Retraction (And An Apology For Hosting A Serial Killer)

A couple of days ago, I posted some news.  In that news, I reported that no frog killing had take place at our new home.  

(See No Pics.)

I was wrong.  

Yes, we have frogs. And yes, Monkey murders them.

And yes, I do pick up the carcasses so that Baby Mikah does not suck on them.  

No Pics

Well,  I really tried to post new photos of Mikah tonight.  But Blogger is not cooperating and continues to give me errors when I try to attach pictures.

I will give you news instead.

The neighbors are arguing.  And because we don't have a privacy fence yet, I get to see Hairy Guy yelling at Barbara Big Hair about when the trash is supposed to go out.  (Names have been changed to protect the somewhat innocent.)

Monkey (real name) has no frogs to hunt at this house so he is digging up snails.  And no, Monkey doesn't suck on them until retrieved (see Things You Might Find In A Baby's Mouth.)

Lola is napping.

Mikah is in pajamas dreaming about "more tickle".  (Ask me, it's silly.)

Daddy is watching pre-season football on ESPN, wondering how he is going to catch all the Giant's games in Texas.

Deli is great.  Busy as can be.  Order your sandwich by phone and you won't have to wait too long when you come in. 

Wingy still gets an occasional squirt.

Mommy is good.  She's been gardening and making cupcakes and stuff.

So stay tuned for pics.  When Blogger gets its act together, you will see something.

Frog Update

We thought this was all over and done with.

But it's not.

And we don't have any pictures to show for it. Because it all happens in the dark.

The DARK.

Frogs come out at night. At least around here. They chirp and bull and puff. Trying to get attention. They hop around on their little spongy toes and swell to unusual sizes to get attention...

The WRONG KIND OF ATTENTION.

Monkey has alerted us to the fact that our wee frog was not alone.

Oh, no.

He was part of an Army.

An Army poised to hop into our kitchen one at a time and gain our unopposed trust.

Rubber Turkey believed them. We thought they were feeble and weak.

But since we last updated you, Monkey has uncovered several buried frogs in our yard. Granted, some were dead, but some were just feigning death to gain mere passage to our home. They were hoping to outwit the feeble minded Monkey and hop their way into our kitchen for the usual errant fly.

Monkey has proved to be a fervent uncoverer of the truth. A warrior of undocumented dimension.

Thank you, Monkey. Thank you for killing unmercilessly those who do not deserve entry.

Your powers have not gone unnoticed. And you will be highly exalted.

Monkey Hair

You might notice that in this last shot, Mikah is trying to throw my keys into his playpen. Thank goodness I caught this action photo, or I might never have found them.

We (Might) Have A Winner

Last week I went to the city shelter. A kill-shelter. I found a beautiful dog named Frenchy. German Shepard mix, two years old, long sexy legs, and a silky black and chestnut coat. Oh, did I mention the sassy curly tail and the soulful chocolate eyes?

We passed the initial interview and our application was stamped approved. All that we had to do to take Frenchy home was introduce her to Lola.

A "Meet and Greet" on the grounds of the city shelter.

Now, Lola has issues. I mean, she was originally rescued from a junkyard in Brooklyn. She can be aggressive with other dogs, is abnormally protective of her people, and has a LOUD bark.

But she has had a whole bunch of doggy friends. Like, Hara the Rottweiler and Nova the Labrador. We know that she has social skills. Other dogs just have to get used to her. I was a little worried, but not too worried..

So this is how it went. I showed up at the shelter with Lola the Dog and Mikah the Baby. A young girl greeted us and explained that I would not be present for the meeting. I asked, "Are you serious?" and she said, "Yes."

She took Lola's leash and led us to another building. Lola was then taken to the "Meeting Room." Via another door, I saw Frenchy brought into the building and led to that same room.

Three minutes later, maybe less, Lola was marched back out to me. My heart sunk. I saw Frenchy leave through the same door she entered. Ugh.

The chick holding Lola's leash then explained that my dog didn't like their dog. Sorry. No doubt about it. This adoption wasn't going to happen. Good luck to you and your unworthy family. Good bye. And oh, yeah, we'll euthanize about twenty dogs before sundown. Cheers.

Can you say DE... VA... STATED?

Took me a few days do get over that one.

After a lot of griping, and cursing, and crying to Jamil, I pulled myself together. Started looking for an alternative. Because I'm not BUYING a puppy, and I know that we are a good home for some unwanted mutt.

Enter Rescue Foundations. Google "dog rescue" and the name of your home town, and be prepared to be amazed at the quanity of lonely dogs that really need you.

Here's one:



















He's three, he's nuetered, and he's a force to be reckoned with. Meet Sargeant Monkey Scruffles McShrimpToast.

He's spending a two-week trial period with us. We love him already.


































He bosses Lola around, sleeps in our bed, and sticks to me like glue. This little dude can hang.