Huh.

I think I just painted my kitchen orange.

I don't mean kinda-orange. I mean orange.

Not sure what I think about that. My high school colors were black and orange (go Trojans!), and after four years of perpetual Halloween, I've been fairly burned out on the color ever since.

This kitchen is going to take some thinking about. Either it's going to grow on me, or it's going to be gone.

Catching up

Just a short collection of snaps from the past few days, for those who might be interested. Wild and crazy night of priming the kitchen. Fortunately, the primer looks like ass, so we'll probably move on to actual paint at a slightly less glacial pace than the one we've taken so far on this project.

First off, a picture of my grandmother, with her favorite Bad Dog.



She took Sparky in when I was downrange and Mr. Abby was out of pocket for a few months. I seriously wondered if we'd get him back. He was in her lap her entire visit. We've lost his airplane carrier, which is probably good, since I think she may have made off with him if it were around.

The downside of Sparky, of course, is his stench. It's a Yorkie thing, I think. So sometimes, he requires bathing. I know we've mentioned this before, but I think this time I got a shot that truly captures how he feels about the bath process.



Isn't that pathetic? You'd think we beat him, and not that moments later, after a brisk towel treatment, he was curled up under the blanket on the bed. In my spot, of course.

And finally, a Bad Dog Product Test that didn't ever really come to fruition.



I've been using MagPul PMags lately - and they are a great piece of gear. I just ordered some more, and was feeling a little envious of all the gun people who were running over them with pickups, dropping them from skyscrapers, etc. So I thought I'd stage a little test of my own called Can A PMag Survive Being a Chew Toy?

Well, to know that, I'd have had to let the dog keep it more than 30 minutes. But the sound of a magazine being dropped on a tile floor roughly every 15 seconds cut that experiment off at the knees.

More tomorrow, perhaps even with some discussion of Osama Bin Laden's entry into the Commemorative Video bidness.

Words of wisdom

We've got CNN on this morning, and as they talked about the latest Mattel toy lead paint fiasco, my grandmother came up with an idea we should probably all consider.

"I think, if I had a child that age around," she said, "I'd say, just play with the dog - at least we know where he came from."

She might be onto something with that.

Oh, Larry...

We're not going to dwell on Senator Larry Craig and his...issue. We here at BDC support everyone's right to be just as gay as they might want to be. It's a big lonely world and if you find something to get you through it...who are we to judge?

But if you're one of those "traditional values" Republicans and you get busted looking for love in a public men's room....

Well, then we feel okay about making fun of you.

But Senator Craig announced that he would resign, which is really the only thing to do under the circumstances. Heterosexual rent-a-friends (ala Sen. Vitter)can be overcome. The gay kind on the other hand...not so easy to move past for a Republican politician.

Then he hired Michael Vick's lawyer, which, if you asked us, is...a move that certainly indicates something, even if we're not sure what that something is. We'd tend to consider it the move of a shifty weasel, not an utterly innocent man.

Then again, I wouldn't think an utterly innocent professional lawmaker would think that pleading guilty to this particular charge would not "suppress a story."

So now the good Senator is apparently hedging? Perhaps, his people say, he may not resign after all.

Please, Larry. A bit of advice - go away. There is a time when the best thing to do is exit stage left. This, Senator, is one of those times. Take what little dignity you have left and hit the road.

These weekends...

have been mildly busy. My grandmother is here - which is groovy. I have one of the world's coolest grandmothers - if it weren't for her I'd have never seen Madagascar, or the Galapagos, or wandered around northern England one Sping Break. That's just the direct stuff - her influence is probably responsible for a significant amount of my wanderlust.

So, she's here and hanging out with her is A Good Thing. I'll get some pictures up, and will get back to y'all in a couple of days.

It's always something...

T’was a beautiful morning at Bad Dog Central. I was sitting out on the back porch, enjoying a smoke and some coffee before work. Casey was stretched out beside me, Jack lounged in a lounge chair by the pool (yes – he does that). And Sparky was at the far end of the pool enclosure, barking hysterically at some doves on the power line behind the house.

Not all bad, I thought. Friday morning, not much to do at work, should be a pretty painless –

SPLASH!

I jumped up. I was looking directly at Jack, who is the only Bad Dog who should be splashing anywhere. Raced up onto the pool deck, spotted Sparky dogpaddling furiously to stay afloat in the not-by-the-steps end. He’s not much of a swimmer, so he was paddling his tiny paws off to keep his head above water. And he’s not big enough to crawl out over the edge.

So, down on my belly I went. In my work clothes (which are pretty casual, but still). On the wet and dirty pooldeck. Plucked the little guy out and set him down on dry land. He yakked and gakked and spit water out for a moment.

I returned to my chair and my smoke and my coffee. In seconds I had a small wet dog on my lap (with dirty paws. On my work clothes). In Sparky’s world, he’d been plucked out of water that may has well have been 400 feet deep, and he was going to stay on my lap as long as I’d let him.

And that’s how I ended up at work in slightly damp clothes that have muddy dogprints on them, and why I walked in smelling just a little like a wet terrier.

That’s also why Home Despot made more money off us, as the Mister has already procured gate-making materials to keep the Little Guy from having any other unfortunate pool incidents.

[sigh] It’s not easy being the Alpha Female around here, I tell you what.

Quick update

BDC is, perhaps, what we could call "pre-tizzy" this morning. In a day or so, I think we'll be all in a tizzy.

The last remaining family members who have NOT been down here yet pulled into a neighboring town late last night. They're here for an event, but we shall have company at some point. I should probably mop or something.

Casey is acting suspicious about her back again - I'm wondering if we need a more extended course of antibiotics and steriods to whip her itchy spots.

I'm engaged in some paperwork goatropery (details of which I will share at an appropriate time) which is turning out to yet again be a goatrope involving paperwork. Since I'll be having company, I'd like to get the mounds of paperwork stowed away where they belong, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen.

[sigh]

Blogging will probably yet again become furtive and incoherent for a few days. Sorry 'bout that.

Over the edge

of madness...I think this must be the final step. I came home to this:



Which, after much hanging and drilling and cursing, looked like this:



Yes. Those are two glowing puppy eyes outside, trying to figure out exactly how this contraption works. That was finaly resolved - kind of.



Except it really doesn't work for simultaneous two-way traffic, but they've got it pretty much figured out.

Kudos to Mr. Abby. The big question tomorrow will be: how much of our stuff will Jack the Puppy drag outside while we're at work?

We're #1! We're #1

In per capita civilian firearms ownership, that is. According to this Reuters story, the United States is "the most heavily armed society in the world."

U.S. citizens own 270 million of the world's 875 million known firearms, according to the Small Arms Survey 2007 by the Geneva-based Graduate Institute of International Studies.

About 4.5 million of the 8 million new guns manufactured worldwide each year are purchased in the United States, it said.

"There is roughly one firearm for every seven people worldwide. Without the United States, though, this drops to about one firearm per 10 people," it said.

That's right - U.S. firearms owners do more to combat worldwide poverty among small arms manufacturers than any other citizenry on earth.

On a per-capita basis, Yemen had the second most heavily armed citizenry behind the United States, with 61 guns per 100 people, followed by Finland with 56, Switzerland with 46, Iraq with 39 and Serbia with 38.

And we totally smoked Yemen. They should keep that in mind the next time one of our naval vessels makes a port call in Aden.

France, Canada, Sweden, Austria and Germany were next, each with about 30 guns per 100 people, while many poorer countries often associated with violence ranked much lower. Nigeria, for instance, had just one gun per 100 people.

The wording there makes me think France may be more heavily armed than Canada, which would be surprising. Then again...

Only about 12 percent of civilian weapons are thought to be registered with authorities.

And all those who opted not to participate in Canada's famously stupid and ineffective registration may have been a little hesitant to check the yes box on this particular survery.

Intriguing little read, and you all know I love to share news that points out what a wonderful country we live in.

'Cause I promised

my Mom, here's some imagery from the latest round of Dog Power Games. Casey eats vegetables. Loves 'em. Jack eats most everything. Casey is Senior, and Jack wishes he was.

So when a green onion was somehow knocked off the counter yesterday evening, although neither of them really wanted it, nor did they want the other to have it.

Jack got there first, and it led to a 20-minute slow-motion chase around the house and he carried it reluctantly around, with Casey in equally-reluctant pursuit.



In the end, the onion was ground into the carpet by the back door and forgotten in a frenzy of barking related to some stupid sound from behind the house.

Really, upon further reflection, the whole thing could have been sort of a canine interpretive theater piece on the workings of Congress. Stupid, petty, ultimately smelly and, in the end, the briefly enthralling subject was abandoned in favor of trying to track down what smelled like skunk.

Socially unacceptable

It's getting so I can't be trusted to talk to anyone.

Last weekend, we had some of the Mister's coworkers over for drinks and charred meat. I managed to execute a flawless foot-in-mouth by making a rude remark about our...enthusiasticaly religious neighbors and their ongoing efforts to recruit us into their flock.

Did anyone warn Abby that the Mister's boss and his wife were devoutly religious folks? Oh, noo...

I apologized, and felt like an ass. Bad manners in the extreme, but hey - it happens.

Yesterday evening, we were standing in the cereal aisle at the local grocery-store-that-sucks-compared-to-Publix. My better half was blocking the aisle, and a couple of people a shade over four feet tall needed to pass.

"Gangway, honey," I said. "Short people to your rear."

Short people being a term I use for children.

Or, in this case, as I realized the second the words left my mouth, a for real dwarf/midget/little person and a child.

If they heard me, they were easygoing enough to not take offense.

I normally don't worry a whole lot about what I say to folks. As Popeye would say, I yam what I yam. But I do try not to say hurtful or rude things to nice people and stangers.

I'm on a roll, though, and am a little hesitant to speak in public right now. It is, it seems, one of those weeks when I would somehow manage to tell a group of schoolchildren they'd really "taken one up the ass" by missing the ice cream truck.

Why is it

that one never has guests when the house is clean?

A big howdy to those dropping by from LawDog's place - welcome!

Someday, when I get thrown a link, I'm going to be in the midst of a period of high-quality blogging. Someday.

Until then, pay no attention to the dog hair on the floor, and just scoot the toys off the couch. Please feel free to wander around and see if there's anything fresh or an old buried bone that smells good to you.

The Vick Thing

So we come at last to discussing Michael Vick.

I think we probably already know the Official Bad Dog Position on whole thing, right? Vick oughta be shot. No kidding. I'll do it - if you're a federal prosecutor with the power to set that up, the email link is on the left side of the page.

So the disgust is a given. But some folks seemed a little perplexed - why are so many people so hung up on this vileness?

Well, here you go.

We are people who believe in mercy. Our culture (is it American culture? Western Anglo culture? Midwestern culture? Military culture?) believe that is is not merely wrong to harm those weaker than us, but that it is a sign of moral bankruptcy to do so.

We are men who do not abuse women, we are women who do not harm children and old folks. We do our best to raise children who do not throw rocks at kittens.

There is a basic concept of decency in this culture we have been raised in that tells us it is our duty to not harm those weaker than us - although we may well be able to do so with few or no repercussions.

We can simply think of it as Spiderman Morality. Remember the line? With great power comes great responsibility.

We can take the word "great" out and the line makes even more sense for day-to-day living. With power comes responsibility.

Thus our varying levels of disgust when we find people betraying this gentleman's understanding of how our society should run. A man abuses his wife? That is reprehensible - but on some level, we understand she is a grown woman, with the physical ability to leave. An adult abuses a child? That is more reprehensible - children cannot really leave. They cannot drive, they cannot have jobs. They are entirely dependent, and have no recourse other than to muster the understanding and bravery to ask for help.

And animals. Why the obsession with animals? We know that animals are less than humans, on whatever grand cosmic measuring scheme tracks such things. But there is an implied trust in our relationship with our pet animals that many of us take quite seriously. We have created the domestic dog and cat, and they cannot survive on their own. We, as humans, have arranged things so that these are beasts that exist in our homes and lives with no avenue of escape, entirely dependent on our goodwill for their quality of life.

And there it is. The dog in your house cannot leave, and he will not grow up and move out and take charge of his own life. From puppy to being planted in the flower bed out back, his quality of life is entirely dependent on the kindness of his master.

That's something many "critter people" enjoy. Each of my dogs was plucked from some unhappy situation, and it makes me happy that they will live out their lives with decent veterinary care, regular feedings and soft places to sleep. I could shoot them or starve them, but I know that would be wrong. And so I treat them well, and it makes me feel as if I am doing right.

Which bring us to Vick. Vick is a grown man, with money and power, and had some dogs. Not only did he allow terrible things to happen to them, he did terrible things to them. Worse yet, he did not do these terrible things "accidentally." He did not fail to feed his dogs because he had no money, nor did he beat his dogs with a stick in a fit of rage.

No - he did worse. He subjected a totaly powerless yet sentient being to pain and suffering, repeatedly - habitually - for his own amusement.

That's worse. Allowing or causing pain or damage to those below us on the power/dependence scale is vile. Doing so for our own amusement is utterly repulsive.

That's the difference between thumping your kid a little too hard for talking back, and burning her with cigarettes and giggling when she cries.

It demonstrates a horrifying lack of empathy. A horrifying lack of humanity. A horrifying lack of mercy.

Mercy, ladies and gentlemen, is what separates us from the savages. The concept of a merciful society is what keeps our Army on its posts, drinking in bars and getting tattoos rather than looting and pillaging. Mercy is what keeps our young men working rather than raping and robbing. Mercy keeps us putting up with our Grandfather's chatter at the Thanksgiving table rather than leaving him out to freeze in the backyard when he's no longer useful.

Mercy, coupled with eternal vigilance, is what allows us to live free of fear and desperation.

A society without mercy looks like the dark corners of the New Orleans Kingdome during Hurricane Katrina. It looks like a Central American banana republic where people "disappear" at the hands of gangs and death squads. A society utterly without mercy looks like Rwanda, or the Sudan.

We look at someone like this shitbag football hero, and we see someone drunk on his position in the world, and utterly without regard for anything living that he might consider "below" him. We look at that smirk when confronted with the details of brutal killings of pet animals, and we wonder how such a man might be with his women (because we know the women in his life were always "his"). We wonder how he would be with the elderly, the young.

And on some level, we know. We see that cruel smirk at the idea of strangling a dog, and we have a pretty good idea about Vick at home. About Vick in bed, Vick with elderly relatives and about Vick with children.

Cruelty is evil, and that's all there is to it. There is no cultural excuse for cruelty - this sort of behavior is uncivilized, and I think it's the fact that everyone knows it that makes folks uncomfortable.

Cruelty is uncivilized, and any defense of cruelty is a defense of savagery. Any culture which condones or enjoys cruelty for amusement is a savage culture. And there is no room left for those cultures.

That's why people are high and to the right about this. We see defenses of Vick's behavior, and we know the truth. Those defending Vick, or making light of his acts, are simply defending savagery, and there is no excuse for that.

Bath Time!

Our lives are not always a giant festival of excitement. That's usually the case, but even swingin' wild folk like the Mister and I occasionally have a quiet night in. Nights like that are when we start to notice that we may have...canine stench issues.

I'm talking about the Little Guy. The big dogs shed, and so they smell pretty okay most of the time. Sparky, on the other hand... Once in a while he'll jump up in my lap and my eyes will water.

That, folks, means it's time for a bath. Once in a while he gets washed in the sink, and occasionally we just dunk him in the pool and swish him around a little. But more often he just ends up in the shower with one of us.

This does not make Sparky happy.



It seems he works long and hard to develop a good stench, and when we try to take it away, he's less-than-thrilled. But he weighs nine pounds and there's not much he can do about it.

Some members of the household wonder why they do not get to take showers.



Someday I shall tell the story of the World's Least Relaxing Bath, wherein I was trying to relax and read a magazine while keeping Jack from launching himself into the tub with me.

Once the Evil Horrible Torture Bath has ended, a towel is applied. Sparky then races through the house, rolling on each dog bed and entry rug in an attempt to regain at least a little stench. Because that's important.

In the end, proper bath recovery requires burrowing in somewhere warm until he's dry. This is most entertaining when he burrows into the bed, because there's nothing like snuggling up to your pillow late at night and discovering it's damp and smells of wet dog.



Worse yet, of course, is snuggling up to your pillowing and realizing it is a small damp dog.

So there's your weekend helping of cute dog pics.

Things I learned in the production of this post - The Mister freaks out just a little bit if he's in the shower and I suddenly begin snapping pictures. And that's kinda funny.

I am that person

Shortly after moving in, we either bought an object or subscribed to a service that offered a rebate in the form of a couple of Visa gift cards. Since the Mister reaped the benefits of the last gift card, these were mine.

Of course, one of them was immediately sacrificed on the ammo altar. The other, though...

Well, I can't help myself. I'm a sucker for big brown eyes.



That's right - the Dog Toy Fairy will be coming to visit. Got some Bad Cuz toys, and some Kongs.



Photos and Toy Fairy by PetSmart.

Fraud, waste and abuse

A better employee than me would never think of blogging from work. However, it's Saturday and there's really no good reason for me to be here.

Well, actually, there is. Someone has to talk to the lunatics.

Thus far I have had:
A - A team of yahoos up in New York City so lost it took two of them, in ongoing conversation with one another, to place a phone order for a single object. This is why I avoid taking calls, and why I love be a non-commissioned employee.

B - A man in California who is convinced that Federal Express is out to get him, and that the whole "came out to meet the driver while carrying a rifle" issue was one big misunderstanding. I earned my meager pay talking to this one.

C - A doctor in Florida whose expensive Box-o-Stuff is missing somewhere, and was upset because his other doctor buddy in Florida was driving up from a different city to share in the Crate-o-Goodness. He had no way to contact his buddy and tell him the box wasn't there, because apparently doctors in Florida do not have cellphones.

D - A vigorous discussion among my coworkers on whether or not selling a man a crate of soft point ammo when he'd asked for lead round nose was a Bad Thing. This discussion would have been over much more quickly if anyone working today except me knew the difference. And although my employer Shall Not Be Named On The Blog, trust me - people working here should know the difference.

Lot of crazy people out there. And lots of confused ones, too. And the most entertaining thing is - I have no clue. You call me, you can tell me anything. Chances are, I'll believe you.

Once in a while, when I get off the phone with someone, I ask myself, "was that guy totally full of it, and did I just get bent over?"

Sometimes, I'm sure the answer is yes. Sometimes even a resounding yes. But I do get the occasional call from someone, usually when I've replaced an item lost-in-shipping, to tell the original has showed up and they now have two items, but only paid for one. These folks invariably want to either send one back or pay me, which is display of integrity that often catches me off guard but is still always pleasing.

That'll do for now. If I do more posting on my employer's dime, I'll try to NOT have it be about my tiresome day.

We can learn a lot...

...from the mistakes of others. So let's go right and do that, shall we?

From Arizona, we have this gem: Police: Woman Stabs Husband During Sex

This is immediately interesting, is it not? Tragic accident while gettin' their monkey on in the Bayonet Room? Nekkid Teppanyaki gone horribly awry? Or something darker, perhaps.

Well, yes. And it wasn't simply a case of...consumer dissatisfaction with the product, so to speak.

[Mrs.] Gonzales told officers [Mr.] Gonzales had left the home one month ago and ended their marriage.

Okaaay...but why is he then at said house, having sex with her?

Police said she received a telephone call from Gonzales on Tuesday morning requesting she meet him at their home to have the home appraised.

So that's why he was at the house, although it really doesn't answer the second part of the question. Let's read on, shall we?

Falon said she began to cry and Gonzales consoled her, officers said. They began kissing and she later suggested they enter the master bedroom bathroom to have sexual intercourse, according to her account.

My men are out there saying, "there's your proof that women trot out tears unfairly to trick men!" My ladies, however, are saying, "there's your proof that men are idiots when confronted with any opportunity to get some."

It goes downhill from there.

During sex, Falon reached into the duffle bag, removed the knife and stabbed him in the chest, officers said.

But now - ladies especially, pay attention!

[Mr.] Gonzales was able to flee the home.

[Mrs.] Gonzales was arrested on charges of attempted homicide. A preliminary hearing has been set for Sept. 4. She is on supervised release under an electronic monitoring program.

Do not count on killing your estranged husband with a single knife-poke while having sex in the bathroom! Effectively killing someone with a knife is harder than it seems. Either practice, or run him down with a pickup.

Less-than-positive indicators

I went to bed early last night so I could wake up at an ungodly hour and drive 38 miles for an appointment that, as it turned out, didn't happen.

Drove back like a bat out of Hell (insert appropriate Meatloaf track here) to let dogs out and avoid house pees. Good thing I came back, because the Mister and I had managed to somehow lock Jack outside this morning when we left.

[sound of head slapping into open palm]

Now I must go to the gas station (the morning's jaunt has me sucking fumes) and head to work.

This is going to be a truly outstanding day. I can tell already.

Not a good start

to the day this morning. Blogger was being posessed, so I went out in the yard for a smoke. I'd just finished running, and was wearing a tank top. As I stood there, a honeybee landed in my armpit. I tried to brush it off, and was stung in an act of wholly uncalled for bee aggression.

So I left for work. Some mornings, one should not strive to accomplish much.

Something for everyone...

Today I got a package of stuff I'd ordered. In the package was the usual assortment of flyers and ads and all that good stuff. Including one for a particularly sacchrine plate featuring a big-eyed Maltese puppy. Another insert advertised an odd bust of bulldog/man with a Marine Corps theme.

That's right, gang. I got the Bradford Exchange flyers.

Let me tell you...no matter what floats your boat, these folks have some sort of odd knicknack to fit.

Into unicorns? The Bradford Exchange people got your back.

Follow a vision to the fairy realm, to a magical place of wonder. Here a beautiful princess, along with a trio of sprites and a mystical unicorn, suddenly appear under a trail of glistening stardust. This Bradford Exchange collector plate is a dream come true.

But what if your thing isn't unicorns? What if you're more like me, and you're into...I dunno...real critters? Gotcha covered there, too. Let's see...we have a Yorkie, and we're mildly fond of him. What do we have in Yorkie Paraphenelia?



It's the World's Ugliest Clock! With a Yorkie! Or, to hear the Bradford Exchange folks tell it...

Yorkies are an adorable breed! With their sweet personalities, long hair, black button nose and dark, inquisitive eyes, they quickly melt your heart and become your best friend for life. Now, you can be reminded of your forever love for the special Yorkie in your life with a stunning collectible Yorkie mantel clock, set in a porcelain sculpted case and adorned with adorable Yorkie portraiture by acclaimed canine artist Michael Vistia.

It occurs to me that Michael Vistia probably did this particular object de art and then quietly went out in the yard and shot himself.

But what if you're not into unicorns or dogs, but are instead a more patriotic sort? Well, that's when the really odd stuff comes out. We got this option:



It's described as, "a patriotic tour de force." Well, that's sure one way of looking at it. Listen, I love the Marine Corps like only a true convert can, but this thing? Not in my house.

But if that's a little too serious for you...



Oh, Cousin R! Is that a Christmas gift waiting to happen or what? Ahem...

Set sail on the open road with this handsome U.S. Navy collectible teddy bear figurine! He's lookin' cool in his casual yet crisp white t-shirt, sailor's cap and blue jeans - check out those shades! And every biker bear knows there's no better way to see the country he serves than from the seat of a tricked out motorcycle - this one is loaded with "chrome" trim, cool anchor-motif wheels, and a dashing anchor emblem on the gas tank!

Most horrifying is that I think there's one for each service.

But, of course, there is always one object that even the most ornery of us would buy. In my case?



'Cause shepherds rock.