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.