Newscoma

Once upon a time, there was a vampire dog named Mabel. She would eat the candy of small children and bark at leaves. Blood, however, sort of creeped her out. So, due to her infliction, she would protect the small dog, Duff, who was a vampire slayer. There were may adventures but then Vampire Mabel just went to sleep, as is her way.

The water was standing at the end of our yard. The culverts couldn’t handle the overflow of days of rain and I found myself wondering how deep it was.
The sun was being shy and only peeking out in small doses. As I headed back toward the house, Mabel saw a small Westie, no more than a pup, wandering around the neighborhood. It’s human pet was on his trail and he was quickly whisked away. She gave him a good talking to and then nuzzled him as she walked back up the street to her house.
Mabel was smitten. Or at least I thought she was smitten. I, although I will lose cool points, am a closet romantic. Years ago, Squirrel Queen’s father had a mountain kir, but we just called it a squirrel dog, because it is. Mabel would go the farm and play with the dog, whose name was Trapper, for hours.
I kidded people that she had found her life partner. I said that Trapper was her husband. He was a handsome looking dog, not too big or too small with fur that was striped somewhat like a calico cat. He was friendly, but not out of control, and I liked him quite a bit.
He died a few months later after SQ’s father passed. I wonder at times if he died of grief. I guess Mabel’s love could not save him.
So I like the fact that my Mabel is now a canine version of a cougar. She is quite taken with the Westie pup.
As I pondered the possibilities of the romantic entanglements of my dog, the rain came back again and she jumped in my lap, hiding from the impending storm.

Lazy days as summer turns to fall here in Hoots. It is quite apparent after the events of the last few months, I most likely need a vacation as I’m thinking of a dog wedding.

By the way, the closet romance stuff, well that’s between us. I have a reputation to uphold.

Mabel is a gifted dog at doing very little.

But occasionally she becomes Feral Mabel.

Feral

Some people post kid pictures. I post dog pictures.

It’s the way of ‘Coma.

I really need to get back into the meme game because I actually enjoy them. Mabel, however, has been tagged by Mrs. Wigglebottom to answer some questions about herself.

As Mabel adores Mrs. Wigglebottom, she immediately wanted to respond.

So here are six things about Mabel that you probably don’t know and now you will.

1. If anyone gives me a hug, Mabel barks. From my dad, Homer, Squirrel Queen, the nieces, my friends (I’m a huggy person), she will bark like a maniac and if she feels like I’ve gone over the line, will nip at the feet of the hugger. She’s a jealous little bitch.
2. Mabel has had a lot of boyfriends. Her last boyfriend was a Mountain Kir named Trapper. He passed away sadly about a year and a half ago. Mabel has outlived all of her beaus. She’s like a black widow spider. Unlike Mrs. Wigglebottom, she has never been married.
3. Mabel sleeps next to me, under the covers, every night. She’s done this for nine years. I secretly adore it and there are times that I wake up and she is asleep with her head on my pillow, snoring gently.
4. Mabel is the shortest dog of the three I have but she is a log making her the heaviest. I think that’s the Corgi coming out in her because, seriously, when you pick her up, which she demands, it’s like picking up an Acme Anvil.
5. Mabel is not the best dog kisser in the house. She’s consistent and will lick you for hours (and she demands it is in your face which can be annoying). Kirby, the blind dog, is the best kisser but she’s stingy with them so when you get one, you know you did something right. Mabel just whores those kisses out, but if I’m having a bad day, I know she will cheer me up.
6. Anytime I’m sick, she won’t leave me. When Squirrel Queen’s father passed away a couple of years ago, she refused to leave him. We were tired and it was one of those moments where after being up for days that I found myself nodding off while I was sitting with him. She would get down, nudge me awake and then get back on the bed with him. After a time she got down and kept heading to the bedroom where SQ was and kept coming back to me like she needed me to do something. She did this several times going from the bedroom, to the chair I was in and on to the hospital bed where he was. Finally, after I knew that Squirrel Queen had gotten a nap and at Mabel’s insistence, I went to get her up to relieve me because I was whupped after being up for about 40 hours straight. Mabel then left his side and went to bed with me. About 20 minutes later, her father passed away. It was one of those moments where Mabel sort of guided the way. I think she knew and that SQ needed to be with her father in those final moments.

I’m sending this to Bruiser and Sully for the win.

Jane Q. Public alerted to me on Twitter that Bigfoot’s campaign for president is gaining momentum.
Mabel, who had an unsuccesful bid for the presidency, has made her endorsement for the elusive beast.
“I believe that America needs Bigfoot to lead this nation out of dark times,” Mabel said telepathically. “Nessie will make a fine running mate.”

Rumors have been persistent that Mabel will be offered the Secretary of Steak position. Mabel has agreed publicly that she will accept the appointment if it is offered.

1. Don’t eat that. GROSS, don’t eat that. Dammit… blegh. YOU MADE THAT! Argh, buluh, gargh.
2. Get off of her!!!! (All my dogs are girls. You get the picture. I have very gay dogs and I approve and love them and condone their actions.)
3. Mabel, quit licking me.
4. Mabel, get off my computer.
5. Mabel, quit smelling that.
6. Mabel, don’t bite Duff (who I don’t write about a lot. She is referred to as the smelly dog. We don’t know why. You can wash her. Still smelly. There is always some interaction between her and Mabel for my affection. Usually when I’m in the bathroom.)
7. KIRBY!!! (in reference to the blind dog named after drag queen Eve Kirby/Kirby Puckett (diverse tastes in my home) who I’ve had for over 11 years. I got her the day before my first niece was born. Homer, the sis, claims she sent her into labor. She walks into things as, you know, she’s blind but we follow her and scratch her back as it slows her down. She’s amazing and fast although she can’t see you. You must scream her name quite a bit to get her not to endanger herself.)
8. JURA! (An odd dog, big as a house. Friendly to people who live in the domain. Not so friendly to people who live out of the abode. Must be watched. I think she likes me though, but I’m afeared.)
9. I gag a great deal when they are doing dog things, as they are dogs and have no manners. Is gagging the same thing as talking? Well, no. But there is a noise made so I’ll just take that and run with it.
10. I’m going to share with you a secret. When I hug people (and, yes, I’m damn huggy. I will hug you if I meet you. I do not want to just show up on your doorstep so don’t think I will (and don’t show up on mine), I don’t want your money. I don’t even want your body or if I do you will never know (ROWR) but I’m huggy. I lived in Europe for Pete’s sake. Learned the huggy/kiss on the cheek think and I LOVE it.) Now, with that said, if I hug you, Mabel will bark. And bark. And then bark a bit more. If I hug a niece, barking. If I hug SQ, barking. My sis, barking. And if you say you love me in a baby voice, she will jump on you and bark. Or sometimes she will bark, and steal food off my plate if I’m not looking which has nothing to do with hugging but she will do it nonetheless. Very ill-mannered but I like her. Not that anyone is going to say they love me in baby voice, but you get the picture. She’s going to bark. And, for a little short cardigan Corgi/rat terrier, she has a very LOUD bark.

Yeah, tonight, I got nothing.

Mabel is one of those dogs that will lay on her back. You can pick her up and she will automatically turn over into the same pose as a newborn child.

Flat on her back.

So, in experimenting recently, I have discovered she can do a perfect reendition of Spider Pig as seen in the Simpsons movie.

She’s really good at it.

I’ve got to replace my camera.

I think they were called the Bumpus’ dogs in “A Christmas Story.”

These are my dogs. Mabel, Kirby and Duff are very ill-mannered.

Just telling the truth as I see it.

Well, I’m off my volunteering gig at NiT.

I’m linking to my last post over there. Sue me.

Wow.

Very interesting to see things change, and I must say, I was ready to get back over here and beguile you with lovely stories about my dogs (the blind one, the stinky one and Mabel), how I get irritated at network news, how I like the way the ink on my fingertips when I’m reading a newspaper, being not so happy with our government right now and the way it is so kick butt to look up obscure names of B-Movie actors when I’m on the innertubes.

So here is some randomness to send you to bed, last night, I dreamed that people kept giving me houses but wouldn’t let me put furniture in them.

I also dreamed about Mabel winning a contest where she got a strawberry pie and a bald Cabbage Patch Doll as her reward. I have no idea what she won for, but I digress

Yes, let’s delve back into the world of Newscoma.

Earlier this week, I became quite overwhelmed. The kind of overwhelmed that just wipes you out. Now don’t go thinking that you haven’t done this, because, campers, you know you have.

So, earlier this week, I became Full. Now the definition of full is speculative, but it’s when you have so many emotions going on, you might be overworked, you might feel underappreciated, you might be sick.

You might be just sick and tired.

So, I was driving down the road and I realized I was full. Just so full it brimmed to the top of my entire being. And like Holly Hunter in Broadcast News, I needed a good cry. Now this was more than just a cry. It was releasing the FULL.

You with me so far?

Anyway, I pulled over to the side of the road at a grocery store, parked my car and started my big cry, to release the Full.

I’m sitting there, blubbering like a girl (which campers, I am) and getting rid of feeling too full.

But, my alone time was, sadly, interrupted.

A knock on my car window showed me an elderly man, we are talking Elderly. I rolled down the window, looking all puffy and feeling kinda stupid and I swear he had the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Ma’am, are you having a seizure?” he asked.

I was still sorta full, but I got it together in about three seconds. I don’t think I could have rolled down my window if I was having a seizure. Did I look that distraught? I was just getting rid of the bad, you know. But apparently I freaked this guy out.

“Yes Sir, I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” Damn, if his voice wasn’t the kindest voice I’ve ever heard.

I just nodded and thought of Mabel. I didn’t want this man to think I was a nutball so I told him I was worried about my dog. Crap. I just blurted it (She’s fine.)

“Oh, my dog Chipper was a fine dog, I lost her three years ago,” and off we went. He told me about when he got her, he told me of how sweet this little dog was. His eyes welled up in tears after three years.

Man, did I feel like a dolt.

What he hadn’t told me was that he called 911 because he thought I was having a seizure. So, alas, the police showed up.

I realize this is a pseudo-family blog, but WTF?

I convinced them I was just having a damned good, healing cry. The police officer was nice. He gave me his phone number (What the hell.) Give the formerly crying girl your phone number?

**sigh**

Anyway, I made sure the Elderly Man got home and I’ve never felt so foolish in my whole life.

Moral of the story: Don’t have one of those Holly Hunter cries in a grocery store parking lot.

Yeah, I’m better. Had to get rid of just being FULL.

Anytime I get my duffle bag out to go on a trip, Mabel cries. This absolutely breaks my heart.

As she shakes and freaks out in a car, travel for the small, diminutive Mabel is never a good idea. And she must have known I was leaving as she tore up my checkbook yesterday, a paper sack and a pencil.

And last night I played with a pit bull who was a lot of fun but thought my finger was definitely tasty. Beautiful dog, but Mabel felt like I had committed an act of adultery when I got home and the offending dog slobber was on my finger. She promptly went and stood on a little table that is next to the chair I sit in.

Right now, she is giving me the look of disappointment and actually turned her back on me a few minutes ago.

Canine Children sulking is never a good time.

The bronchitis has become bothersome to the point that Homer and SQ have proposed to start nagging me if I don’t go see the P.A. tomorrow.

Now this is troublesome, as they are two very different types of naggers. Homer, who has mastered the “I’m-disappointed-because-you-are-an-adult-and-know-better” look in comparison to the matronly yet bitter SQ’s cutting “Just do it and shut the f**k up” scowl that has made her quite famous here in Hooterville.

As we are not a family that gets a lot of meals at the dinner table due to work schedule and extracurricular activities, tonight was the exception as it is Easter and all. With two hormonal nieces who like to lay on the drama, when there is a meal at the proverbial “supper” table, there is always a floor show. Lots of “popping and locking” over the roast beast on plates filled with macaroni and cheese, as that is the only staple allowed at any meal. That, or of course, mashed potatoes. The oldest niece has taken to speaking like Ice-Cube. The youngest niece, although she has no idea who Minnie Pearl is, has a southern drawl that would rival that Tater Salad guy (I have no idea what his name is). Being that her father was born in Boston, I must admit that it amuses me that his daughter sound like she is an extra on Hee-Haw because I know it probably gives him one of those inner headaches that just doesn’t go away.

It amuses me to no end.

Earlier in the day, we had a child over who was terrified of dogs. I was listening to some lovely classical music, enjoying blessed Chopin and Mozart, that I’m not allowed to listen to when the rest of the commune is in the house, but that ended pretty quickly. This kid seriously is terrified of dogs, so, as adults, we handle it.

Mabel has only been in two dog fights in her life. One was with Duff, the stinky dog, several years ago as Duff does see herself as an Alpha and was displaying her mad skillz as self-appointed leader of the pack to the kind and gentle Mabel. At about all of eight lbs., she has set herself up as the canine example of having “little-man syndrome” but only in the hound world. She only stands about nine inches high. Mabel is also a shorty but she weighs a ton. It’s the Corgi coming out in her, I’m guessing.

Alas, I have seen Duff get her ass kicked repeatedly over the years. It’s sad, but she sort of brings it on herself.

The only other dog Mabel ever got “into it” with was a small dog owned by SQ’s sister named Krystal Burger. The dog, named by the nephews, was some sort of Feist variety who was, indeed, the most annoying dog I’ve ever met. Mabel, who is also a short dog, saw opportunity for the first time in her life to be the Alpha, but I didn’t blame her. This dog was yappy and God-awful annoying. Mabel was not happy and showed Krystal Burger her own version of what throwing a gut grenade is all about.

Mabel whupped her before I pulled her off (the fight may have lasted somewhere in the vicinity of six seconds.)

But the small child this afternoon was afraid and wanted none of getting over his fear with my child-friendly dogs who have over the years been put in baby buggies, dressed up in doll clothes, and in Duff’s case, lived in a doggie Mohawk for a number of years.

I was delegated upstairs with the offending hounds, which worked to my advantage as I immediately fell asleep with Mabel snoring gently in my ear.

When I woke up though, I felt like a very ill-tempered Hannibal Lector. SQ had it on golf. Now, my dear friends, I am not a fan of watching golf on television. I realize this may be your favorite thing to do but for me, it’s like watching paint dry in prison.

After about an hour, I realized my only option was to go smoke about 49 cigarettes (yeah, I’m still trying to quit) and copious amounts of alcohol but have thus realized that both of these ideas are poor as the bronchitis does not respond well to either of these activities.

Alas, it’s doctor time tomorrow.

In which I must say “Crap.”