Giants' Teeth (or, The Sky Is Falling)

Giants fought above our normally peaceful neighborhood today. Two, maybe, three. Or, more!

Chicken Little has found redemption in the skies above Austin.

Thousands of jumbo-sized teeth fell from the sky in a brutish, unforgiving torrent.

It went something like this, I'm guessing...

<<<CRAAACK!>>>

Thor with his mighty Hammer smites his younger, mischievous sibling, Loki (ed. - with apologies to our own mischievous little canine...), into dizzying, but only momentary, submission. A severe jar-rattling bludgeon to the choppers.

"Bumpety-bump-bump-bump-bump...ker-plunk!"

Those pocked molars busting loose and dancing all over my car's sun-roofed top. The tarred shingles. The front lawn. The bird bath. The street. BAIR's Paper Supply across the way. And especially all madly pachinko-ing throughout the pecan tree branches.

Odd for this time of year (Just, please... please don't shatter the windshields!).

<<<WHAAACK!>>>

Retribution is swift and merciless; another well-placed blow lands squarely and heavily only this time a hail of Thor's incisors & bicuspids trundles down in a furious, chaotic sheet of broken bone and spit.

<<<BOOOM!>>>

Good Christ, here it comes (Oh, I just know I'll be banging dents out of the SAAB's hood for weeks!)...

"Tink. (pause) Tank (pause) Tunk. (pause) Ba-dunk."

Their mouths finally run out of teeth ... what follows are all apologetic tears for 5, maybe 10, minutes more. Heavy, drenching, blinding tears.

(((R))((U))((M))((B))((L))((E)))

Two giant brothers amble off into the distance somewhere to console one another ... (perhaps over San Antonio?) ... but, inevitably, and certainly once their new teeth are again grown into place, will come back this way...

...all a fragilis-dentata-piss-and-vinegar-spewing-mad.

Angry with each other?

More likely ... furious at the world.

Rock Out With Your Caulk Out!

Gotta love a new and stressed out home-owner.

So, there we were at The Home Despot (aka - The Home Desperate, aka - Wall Mart, aka - Stalag 13, aka - New Shrine To The Pathetic And Overly Obsessed Property Slave... etc, etc, etc!) picking up our new and profoundly over-priced stove, refrigerator, microwave oven, washer, drier, insert random household appliances here...

I'm very tired. Let me stress (and I do mean stress...) the word "very" for you, okay?

VERY!

Its been a long day of closings, title fees, mortgage notes, insurance papers, real estate agents, appraisal forms, legal documents, check passing and everything else that goes along with the purchasing of a new home.

And then some.

My mind is spinning on how fast money is funneling out of my bank account. And this little man, this chattering little weasel-like creature, "Clint", is trying to sell us (by us, I mean my wife, Heather, myself, and the several dozen or so pink, blue, and green faeries fluttering madly around my head...) warranties upon warranties for each new appliance. As if three months pay wasn't enough already, all right?! If this guy were taking blood samples he'd screw the whole intravenous tube and needle thing and go straight for a sapping spigot and 10 gallon bucket!

Shortly into his pitch Mary Lou Jesus-Camp saunters up to explain even MORE great deals to be had!

And I've...

I've had enough.

'Don't our new bathrooms need to be silicon-ed or something???'

Heather, this is your show now. Have at it with these clowns.

And without so much as batting an awkwardly bent eye-lash I just blurt out, "Hey, Clint? Can you just show me where your caulk is?"

Sounds like...

Stops them both dead in their tracks (at least they've finally shut-up!).

Mary Lou turns beet-red. Her priest is going to have a rough confessional next week...

Clint fails terribly in suppressing his did-he-just-say-what- I-thought-he-just-said! shit-eating grin.

"Ummm, you mean our caulking? That's two rows down in Aisle 7."

I fail to find the humor in any of this.

At all.

I leave in a head-shaking huff.

Although, immediately afterwards, it does ticklishly get me to thinking, "Wouldn't it be great to just drop trow right about now and waddle over to Aisle 7 with my shorts wrapped around my ankles screaming, 'Hey, where's your caulk! Where's your goddamn caulk, you bastards! I need to find some caulk badly! Right here, right now!'"

The moral of this story is...

Well, there is no moral. Morals have gone completely out the window, in fact.

But, I did find the "caulking" in Aisle 7 just like Clint had told me it would be.

And, also, you can be damn sure that the next time I wander into The Home Depot I'm not going to take any prisoners: "Hey, can somebody tell me where you fuckers stack your Penis Guns around this douche-colony!?"

That oughtta hold the little bastards...

Man In A Night Time Mirror

When I met the man he stood about 5'11" but was much younger.

Down a darkened hall he stared back from inside a mirror.

All words written and spoken in Gaelic here. A small, lost town on the edge of a forgotten, pinprick of a place.

No one home.

Whole place to myself. With eggs! And milk! Bread and freshly churned butter!

And as darkness crept in and then turned into oblivion I woke up and walked down an empty-house hall. Floors answered back with every covert and careful step.

Naked.

Except for maybe my pretenses.

There he was, too.

Alone.

Naked.

Except for his pretenses.

Staring back down over eighteen years or so of darkened hallways.

We startled each other. Because no one was supposed to be home. But there we were ... facing off. Stuck in night's glue.

I discovered you down a hallway.

In a mirror over a decade and more ago. Staring me into eternity, or now. Whichever came first.

Now here I am.

Memory as time machine.

God, if I only knew then what I know now (you foolish cliche-whore!).

Stay right there, lad, stay right there.

Frozen in time.

In that night felled, cottage mirror.

Afraid.

But still safe.

Pet Peeve Hypocrite!

OK, so maybe, just maybe... she's one of the greatest dogs ever?

Join the Dogster community

Meet The Mouth

Dog owners are different than cat owners.

Every dog owner will make you painfully aware of that fact.

They say, "Well, we've had 'Cerberus' for 3 years, 6 months, 2 weeks, 10 days, 12 hours, 13 minutes and 53 seconds."

Cat owners will defer, "We think she's about 2 or 3 years old..."

Dogs exude personality.

Cats exude independence.

Dogs know words.

Cats: "No words."

If cats do "know" words... well, then they sure as hell understand the art of feigning ignorance.

Loyalty.

Obedience.

Love.

Expression.

These are words associated with dogs.

Cats?

Loyalty (to no one...).

Obedience (Pfff. Riiiiiight...).

Love (of sunny spots and tongue baths maybe...).

Expression (as long as that expression involves a middle finger...).

There is always a BIG story behind a dog. Usually weeks in the making if not months.

Cats have stories, too. Very detailed ones. But chances are if you asked a dog to recite his or her story he or she would do it in a most excited and immaculate manner. Woofing in gregarious detail all the way!

Cats, on the other hand, would write their story down somewhere, hide it from everyone and wait until 'The Mothership' touches down before revealing their ultimate truth... (you think I'm kidding?)

Let it be clear: I adore cats.

Let it also be clear: I adore dogs.

Can there really be such a strain of humanity??

You usually don't find this happy medium in most people.

You're either one, or the other.

Period.

Dog Owners might say: "Cats = Terrorists, Dogs = Patriots".

Cat Owners might say: "Dogs = Short Bus To English As A 2nd Language Class, Cats = New York Times Sunday Edition Crossword Puzzle".

So, where does that leave us 'lovers of both'?

Dogs = Dogs.

That's great!

Cats = Cats.

Why, that's great, too!

Are we then Patriotic Progressives? Folks that are willing to negotiate with the terrorists after weeks of scholarly review? Or, just undeniably neurotic...?

Whatever. Meet The Mouth.

"Loki" (after hours of naming-rites debate between Heather and myself!).

She's a black lab mix. We're thinking a touch of Chow or Pyrenees thrown in perhaps judging by the kinky hair around her ears and the pudgier than normal snout for a normally pure-bred lab.

Did I mention she's black? Matches 'The Coven'! (ed. - oh, go get yourselves on some meds pronto, you obsessives!)

I found her ... (rather she found me!) ... at the local Austin pet shelter, "Cause For Paws."

I just couldn't say, "No."

Isn't that how the excuse usually goes?

She had me at, "Woof." (complete with jowly head-cocked, mushy brown eyes all a-drooping...!)

(sigh!)

Indeed. Stricken was I.

We are now the proud owners of one very high energy, completely time consuming bundle of canine joy. It's been awhile for me, admittedly. I grew up with dogs and loved their undying companionship. The way they would hop into your arms when you came home at night. The way you could just tell they would die inside every time you left the homestead - even for a second!

No difference here.

Loki is only a puppy, maybe 3 or 4 months at most, and she dies inside every time you have to "crate" her for the night (merely to save the cats mind you) or leave the house for even just a moment.

She hates any activity shy of full-on buddy-buddy companionship. When she finally has your undivided attention... she then promptly pees everywhere (Chorus Of Cats be heard: "Heathen!").

That's how excited she becomes: "Oh, joy of joys, love of loves, be still my beating little puppy heart! My saviors, my companions, my pack! Once again reunited! May I christen you with the fresh bowl of water I just drank about an hour ago now??"

I am not a squeamish person. Albeit, I am no fan of full-on feces coverage either, but I can handle the fairly minor, messy "inconveniences" in life.

Urine?

Ha! What's a little body-processed H20!?

Vomit??

Hell, I used to do that all the time in college!

Poop!

Poop!?

What kind of word is "poop" anyway!? A word for faeries! Faeiries poop!

I can handle a little "poop". Why I can even handle a lot of "POOP!" (read: you should see some of the jobs I've held in my life...)

Loki is a factory full of it all.

Not so much the vomit part, really, but certainly the other exiting doggy doings to be sure.

We're beginning to feel like a maid service, in fact. We've mopped the house so many times in the past week that it's either extremely clean, or we've merely scrubbed all that puppy urine so deeply into the wood floors that the yellow shine is simply an illusion.

And that MOUTH!

Anyone want to suggest how to handle a clacking maw full of fanged, chewing, non-stop gnashing-toothy chomping action?! Please do advise! Heather has nicknamed her "The Alligator". When next we meet the holes in our shoes aren't some fashion statement for warmer climes be assured... furniture, rugs, plants, pecans, metal(!), pillows, molding ... gulp! The Cats!!

"NO, LOKI, NO! DOWN! HOLD! HOOOOOOLD! HOOOOLD!"

"Hold", our special power word for ... for everything she's not suppose to be doing, really - quite effective!

It's like a spiritual mantra all of a sudden. "Hold" will bring peace & calm to our universe on most occasions. When it doesn't work properly "Cookie?" or "Walk?" sometimes will suffice.

Without going into too much more detail (again the whole "people-who-go-on-and-on-about-how-extraordinary-and- wonderful-their-doggies-&-kitties-are-thing" happens to be a personal, ahem, pet-peeve of mine...) Loki is whip-smart, gentle, heart breaking-ly loving & lovable, criminally cute and has a bark that mimics both a feral coyote and a stray minke whale when she's lonely, and one that quickly evolves into a deep, throaty, window-rattling "BAW-ROOF! BAW-ROOF!" when she's acting all tough.

"Ha! Tough, eh? You think you're so tough, is that it? Try scrubbing crap out of a rug at 2:30 in the morning sometime, dawg! I'll show you tough!"

In short, though, we're tremendously proud and truly happy to have our new family member with us, and hoping that she'll be ... hold on a sec.

"NO, LOKI, NO! DON'T YOU TOSS THAT CAT THAT HIGH IN THE AIR! HOLD! HOOLD!! HOOOOOLLLLLD!!!"

Apologies, gotta run.

Must peel cat off ceiling...