There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


DIY Done Wrong.

The bloodbath continues at EduMart. Yesterday, the VP Most Likely to Be Mistaken for Mister Ed was fired. Few tears were shed, as she was a) out of touch with reality, and b) reminiscent of a horse. She used to use house building metaphors in meetings all of the time -- meetings with people who made waaaaay less money than she did. She would talk about the "remodeling" she was doing on her house -- you know, adding the pool, the hot tub, the second story... All of these tales of the reconstruction told to people who were sharing a 2-bedroom apartment because their career doesn't pay a living wage. Then there was the fact that while Rome was burning, she would prowl around through the customer service people, trying to catch them playing video games.

Right now? Know where I am? Not at work. And it's light outside! I am taking a carryover vacation day from '04! So here's today's project:

This morning, that chair was definitely NOT red. Now, there are two red chairs on my patio, instead of two mildew-colored chairs.

This is today's unintended consequence:

I mean, it's not like he lost yet another leg, or anything, but the Bug painted his own head with a chair.

Apparently, last night while I was dining on delicious Italian food, including mussels in white wine sauce and linguini with sun-dried tomatoes, the bad dogs decided it would be a good idea to go visiting their favorite new neighbor. Bad. Bad, bad dogs. He must smell like brisket.*

Young Neighbor let me know a couple of days ago that Pumpernickel was stuck in a tree between our houses (twobadcats). I was sure he was mistaken and that he'd seen Bug, but he was sure he saw Pumpy (because he, unlike so many people, can actually count to 4), that he'd tried to help her down, but that she'd clung to the tree, meeowwing loudly all the while. I told him that Pumpy don't get stuck, and he said "OK," which implied quite strongly to me that he was accusing me of being a careless and cavalier pet owner who would sooner sit on her fat ass than help a poor, helpless, stuck kitty. Insulted by the tone of his "OK," I got off my fat ass and went outside, where Pumpernickel was, indeed, meowing up a storm. Only now, she was on the roof of my garage. When I called her, she jumped the 6 - 7 feet across to the roof of young neighbor's house, jumped into the tree, and clambered down like a monkey. Here's a daylight reenactment of what Pumpernickel might look like if she were to get stuck in a tree:

* It turns out that the greggers greatly exaggerated the situation. Dogs did not escape, they were invited over to watch ER.

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