TOP 10 THINGS I'M THANKFUL FOR THIS HOLIDAY SEASON

10. My luxurious dog bed... stuffed full of little kittens for extra softness.

9. Stew did not name me after the loveable Seinfeld character, Kramer.

8. I am not a hunting dog that's part of the Annual Dick Cheney Thanksgiving Weekend Wild Turkey Hunt (a fundraising event for poor, retired oil and gas company executives... sponsored by Halliburton, of course).

7. My blazing speed and the slow squirrels that venture too far from the big maple trees in the backyard. I'll be serving roasted squirrel's tail for Christmas dinner this year!

6. Stew's sloppy turkey carving skills that result in tasty morsels of turkey breast scattered about the kitchen floor.

5. Costco (the discount warehouse)... and the 300lb bags of dog treats Stew brings home every other week.

4. The ability to clean myself. You see, I absolutely hate being thrown into the shower... especially when Stew strips down and jumps in with me. Trust me when I say it's much worse than the visual in your mind.

3. Only two more years of Dubya... as long as the meathead manages to keep from starting World War III. Some would say we are already in WW III, but I recently heard that it's not an official "world war" until the French surrender to somebody.

2. Grandma Helen's homemade psychedelic dog biscuits for me; RC Cola for momma; and large iced mochas from Caribou Coffee for papa Stew (who likes to refer to the mochas as Instant Fat Guy Potion).

1. All my cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents... and CLAIRE, of course!!!

* more pictures of Claire are available for viewing by following the My Pictures link...

Big weekend in little Robbinsdale

It was another busy weekend in Robbinsdale... Grandma Helen returned to town to attend Claire's baptism. And, our good friends - Michelle, Pete and their daughter, Naiya - were in town from Fargo. Check out the My Pictures link to see an extremely cute picture of Naiya and Claire, along with a whole bunch of other stuff (i.e., Pete showing you how tall he is on Claire's growth stick in the nursery).
I'm beginning to wonder if Grandma Helen is going to move in with us soon. She seems to be addicted to Claire, but you certainly can't blame her. I don't mind at all because she likes to feed me whenever I look hungry (which is apparently 24 hours a day). Helen likes to mock Stew for neglecting me... even though he feeds me the veterinary-recommended two square meals per day. I don't mind the extra meal here and there. Anyway, I'm exhausted and my head aches. So, enjoy the attached picture of Claire and go check out the latest photos in her picture folder. I hope to blog soon when my head stops hurting. I think maybe I ate too much this weekend...

I need more love... EVERYDAY of my life!

On November 16th last year, I joined Linda and Stew to form our family. In honor of my 1-year anniversary and as a tribute to my entire extended family (including friends I consider aunts, uncles and cousins), following is a link to one of my favorite bands - Robert Randolph & The Family Band - performing I Need More Love on Austin City Limits: http://media.pbs.org/ramgen/austin/3002_KLRU_36.rm

Speaking of my favorite bands, not many folks know that Stew was actually a well-established musical performer on the South Dakota (and Northern Iowa) college music scene. His one-man band called, Stewpendous, was a favorite of college kids in the late-1980's and early-1990's. I dug up an old photo of a Stewpendous promotional photo for a performance at the Northern Iowa College of Animal Husbandry (to a sold out crowd no less). The 1990 concert was to promote the first and only Stewpendous album - The United States of (dis)Array. Unfortunately, shortly after the performance, Stewpendous disbanded due to creative differences between Stew and one of the many voices he heard in his head. While Stew was dedicated to songs about grass roots efforts to improve the American heartland, the stronger personality in his head - who went by the moniker, StewDiggity - wanted to jump on the white rapper bandwagon being driven at the time by the multi-talented Vanilla Ice. One ill-fated night while performing in Cornbread, Iowa, StewDiggity was booed off stage during a performance of his distasteful rap, "Farm Girl Hoedown". The band never recovered, and all we have left of Stewpendous is this photo.

Buy these rugs!

Every now and again, you come across a product so fantastic that you just need to share it with the world. Well, I have two such products that have just knocked the socks off my paws... that is, if I were to actually wear socks. But, thankfully, Stew refuses to dress me up in little outfits. The thought of him using me to get a laugh turns my stomach. The mutual respect between us is resolute. Anyway, I'll save the best product for last and will tell you about my squeaky, rubber chicken first. When it comes to squeaky chew toys, I tend to devour them within a couple days. First, I like to infiltrate the toy by locating its weakest point and bite at it relentlessly until the outer covering of the toy has been compromised, thereby exposing the fluffy flesh of the toy. Next, I methodically extract the innards of the toy until I gain access to the actual squeaky mechanism. Subsequently, after toy entrails are strewn throughout both levels of the house, I begin my attack on the squeaker until it's pierced and can only manage to make a pffffff sound when I bite it. At this point, victory is mine! I grab the lifeless carcass of the chew toy and parade it around the house, pausing only to proudly show it to Linda and Stew. If any other chew toys dare venture into my domain, they can see what consequence awaits them! Where was I? Oh, yah... my rubber chicken. This thing is an enigma. I've had this toy for close to four weeks now, and there's no sign of weakness. I can bite it, chew it, shake it and even choke it, but it's indestructible. I can choke my chicken all day long, and it won't break! But, my intent on destruction is unflappable. Victory WILL be mine!

Now, onto the greatest product ever. Drumroll please.... it's these fantastic hand-crafted rugs! I absolutely love 'em! Not only are they beautiful and extremely durable, but they're also hand-made by Grandma Helen and her friend, Darlene. Speaking of Darlene - just between you and me - she's a little crazy, so her and Stew get along famously. Stew really enjoys visiting with Darlene and Helen's other friend, Marilyn, when they come to visit. I think Stew just likes anyone who laughs at his corny jokes... Anyway, back to the rugs! Grandma Helen and Darlene make the rugs on old-fashioned looms, so each rug is one-of-a-kind. How cool is that?!?! We have them throughout the house. When I'm not lounging on the one by the front door, I'm usually chewing on the one in the bathroom. What's great about them, is that they are so durable that my chewing doesn't phase them. And trust me, I've ate a rug or two in my day. So, I encourage EVERYONE to buy at least one of these rugs for your home or cabin. They are hand-made in South Dakota, so you can find them at the Made In South Dakota website: http://www.madeinsouthdakota.com/Catalog/Vendor.cfm?ID=130&Page=1
(I like the canned buffalo meat you can also buy online). After you visit the site, give Grandma Helen a call or send her an email... and tell her Bogey sent ya!

* A percentage of all proceeds from rug sales will go toward dog biscuits for the needy (me)!

A song from me to you...

Now that I'm officially a member of Stew's family, I have an overwhelming urge to worry about what people think of me. I'm beginning to understand how Stew feels when someone declines to purchase the high-quality furniture he offers at a modest price. He's confident it's because they don't like him. He's always telling me, "Bogart, sales is a relationship game... people buy from people they like... if they aren't buying from you, then it's because they don't like you." So, since writing my politically-charged entry just after Election Day, I've been worrying that I've either offended or alienated (or both) some friends and family. Then again, I'm reminded that life is short - especially for a dog - and that I traveled from New Orleans to Robbinsdale in search of a better life. I deserve to say whatever I feel is right. That said, I'd like to share a song I wrote that best sums up how I feel. I call it, Streets of Robbinsdale, and it goes something like this...

Streets of Robbinsdale
I came here looking for something,
I couldn't find anywhere else.
Hey, I'm not trying to be nobody...
Just want a chance to be myself.
I've done a thousand miles of thumbin',
I've worn blisters on my paws.
Trying to find me something better
On the streets of Robbinsdale.

Chorus:
You don't know me, but you don't like me.
You say you care less how I feel.
But how many of you that sit and judge me,
Have ever walked the streets of Robbinsdale?

Spent some time in the Big Easy.
Spent a night there in the jug.
They threw this drunk dog in my jail cell...
Took fifteen dollars from that pug.
Left him my leash and my old rawhide...
Don't want folks thinkin' that I'd steal.
Then I thanked him as I was leaving, and
I headed for the streets of Robbinsdale.
Repeat Chorus

* Adapted from Streets of Bakersfield, written and performed by the late, great Buck Owens (of Hee-Haw fame). The song was also re-made by one of my all-time favorites, Dwight Yoakam.

The proof is in the pudding... and on his website.

Today, it was brought to my attention by Aunt Dee (Stew's sister) that the path to the origin of the lovely message entered below does not lead back to one George Carlin. Therefore, I've edited the title of the entry to reflect such. I'm fairly certain Aunt Almita didn't intentionally deceive me (but then again, she could be a cat-lover and I just not know it...).
According to the snopes.com* website, which Aunt Dee is apparently fond of perusing (after work hours, of course), the piece is titled "The Paradox of Our Age" and was originally penned by a church pastor who will remain nameless on this blog. You see, the pastor was accused of very naughty things (think former U.S. Rep Foley, except worse). If you wish to learn more, then here's where to go: http://www.snopes.com/politics/soapbox/paradox.asp. Regardless of its origin, the posting shall remain because the intent of the message is just. For those of you not offended by Mr. Carlin's brand of humor or profane language, you can read his denial as to the authorship of this piece on his own website at http://www.georgecarlin.com/home/dontblame.html. If you are one of Claire's grandmothers, then I encourage you to stay away from the link... please.

* Snopes.com is an urban legends reference page

George Carlin DID NOTE write this... seriously.

Sent to me from Stew's Aunt Almita... consider it an addendum to my previous rant about the election process:
The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers; wider freeways , but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, yet more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life - not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outerspace but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things. We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce; fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight or to just hit delete...
Remember, spend some time with your loved ones because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side. Remember to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart - and it doesn't cost a cent. Remember to say "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you. Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment, for someday that person will not be there again. Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind. And always remember - life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away.
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I had one of those moments last night when I overheard Linda reading to Claire at about 1:30AM. Claire likes to wake up around midnight every night for a feeding, then she prefers to stay awake afterwards. So, Linda's been reading to her. Linda has become a remarkable mother, and she takes our breath away everyday... she's a natural!

These paws are made for walkin'

Yesterday, we took Claire on her very first walk around the neighborhood. Although, I'm a bit confused as to why we call it a "walk" if Claire gets to sit back and sleep the whole time while Momma pushes her in this big, crazy thing called a stroller. I don't much like the stroller, and I'm strongly considering placing it on my Axis of Evil list with cats, mail carriers and vacuum cleaners. I can't decide if I should bark at it or run away from it as fast as possible. So, I simply keep my distance from it by hovering behind Stew and giving it the occasional "woof." I have learned that if I act afraid enough of the stroller, Stew will give me a delicious Charlee Bear snack (the equivalent of a liver-flavored oyster cracker to you humans). And who doesn't like an oyster cracker? I'll bet you can't eat just one. Anyway, we had Claire strapped in there pretty good, and I just hope she wasn't as frightened as I was of the stroller. If she was, she was playing it real cool. She's a keeper!

In other news yesterday, I received a text message and picture from my South Dakota cousin, Dakota. She's coming to visit next January, and I'm looking forward to annoying the heck out of her. She's a prize hunting dog who retired within the last couple years to become a house dog (like me). So, I'm hopeful that she'll put up with my playful ear chewing and pawing. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure she could kick my tail across the room if she so chooses. Dakota belongs to Uncle Doug (aka StewCat). Back in the late 1980's, Uncle Doug visited Stew at the University of SD for homecoming weekend. Despite Stew's attempts to organize a Scrabble tournament at his house - complete with milk and cookies - Doug forced Stew and his buddies to go party-hopping in search of beer. So, while attending a party on the 3rd floor of an apartment complex, Doug was found climbing a tree from the groundfloor up to the balcony of the apartment hosting the party. To this day, nobody is saying why Doug didn't simply use the stairs. Although, rumor has it that Doug actually fell from the balcony, and it was his stubborn pride that made him decide to re-enter the party from the same location from which he so abruptly exited... Regardless, Doug was given the nickname, StewCat, because of his climbing prowess. Uncle Doug is the only cat that I consider "cool", and he has lifetime immunity from our house rule that all visiting cats will be tossed on the roof. (see http://stay-at-home-dog.blogspot.com/2006/10/undisputable-fact-that-all-cats-are_18.html for more info on our house rules)

Electile dysfunction strikes again...

Dear Grandmas:
I know you come to this blog with the hopes of finding new, cute pictures of little Claire. So, allow me to apologize in advance for today's blog entry. I promise to resume posting pictures of Claire on this blog and at the My Pictures link. But, I need to get a few things off my furry chest with the following rant. I hope you understand.
Love,
Bogey

Why is it that you humans continue to put up with an electoral system that forces you to choose between Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber? You should take a lesson from us dogs. Whosever butt stinks the least becomes leader of the pack. Then again, from what I've seen, no such candidate is willing to run for public office in your world. Instead, as was the case in this year's Minnesota gubernatorial race (and the 2004 Presidential election), you are resigned to vote for the lesser of two evils. What's worse is when a viable 3rd party candidate is the best choice, everyone's afraid to vote for him (or her) because "he can't win" or "voting for him will take votes away from Tweedle Dumb, thereby putting Tweedle Dumber into office..." The sad truth is that we all lose in the end. Remember Ross Perot? That little martian is looking pretty good right now, huh? I might be biased because I'm a survivor of the "you're doin' a helluva job, Brownie" project, just one of the many failures of the most inept - and corrupt - administrations in the history of the United States. This blog was never intended to be political because, quite frankly, I'm admittedly not informed enough to speak intelligently about politics. But, I'm just an angry mutt who has had enough. Now, the Democrats are the new majority. Yippie... forgive me if I'm not dancing in the streets. This is the party whose former leader used a White House intern as a human humidor* and lied about it repeatedly under oath... although, I must admit the Dems currently look much better than the meth-smoking-gay-bashing-underage-boy-chasing-hypocritical-religious zealots of the GOP side of the aisle. Since when was it the responsibility of congress to set the moral compass of the nation? I really don't think I need these lying, thieving, adultering, bigoted, homophobic "leaders" telling me what's right and what's wrong. Isn't that what People magazine is for? No, wait... People is for what's hot and what's not. Anyway, don't the conservatives in congress know that homophobia is gay? Speaking of gay, have you heard about the flock of "male-oriented" sheep at Oregon State University?
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2002340883_gayscience19m.html
Scientists have found evidence linking sexual orientation to genes and hormones found in the brain before birth. Then again, can we really trust scientific evidence? The researchers are working under a $2.8M grant from the National Institutes of Health in hopes of developing a test which can determine the likelihood of a ram being female-oriented before it is sold as a stud. Luckily for Stew, no such human test exists, and Linda was forced to take him at his word when he assured her that he was, in fact, a stud. But the technology can't be far off. And just think of the utopian conservative society that could be created with the technology: turning gay sheep straight, making black sheep white, changing their wool into nice conservative blue suits (or even dark gray... but not too close to black). Again, I don't purport to be a political pundit, but I can't be the only dog on the block that's fed up with the process... I can hardly wait to see what gems the parties dig up for the 2008 election.
* an anology I heard somewhere... can't claim it as my own, though I wish I could

Wake and bake... it's Pie Day at The Stewarts!

Saturday marked a much-anticipated event at our household: Linda's Annual Pie Baking Day. This is the day that Linda gets together with Aunt Susan -- and (sometimes) Aunt Veronica -- to bake pies... and drink wine... but I'm not sure which task takes priority. NOTE TO MY GRANDMAS: Linda did not have any wine this year, so you need not worry about Claire's food supply! This year, we were lucky enough to have Veronica join in the fun. It seems that Pecan and Sweet Potato were the flavors-of-the-day. I begged for a liver-peanut butter pie, but no such luck. Claire even helped out by holding the measuring spoon, but she didn't last real long before she tired out.
While the ladies baked pies -- and I laid smack dab in the middle of the kitchen floor -- Stew was outside raking leaves. I got the feeling that Stew was not enjoying himself, but he managed to create several large piles (of leaves) in the front yard by day's end. Then on Sunday morning, when a neighborhood entrepreneur knocked on the door offering to bag up the huge piles of leaves in the front yard, Stew's mood changed from uber-grouch to that of giddy little school girl (or something like that). Despite his 10+ years of sales experience, including several negotiations training seminars, Stew wound up paying the shifty 12 year old kid $16 for a $10 job. Here's a transcript from the negotiations that would un-curl Trump's hairpiece:
Stew: You want to rake these leaves, huh? How much?
Kid: Ten dollars.
Stew: I don't know... the leaves are already in piles... how about five?
Kid: Man, that's a lot of leaves... ten dollars.
Stew: How 'bout seven?
Kid: (shaking his head side-to-side) Ten.
Stew: You drive a hard bargain... ten it is. You're hired! (in Stew's best Trump voice)
Feeling like a chump for having counter-offered at $5, Stew wound up tipping $6 extra. Stew rationalized, "I was willing to pay $20 so, the way I see it, my negotiating skills saved me four bucks." The kid was overheard later telling a neighbor, "that guy's an idiot."
After witnessing Stew's sales negotiating prowess firsthand, Veronica headed back to Fargo in disgust... but not before posing for a photo with Claire and me!

Fright night at the doghouse

Living in our Robbinsdale neighborhood has its perks: 1) the little, old ladies who come around every few weeks to invite Linda and Stew to join their church are A LOT of fun to bark at... and 2) very few trick-or-treaters means more mini-candybars for me! What? Dogs can't eat chocolate? Since when? Prove it... I call bullroar! **
Alright, it seems Stew knows his way around this Internet-thing way too well, and he produced this link which would indicate that I should keep clear of those satisfying little Snicker bars: http://www.petshealth.com/dr_library/chocpois.html
So, I guess living in Robbinsdale isn't all it's cracked up to be, but maybe those little old ladies will come around this weekend to cheer me up. I could use a good barking spell. If not, I always have Claire. What a bundle of joy she has been for our family. Here she is posing in her little black cat and pumpkin outfit. When she gets older, I'll teach her about the evils of all shades of cats and that she shouldn't be prejudiced one way or another based solely on appearance. A cat should be measured by its merits (or lack thereof) and not by the color of its coat. However, striped cats are a whole other story... they cannot be trusted. Period. End of story.

** Bullroar, a very old expression meaning "hogwash".