Ch-ch-ch-ch-changing of the guard

Dad here; this may be a short Sunday morning update, as the last week has consisted of many late nights, both good and bad, and lack of sleep is beginning to take its toll.

First, the Charkstream. As most of you know by know, the combination of the CB1100 and the Charlie chariot has exceeded even our wildest dreams in all areas: performance, appearance, and unfortunately cost, but I have absolutely no regrets. This was a once in a lifetime dream, and now that she’s finished, I wouldn’t trade the result for any Ducati or Ferrari on the road today.

Now, Marco Polo; Betsy told me before we picked him up that he needed a hero, but I quickly realized that I might not be able to fill those boots. From the beginning, he was as skinny as a rail; mom got his coat and eyes looking good, but he absolutely refused to put on another ounce. Then Thursday night he took an abrupt turn for the worst, bloody diarrhea, would not touch any food or water, no strength at all. We used every trick in our bag to no avail, and finally went to bed, packing him away beneath the quilts to stay warm.

Well, THAT was a mistake; restless, in and out of the covers, incessant panting, horking and yarking on my pillow, showing all the signs of distress that a dog exhibits when he/she nears the bridge. What if he passes on the same day the Charkstream takes to the road? How do we tell those stories at the same time? You just can’t do it.
I was so sure that he wasn’t going to make it that at 0423, I wrote a description to be saved and posted at a later date should Marco not survive the night.

Well, I still have that post on my phone, but can now be deleted, as it’s pretty evident that Marco is going to make it. He’s eating drinking, and slowly regaining his strength, and will soon be back in full hunch mode in no time.

Then, Sandy: as Zach and Tara recently bought a house with a fenced back yard, they decided that Lola needed a sister. It made perfect sense, as Tara’s dad Charlie had initially found Sandy, so as of last night, she is now an official inmate at Zach’s Casa. I hated to see her go, but then again, I hate to see them all go, and the Casa del Whackos seems to have a knack for managing the ebb and flow of dogs that trot through these doors.

Speaking of which, enter St Echo of Cardiogram, the Patron Saint of Perpetual Guilt. Echo came to the Casa years ago as the result of a deadbeat neighbor who was letting her starve; mom and Alex would leave food on their porch, I was a bit more direct, and told them that if we’re going to keep feeding your dog, at least chip in some shekels towards the effort. Echo continued to waste away until one day she just followed us home, and here she has been ever since.

In all seriousness, Echo is a special needs dog, as she has a condition where she has a problem keeping food down, and when this dog pukes, it’s like Vesuvius erupting. We’ve tried everything, different foods, amounts, times of day, special bowls, etc, but you never know when a tsunami of hurl will occur.

She has been living with Alex for the last couple of years, but due to housing changes that don’t allow Dobermans, Echo is now bringing her baggage back to the Casa. As a result, there should be some fantastic vomit stories concerning the gastric adventures of Our Lady of the Technicolor Yawn.

So now the inmate roll is back to five: Charlie Bravo, Mia the Spazcrobat, Sir Ajax, Don Marco de la Polo, and now once again, Echo.

It’s always a party at the Casa del Whackos!

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