does include laundry. Oh well - breaks over.

Day 4

Today is day 4 on a building project that was supposed to take 2 days. Here are a few things I've learned about construction:

1. Measure once cut twice. (Or is it cut once and then measure twice?)

2. Allow less time then you think you'll need from start to finish. (Or is it more?)

3. Factor in more than one trip to the hardware store.

4. Don't wear a Home Depot T-shirt when the hardware store you're making trips to is Lowes.

5. Have plenty of cold beverages on hand.

6. Women can swing hammers, too.

7. Shingles can be a virus, but they also go on the roof.

8. Speaking of the roof, don't be afraid of heights.

9. A radio helps the work day go faster.

10. There's a big sense of accomplishment in doing it yourself.

Day 2

Day 2 on the building construction site yielded a floor, four walls and this blue tent-looking thing for a roof. It also yielded one blue and swollen thumb, a few balls thrown and fetched in between hammering and one little white fluffy thing of a dog getting a leftover chicken bones out of the trashcan. Duchess, being little and white, is not allowed in the construction area. She, instead, is in charge of the home site. Trashcans, though, prove a distraction to her. Once she was through with the one in the kitchen, her face wasn't so white anymore and even this morning she still has this distinct odor about her. Day 3 of the building project involves shingles, which I hear are painful, so I may help Duchess with home site duty. Wonder what's leftover in the trash can?

What was I thinking?

My new nickname is Bonehead Bax. My people started calling me that last night after I rolled in a pile of wet cement. Wes and my Gramps are building a shed in our back yard, and Lexie and I are helping as much as we can, even if the people don't know they need the help. We helped Wes move the post-it notes he was using as measurements. We relocated a glove. And inspected the hammering process up close. Last night when I rolled in the cement all I was doing was checking to make sure it was the right consistency. What I didn't realize was fur and cement don't mix. Cheryl said I looked like I had a gray mask on one side of my face. She freaked out a little bit, but then just started laughing hysterically. She helped me take a shower under the water hose to rinse it off. It reminded both of us of that story about the pig who ran away from home because the farmer's wife cleaned the farm and his mud hole. It so happens that that pig found wet cement that he thought was mud so he sunk deep down into it, only to have it do what cement does. Thank goodness no one had to call the rescue folks to get me unstuck like they had to that pig. The building process continues tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.

A pig's pen is his castle

When I was a pup, Cheryl would tell me this story that her mother told her when she was little. It was about a pig who lived on a farm and loved to sink deep into his mud hole. One day the farmer's wife decided to clean everything on the farm, including the pig's mud hole. The pig missed his mud so much that he ran away from the farm. But, he got scared of "the real world" so he came back home. The farmer's wife missed the pig so much while he was gone that she let him have his mud hole back. I felt like the pig in that story yesterday. Every room in our house got a cleaning, including my and Lexie's sunroom. The cleaning stirred up so much dust I'm surprised it didn't show up on the weatherman's radar. With all of that dust came multiple sneezing fits from both me and Cheryl. Not only did the room get scrubbed from top to bottom, but some furniture got moved around, while other furniture disappeared. It was enough to make me think about running away, until I curled up in my nice clean bed. I may not like where it's at now, but not sleeping on sticks, stones and crumbs made for a restful night.

Walking wounded

My buddy Buck is injured. He ripped his toenail half off his foot. My person Cheryl and his person Kerri had to help him hobble to the vet's office. While he's on the mend I've advised him to milk his injury as much as possible. Apparently he even has his brother Frisk waiting on him hand and paw.

Happy Day to Dads

Lexie, Duchess and I sat down, put paw to paper and came up with 10 things that makes our Pops great.
1. He plays ball with us.
2. He doesn't throw like a girl.
3. He manhandles snakes.
4. He gives us funny nicknames.
5. He tells us storms never last.
6. He picks ticks off us.
7. He puts gravy on our food.
8. He shares his sandwich meat.
9. He takes good care of our mom.
10. He loves us.

My people went to Lubback, Texas and all they brought me back were pictures of peacocks. A 10-gallon cowboy hat or belt buckle would have been nice. Don't get me wrong, peacocks are pretty. But how about a T-shirt or a coffee mug that says 'God bless Texas.' Something. Anything, but pictures. Maybe next time.

The new girl next door

We have a new dog on the block. Her name is Abby. She's a pound puppy and full of energy. Cheryl tells me I used to be that energetic when I was a pup, but this kid needs some serious Ritalin. She and Duchess get along pretty good, when Abby's still enough. We wonder if Abby is responsible for the mysterious pink slipper that found its way to the end of our driveway on Saturday? Hum?

One man's trash

The people had another yard sale on Saturday. This one actually was a moving sale. At the moment our family has 5 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, 2 kitchens, two living rooms, 2 fireplaces, 2 laundry rooms, a bonus room, a basement, 3 covered places to park cars, 2 yards, one dog room and 2 addresses with the number 13. Let me tell you, with all of that space comes lots of junk. When Wes and Cheryl got married in November they started the task of combining two households. It’s now almost June and they are still combining two households. We have watched as they crammed stuff in closets, piled stuff in the laundry room, jammed stuff in the shed, carried stuff up to the attic, pushed stuff under beds and stuffed stuff in cabinets over here at our place. Most of the leftovers were sold, including two of Duchess' old toys. The rest went to charity.

Pampered pooch

Before and after

Duchess had her day at the doggie spa on Sunday. She went from shabby to chic in a matter of a few hours. Having had our day at the spa a few weeks ago, Lexie and I know while you might look good after a bath and trim, it takes at least 3 doggie days to get to smelling like your old doggie self again.

Snakes still alive

Saturdays are always interesting around here. Our people do not go off to those job things where they make money to buy dog food and pay for vet bills and days at the doggie cleaners. So it’s a good bet they will get into something.

Like most Saturdays, today started with a late breakfast. Then came out the list of chores. At the top of the list was a trip to town. Wes and Cheryl returned with three bales of straw and, most importantly, a bag of dog food. We know Cheryl’s car will fit two golden retrievers and a Maltese. But who knew it would fit three bales of straw and a bag of dog food?

“Are we getting a horse?” Lexie asked when she saw the straw. “I’ve always wanted a horse.” Well, off course we weren’t getting a horse. Turns out the straw was for tomato and pepper plants. “I don’t think Papaw Bustle does it that way,” I told Wes as he cut out, with a chainsaw, holes in the bales, filled them with dirt and plopped in those vegetable plants. “We’re trying something new this year,” he said, promising these will be the best tomatoes we’ve ever bitten into.

As Wes hacked up the straw, Cheryl was preparing to do some planting of her own. She had gotten some real pretty, colorful flowers to set out in the front yard. She learned long ago pretty flowers don’t last long in the back yard. I walked with her to the shed to retrieve the wheelbarrow, some dirt and some pots.

As she approached the shed she did her usual snake clap and banged on the door. She slid it open. Looked to her right. Looked up. Looked center. Checked out the floor. Looked left. Started for the wheelbarrow. “WES! I FOUND THE SNAKE!” she screamed. “Could you say that a little louder? I don’t think Gram and Gramps in Claremont heard you.” I said. The dutiful husband that he is, Wes immediately dropped what he was doing and ran to the rescue, broom – not hoe - in hand.

Being the overprotective dog mom that she is, the first thing Cheryl did was usher us to the sunroom where she bolted the door. Lexie and I listened intently, ears pressed against a sunroom window, to keep up with what was going on.

There was some debate about whether to let the snake live. “It will keep the rodents away,” Wes said. “So do Baxter and Lexie,” Cheryl argued. This went on for a while until we saw Cheryl take up her position on top of a stump and Wes go into the shed, clutching the broom –not the hoe. For a while, all was quiet. Then Cheryl started screaming like a little girl. Wes had tipped the wheelbarrow over thinking the snake would just mosey his way out of the shed and head for the fence. The snake had something else in mind. He wanted to head toward the back of the shed. The snake made a few lunges at Wes, but being the snake wrangler that he is, Wes, and that broom – not the hoe - talked the snake into heading for daylight and exiting the yard, never to be seen again for the rest of the day.

“What a brave man he is,” Lexie said. “Did you see those moves? The way he took control and manhandled that snake - he’s my hero.”

“Well, he did break the broom in the process,” I pointed out. “Cheryl’s not going to be happy about a broken broom.”

Turns out Cheryl was impressed enough with Wes’ kung fu moves on that snake that she let the broom thing slide.

They continued their chores, all along talking about how great Wes is for rescuing us from that big, bad, black snake that’s not even poisonous.

If you ask me, I think it was Cheryl’s screaming that ran that snake off, not the new man of the house’s brawniness. As for the shed, it now reeks of mothballs.

Tweet revenge

Nothing is sweeter than a Sunday afternoon nap. Nothing is more sour than a Sunday afternoon nap that gets interrupted. A bird found its way into our sunroom yesterday during my Sunday afternoon nap (my third of the day). The bird perched itself up on a shelf and let me have it. “Tweet, tweet. Why did you attack my feathered friend?” it asked. It was not happy that a few weeks ago I jumped head first into one of the bushes in my backyard and snatched another bird out of its own nest. “Bark, Bark. Why did your feathered friend build a nest in my backyard?” It was a lame response, but the only thing I could come up with in my sleepy head. When the commotion woke up Lexie from her Sunday afternoon nap, the bird realized it was outnumbered and thought it best to fly our coup. Problem was it was in a sunroom with windows as walls. “Do I fly out here?” it would tweet, bumfuzzled. Then hit a window. Blap. “Guess not. How about here?” Thud. “Guess not.” This went on for a while until Cheryl woke up from her Sunday afternoon nap and realized something was amiss. She came to the rescue by opening the door and swatting at the bird with a broom until it flew out. That bird did end up getting in the last word. When I crawled into my bed later that night I found where it had left me a present.

Snakes alive

I'm actually blogging from inside tonight. A storm may not be right on top of us, but I can feel one brewing. That means Lex and I get to hang out in the kitchen. Before our people got home, Lex thought it would be a good idea to calm our nerves by doing some crafts. Cheryl moved her craft cabinet out into our sunroom when Wes and Alison moved in to make more room inside. We decided to nose around in it and found some stamps and picture frames. We drug them out but then realized without opposing thumbs we couldn't do much crafting. In case you're wondering what the photo is that's posted above, that's a snake skin. Cheryl found it in the backyard while mowing last night. You can add it to the list of critters brave - or stupid - enough to enter our domain. Cheryl's thankful we haven't actually seen the snake. We suspect it was a black snake. Maybe it likes moles, too.

Mole holes

My Papaw Bustle has a windmill in his yard, supposedly to chase away the moles. Some say windmills cause vibrations underground that agitate moles and keep them from burrowing in range of the vibrations. I can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want moles in their yard. Lexie and I have a pretty successful mole ranch at our place. They are cute and furry and fun to play with. They aren’t hard to catch. If you have a good sniffer you can find them underground and dig them out. Our backyard is evidence of that. My person Cheryl says it’s getting to the point that she needs a four-wheel drive lawn mower to cut the grass and miss all the craters we've created tending to our moles. Sometimes you don’t even have to dig, moles just pop their heads up out of the ground as if to say, “Hey Bax, want to play?” One taunted Lexie this way the other day. She had just finished eating and it was one of those rare occasion where she decided to roam the ranch instead of eat my food. Next thing we knew she’s coming out of the blueberry bushes with a mole in her mouth. As she lumbered toward Cheryl with it, Cheryl pretty much freaked out. She grabbed her yellow rubber varmint glove and a dust pan and ran to rescue the little fellow. Lexie didn’t put up much of a fight, dropping the mole. When I went in for it, that dust pan smacked me on the head. Cheryl scooped up the mole off the ground and headed for the back fence. “Oh, it’s wiggling,” she cried like a little girl. “What if it bites me?” That thought made Cheryl drop the mole. Determined to still save its life, she scooped it up again and continued with her mission. We didn’t tell her that as far as she slung it over the fence, the impact of it hitting the ground probably killed it.If so, it went to rest in peace with all of the other moles and birds and bunnies who have sacrificed their lives to play with us in our backyard. I just noticed something: My neighbor has a windmill in his yard. Maybe that’s while all the moles come to play with us.

Pesky pests

The older I get the faster, it seems, flea and tick season comes around each year. A few weekends ago we were lounging on the back deck at my gram and gramps’ house when a tick attached itself to me while another one crawled around on Duchess. For Cheryl it meant a trip to the doggie drug store for some flea-tick-mosquito be gone. But you can’t just rub anything on us dogs. I heard the Environmental Protection Agency – I don’t know who they are or what they do, but they sound important – is sniffing around trying to find out why some dogs and cats get sick after their people put flea and tick medicine on them. Read more here: https://mgx.themeganet.com/exchweb/bin/redir.asp?URL=http://www2.morganton.com/content/2009/may/12/pets-can-have-reactions-topical-flea-medication/
On a lighter note, I remember another episode I had that involved a tick on my head. Read it here: http://www2.morganton.com/content/2009/may/12/theres-tick-my-head/ .

Sisterly love

Just when we thought my sisters, Lexie and Duchess, were starting to get along -- bang, bark, scratch, nip – they go at it again. Our dog family is a blended one. My person, Cheryl, married Duchess’ person, Wes, six months ago, upping our two-dog household to a three-dog one. The more the merrier, I say. There’s more competition over your food bowl, Lexie says. Twice a day Duchess, an inside dog, joins us on the patio off our sunroom for meal time. They must not feed Duchess much out of her own bowl inside, because she hangs around my bowl while I eat. When I feel sorry for her, which is often, I pick out a few pieces of kibble and drop them within her reach. She gobbles up food like Lexie does. Then when Lexie is done eating out of her bowl, she rumbles over my way and it’s on. Lexie forgets how big she is and Duchess, a 13-pound Maltese, forgets how small she is as they fight over my meal. At that point it’s always time for me to go relieve myself or sniff out a new mole hole or drag a stick across the yard. Then Cheryl intervenes, scoops up Duchess in one hand and yanks Lexie’s collar by the other. “If you’re not boy dog, stay away from the blue bowl,” she tells the two girl dogs. The distraction allows me to finish my meal, but by then I’ve usually lost my appetite. The struggle to become the alpha female continues. Can’t we all just get along? Click http://www2.morganton.com/content/2009/may/11/whos-your-doggie/ to read about our first meeting with Duchess.

Happy Day to Moms

Duchess woke up this morning on the wrong side of the doggie bed, which is not that unusual for the little, white, temperamental, fluffy thing. When I asked what was wrong she said she was mad because I hadn’t written about her yet. I had to explain to her it’s not writing, it’s blogging. And she’d have to be patient and wait until Mother’s Day is over to get her name in my blog. Today is all about the moms in my life. My birth mother, Goldie; my Grams; my Nana (who's also Trip's mom); my mamaws France and Doris; Buck’s mom, who feeds me sometimes; Bo's mom; Opie's mom, Abby's mom; Zip's mom; and my person, my mom, Cheryl, who said something about wanting to be called Queen Mom today (whatever). Happy Mother’s Day all. Love, your golden boy, Bax!

The skinny on Lexie

104. That’s what Lexie weighed in at at our last visit to the V. E. T.
Poor girl. Like people, some dogs struggle with their weight all the time. Two years ago Lexie was pushing 98. Last year she was down to 90.
We’ve been scratching our heads, not for fleas, to figure out why her figure has gotten so wide. We eat the same food and the same amount at feeding time.
The V. E. T. asked how close grandma lives and thought maybe she was slipping Lexie some extra treats. Sometimes our neighbor, Opie’s person, brings us a few goodies, but not that many.
The only thing I can come up with is Lexie’s snacks in between meals. She eats a lot of grass and rocks. Cheryl even pulled a mole, which was still squirming, out of her mouth a few weeks ago.
Cheryl’s solution to slim down Lexie affects us both. She got us some low-fat dog food. So far it’s working. Not because of the “fit and trim” on the label, but because we’re on a hunger strike. Trust me, diet dog food is no better than diet people food. And I’m still not one for change.
My advice to Lexie is to fret, worry and whine more. That’s how I maintain my boyish figure.
I better stop now. I promised Lexie I wouldn’t mention her weight on the World Wide Web. (I’m sure there’s a not-too-skinny joke in there somewhere.)

(Click http://www2.morganton.com/content/2009/may/11/lot-more-love/ to read my column about our V. E. T. visit from two years ago.)

Old person learns new trick

I’ve been hounding my person Cheryl to help me create a blog. Since I lost my column gig at The News Herald, I’ve hunted for an outlet to express myself and update my friends – the two legged and the four-legged ones - on what’s been going on in my life.
A lot has happened since I last wrote. Remember? It was about my gallivant – though brief it was - through the neighborhood thanks to the then-boyfriend of Cheryl’s leaving our gate open after mowing the yard. (Click to read http://www2.morganton.com/content/2009/may/11/chase/ ) The two major events in my life since you last heard from me are 1) I got laid off from the newspaper (if you haven’t heard, newspapers are a dying breed and are downsizing to stay afloat) and 2) that guy who mowed our yard lost his boyfriend title. He’s now the husband, (making Duchess my step-sister.)
Finally, today, on her fifth mandatory furlough day from the paper (another product of the hurting newspaper business), Cheryl ran out of excuses and decided to sign me up on a blog.
Five hours later, after bumbling, stumbling and fumbling her way through choosing a template, creating a profile and uploading my handsome photo (she refused to touch up my gray hair, something about journalism ethics) I’m officially a blogger.
I know, blogs are so last month, and I should be tweeting instead. Maybe Cheryl can put that on her to-do list on her next furlough day.