Does That Green Thing Look Like Ebola To You?

There have been some great blog posts lately dealing with the economic downturn and learning to find contentment and gratitude for what we have, instead of perpetually yearning for what we want.

This isn’t one of those blog posts.

Today, I’d rather focus on something else to be grateful for, in the midst of this economic crisis.

And that is this:

I have finally found the motivation and the strength to resist impulse purchases like HATS FOR DOGS.




I really have no explanation for it. No excuses. Guilty as charged.

We were at the Stock Show in Denver and there, at one of the little booths in the Exhibit Hall, was a vendor selling these cute little hats for dogs and, surely as a result of inhaling too much hay and goat manure, I spotted them and went DOG HATS? WHY I BELIEVE I’LL TAKE ONE. NO, MAKE THAT TWO!

I’m not really sure where the connection lies between a stock show/rodeo and the sale of dog hats other than the dog hat vendors had to be trolling for good folks like myself wobbling around in too-tight-cuz-I-only-wear-them-once-a-year cowboy boots that apparently pinch off the blood flow to the brain.

Alexis and Bart? They aren’t with us anymore.

Alexis lived until the ripe old age of 15 but I don’t think she ever forgave me for this, this, this … atrocity. Especially since she and John were already firmly united as a couple before I entered the picture. I just didn’t have a chance to bank any goodwill during her puppy days over shared bowls of Quaker Oat Squares eaten off the same spoon.

And poor, poor Bart. He had a hard life.

We rescued him from the Denver Dumb Friends League when he was just 9 months old and immediately had him stripped of his manhood.

"Welcome to your new home and oh, by the way THOSE? THOSE HAVE TO GO." Strike One.

Then we figured out he could jump, like, really really high. And then we discovered he had a THING for carrots. More like a fetish. That’s it. A carrot fetish. His obvious talent for vertical leaping combined with the carrot addiction was a lethal combination of information in our hands as we then, naturally, mostly exploited him like a little flying circus monkey in need of his next carrot fix.

"Circus Monkey Need Carrot Real Real Bad." Strike Two.

And then the coup de grace … the wearing of the dorky Elmer Fudd hat. And the picture-taking in the dorky Elmer Fudd hat. And the parading around the neighborhood in the dorky Elmer Fudd hat. And the jumping, jumping, jumping to catch flying carrots in the dorky Elmer Fudd hat.

Dorky Elmer Fudd Hat? Strike Three.

At that point Bart must have simply decided it wasn’t worth it - this living thing. He checked out too early. Mercifully we didn’t bury him in his hat. I figured we’d let him rest in peace with his dignity intact. Even if his boy parts weren’t.

So Aunt Bea … well, Aunt Bea is just going to have to learn to do without because I am SO OFF the DOG HAT thing what with the plunging stock market and all.

Plus, I took a picture of THIS the other day.



And realized we’re about to make our orthodontist very, very happy as fixing THAT is going to take the kind of budget that would make NASA drool. Yep. Dog hats are definitely OUT.

P.S.

Green stuff between the teeth?

Check.

Spaghetti sauce under the fingernail?

Check.

Weirdly long dirty fingernail on the other hand?

Check.

Excellent. Let's put THAT picture out on the Internet for the world to see.