I came, I saw, I stuck around... 09:57; realize that dad is in The Chair; begin my ascent of Mt Dad; upon attaining the summit, claim my dominance by immobilizing his arms, begin liberally coating his face with dog spit, occasionally hooking a nostril with a canine. 10:03 hear mom rattle some plastic in the kitchen; with no regard for dad's tender vegetation, leap from the chair to investigate. 10:05 notice that dad has almost…

Someone just sent a message asking what's it feel like transitioning from a regular dog to a dog with her own Facebook page... it caused me to stop and think, I'm still a regular dog; I still bark at nothing, scoot across the carpet, nibble my own butt, occasionally drink from the porcelain bowl, then liberally slather dad's face with lukewarm dog spit. The only thing different is this awesome responsibility I feel to not…

At least a few of them, and they brought Stevie with them; not physically of course, but spiritually? No doubt about it. Last summer, Sunday mornings at the Casa usually found dad trying to defend his meager sugar stores against the swarming hordes of feathered micro velociraptors; while I would be destroying the morning quiet with my horking, charking, and galumphing around the back yard, Stevie was at her most content to hang out on…

When dad found the Miss Ellie, he realized that he was taking a pretty big chance on a 30 year old car with a bad ticker, but he's a pretty optimistic guy; some things work out due to careful planning(this is not the case where we're concerned) and some things just "work out". We knew that the Subie probably needed a new engine,but the whole situation just seemed to fit my story. The decision came…

Some time back, we inmates got together and scribbled this tribute to Joe Walsh on the back of a Gravy Train bag; even though Stevie has left this mortal coil, it still feels good to include the janky-eyed girl. My name is Charlie, was trapped in a crate A victim of cruelty, indifference and hate two short guys on Hondas, arrived through the rain Released me from bondage, terror and pain. Now I'm queen of…

Some time ago, dad was trying his hand at a children's book, and was attempting to put my story into rhyme; I told him that he needs to stick to his chauffeuristic tendencies and leave the writing to me. It's said that the young dwell on the future because they have no past, and the old talk about the past because they have no future; I disagree, as both have a past AND a future,…

Just when I think that my story has ran it's course and is starting to die down a bit, something happens out there on the interwebz and there seems to be a resurgence in activity. With new people being adopted into the family at the Casa, I feel it's necessary to occasionally restate the message behind the story; when dad and Zach rescued me from the crate, they returned with the truck only to find…