Dad here; a seismic shift is beginning to rumble throughout the Casa del Whackos; Oba‐wan's hut renovation is nearing completion, and the moving process is beginning to lurch forward. I will finally be able to once again stumble to the refrigerator in the wee hours of the morning clad in ought but my underdrawers without fear of finding Oba sitting at the kitchen table, a fact that I'm sure that she's thankful for as well.…

Just an average night at the Casa del Whackos... Oba(Japanese for "grandmother")is mom's 83 year old, 4' 9" Okinawan mama-san that has recently moved in with us. As she is NOT a fan of dogs, the learning curve for all involved has been a bit steep at times. Imagine not being fond of a certain thing, then being immersed up to your neck in that very thing. I guess that it would be like me…

A dog was born into this world she had no choice or say it seemed her fate already sealed a crate was where she'd stay But the story's not a sad one though it might appear that way for she never gave up or lost courage and fate called her name one day. The years since have been adventurous but filled with so much more than play behind the glam and grit there hides a…

Charlie here: Friday morning at the north sector of Casa del Whackos; the Jude Bear and I are on hummingbird patrol in an attempt to preserve what is left of our winter stores of sugar. And yes, the feathered little ingrates are back; not in the numbers that we anticipate towards the end of August, but definitely enough for us to realize that we're in for a rocky ride in a few weeks. All of…

Sunday morning at the Casa del Whackos; a recent cold front has knocked the outside temps down a mere couple of degrees. But if you judge the weather by the actions of the inmates, you would think that the second ice age is rapidly approaching. Ajax is wadded up beside my head, Marco is "down there", Titus and Charlie crammed up beside me so that I am in a state of claustrophobic semi - sarcophagus.…

September 2005... Hurricane Katrina had just demolished the southern coast of the United States, and Rita was lining up off shore to finish the job her bitchy sister had started. The flood of refugees had impacted southern Arkansas, bringing with it not only the unfortunate souls displaced by the flooding, but also the predatory gang members looking to expand their territories north from New Orleans. These parasitical bottom feeders started a cycle of mayhem that…

Dad here; as most of you know, this page was started six years ago as a respite from all the constant negativity everywhere on social media. Charlie and I have averaged three posts a week during those six years, and somehow the words just keep coming, but somehow that has recently changed. We haven't been able to formulate a post for the last two weeks. Here's how it goes: we wake up in the morning…