Dad here; these are the hardest posts, where any wit or creativity is just a mouthful of ashes. I'm the dad at the Casa del Whackos, and dad's sometimes have to do the hard things and communicate the bad when I would just as soon retreat inside myself. It first happened with Stevie's unexplainable death, then with Max and Bull Taco tragic passings. Just a few days ago I was looking through some old pictures,…

In the year of our Dog 2020, at the precise hour of unknown origin, the opening sorties commenced of what would be known as the War of the Seven Inmates. The initial skirmish began as a one sided affair inside the mind of Tinnitus Pullisimo; he had long been eyeing the status enjoyed Her Highness Charlemagne Bravissimo. The hostilities quickly manifested themselves in a physical manner, the usurper charging the Queen's right flank. The battle…

"It came to me this weekend that, as I get older, my personal relevance is in direct correlation to my willingness to serve others, especially those who can do nothing in return."- 11/2016 As Charlie and I travel, certain random thoughts pop into our heads. We try to always pop these as notes into the phone before the next distraction comes along and erases the very idea that could help us in the future. When…

When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? We're hanging out in the Cave Canem, and gauging from the antics of the inmates, somebody done broke into granny's cough medicine. The wood floor amplifies the sound of their hooves to the point that it would be easy to imagine that I'm in the midst of a buffalo stampede instead of mentally afflicted canines, and the fracas shows absolutely no sign of abating anytime…

Dad here; last night I heard a terrible sound, the herking yerk of a canine who had evidently indulged in too much of a bovine diet. Not wishing my foot to discover the gelatinous mass at a later date and in the dark, I levitated out of the bed and into a pair of Adidas warm up pants. One fluid motion, never touching the floor in transit, a triple axle pirouette guaranteed to get a…

2300 hours at the Casa del Whackos ; the single tendril of smoke from a single coal of sage streams upwards before disappearing into a spiraling curve. Mom and her three wards are crashed inside the comforts of the Casa, while the rest of the posse is hanging out with me in the Cueva del Perro. For tonight is a night for celebration, albiet a quiet one; Claire Bear has came home. I always thought…

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