Nirvana

Is when the people return to Bad Dog Central and have in their hands...The White Takeout Box of Leftovers! Little guy scored a bone. Casey got pieces of meat (yes - we collected them from everyone at the table. We are THOSE people).

How cool is that?

I ran this afternoon - short but hard. It was a good run, and I decided to walk the last couple blocks to the house to shorten my total time-spent-gasping-in-the-living-room.

As I strolled up the sidewalk, the ground trembled. There was a rumble to the west, then a building wall of sound. I looked up (I know what this is - you gotta look ahead of the sound). The roar built, until it was almost painful and almost overhead. Then I saw it.


(photo courtesy USAF)

Taking off from the Air Base. It cleared the base perimeter and shot almost straight up. Three more followed at angles less steep.

We get a lot of transport and utility planes here, not so many fighters. But man, are the fighters ever awesome. From the sound to the sight, whether they're taking off, landing or just screaming by at low altitude...well, it makes me smile. Not a little smile, either. A big ol' shit-eating grin.

Now, I've (thankfully) never been in a position where fixed-wing air power had to come to the rescue. But I have been in a couple spots where it was REAL nice to know those fighters were out there. I see them now and it just makes me realize the amount of talent, technology and sheer POWER we can bring to bear on anything or anyone that threatens us.

And I defy anyone who ever watches fighters fly to not feel a little envy. I know that flying in the military, particularly flying fighters, is a lot more work than glamor. And I know that getting there requires massive effort (and a buttload of math). But...I'd just about give a kidney to launch one of those off a runway and into a steep climb someday. I never will, but it makes me happy to see that people do.

Anyway, fighters just give me a warm fuzzy way down in my boot-wearing, warmongering heart. And I felt like sharing.

Decision '06

OK - time for the ---hold on, gotta answer the phone...

IF THERE'S A PAWN FOR THE INSURANCE INDUSTRY IN THE FLORIDA STATE SENATE RACE IT'S KIM BE-

Okay. I'm back. As I was saying, the Official Position on Election 2006 here at Bad Dog Central is: Please God, let it be over.

Please observe what came in TODAY'S mail.



That's just today. These people are insane. And that's to say nothing of the phone calls. And the commercials.

I've been a politics dork for years. I care far more than the average individual about this sort of thing, and even I don't give a shit about the vast majority of the offices.

And attack ads? Boy howdy, can Florida politicians run attack ads.

There's a woman named Kim Berfield running for State Sentate. She's a pawn of the insurance industry, might be a scientologist, might still live at home with her parents, and doesn't like kittens.

Her opponent is Charlie Justice, who wants to quadruple property taxes, mandate gay marriage and shoot puppies.

Both of them have, according to the ads, apparently taken duffel bags of cash from insurance companies (a big thing here since people insist on building waterfront home in hurricane country).

I give up.

I'll vote on Tuesday. But really, shouldn't I look forward to election day as an opportunity to elect a candidate I'm enthusiastic about, rather than as the painful which-one-of-these-assholes-will-screw-up-less selection process that it usually is? I am absolutely certain that only cretins will be elected to any office, and that's because, as near as I can tell, only cretins RUN for office.

I hate all these people.

Rev. Ted Haggard

So I don't know anything about this guy. I'm opposed to the religious right on priciple. It's as though every time some twitchy man starts yammering about "family values" I can hear, very softly in the background, "and you, missy! What are you thinking, wearing TROUSERS??? Get into a shapless long-sleeved floor length flowered dress and get in the kitchen where you belong! And why aren't you surrounded by squalling infants? Have babies! Lots of them!"

Ugh. Makes my blood run cold.

Anyway, I'd never heard of this Jesus-told-me-to-tell-you-what-to-do guy, but apparently he's a big deal in that world. And apparently there are Troubling Allegations about him and some excesively attractive young man.

This would be a problem for almost anyone, mind you, who was married. Obviously a Huge Problem for someone of his ilk. Anyway, CNN just showed a little clip of him trying to explain this away, and it was the most priceless soundbite I've heard in years. Check this out:

"I have never had sex with a man in Denver."

Well, that clears THAT up.

Things my Mom taught me (Part III)

So Casey had an upset tummy today. A little yard pukin' and a serious case of the I-gotta-go-out-RIGHT-NOW. So I called Mom up, got a Course of Action (that's military speak for what-the-Hell-we-gonna-do), and did it. Went to CVS, bought Pepto and a syringe.

I came home, fired up the syringe, grabbed the German Shepherd, pried open the Giant Jaws of Death and thoroughly Pepto'd the dog. Then I did it again. Mr. Abby kept looking at me like I was crazy.

However, Mom always taught me:
If you're going to be a Critter Person, you have to be able to deal with your critters.

When I was a kid, we had barn cats. Now, the average barn cat gets about one trip to a real veterinarian in its life (if it's lucky). That's the spay/neuter trip. Other than that - why would anyone, my mother would ask, pay for an office visit for shots you can buy through the mail?

(Disclaimer - Abby's Mom is a medical professional)

So at least once a year, we'd trap the barn cats out in the garage. Then it was my job to a grab a cat and wrap it in a towel, leaving the neck exposed so Mom could administer the shots. We also did this with the housecat. And Dad's hunting dog.

When I was in high school, I had a couple of horses. One of them was a freak of epic proportions and ran through a barbed wire fence. Since we believed in Dealing With Our Critters, I applied ointment to those lacerations every day for weeks (and the horse kicked, too).

The two horses needed shots, too. This seemed to my Mom to be a GREAT OPPORTUNITY for me to learn to give shots. I remember her standing on the OTHER side of the fence and giving instructions as I warily circled Freak Horse with a needle. But I did it. I learned.

One weekend, my Dad and I were Up North and Mom was at home with our two bullmastiffs. On their Last Pee of The Night, Boris, our large male (and I do mean LARGE), somehow got tangled up with a raccoon family in the woods below the house. Raccoons are MEAN and Boris was not. He DID triumph (decisively, my father found the next day), but sustained a nasty ear-tear in the process. Nasty as in his big, floppy, velvety ear was ripped pretty well in half from tip to base.

Mom fixed it. With a flesh stapler. The woman stapled an ear together on a I-shit-you-not-150-pound frantic dog with no assistance.

That's Dealing With Your Critters. And that's why I could never even contemplate calling the veterinarian to administer dog tummy medicine. Because Mom would laugh at me.

Nighttime at Bad Dog Manor

Ah, yes. Another day draws to a close. Mr. Abby is already asleep, and one of us has apparently decided it's time for the Last Pee of The Night. Yes - of course I took a picture. You should just be thankful I cropped most of our nasty ghetto backyard out of it.



What? Too tacky? Oh, okay. Then we came back inside and Sparky decided to paw at the couch blanket and build himself a nest. Isn't that cuuuuuute?



I KNEW you would like that one.

Why don't they make

Armor-All Dog Snot?



I'd buy it. Lots and lots of it.

A walk in the park

Literally. The dogs laid down the law recently and said "no more blogging until you get some DOG PICTURES!" Hence our recent lack of posting. This afternoon I managed to wrestle both of them AND the camera into the Jeep for a ride to the park, so I'm back in business.

And can you really beat a CAR RIDE?



No. You cannot.

And once we got to the park, there was much running and standing and looking to do.



And then there were the SQUIRRELS!



Sparky ALMOST got this one. Almost.

CNN

CNN has finally managed to embed a reporter with a unit from the 10th Mountain Division down in my old Area of Operations. It's kind of funny - "Oh My God! We're in the Triangle of Death!"

What strikes me is the enthusiasm of the troops she's to be with. It reminds me of the enthusiasm of the two units we supported, when they first arrived. I hope the 10th Mountain has better luck. Heads up, guys - Hadjii is watching. Just because he's letting you kick brushpiles this week doesn't mean you'll be able to do it next month.

The enemy (or, more accurately, various enemies) in Iraq is an adaptable monkey. If you want to ride around in tracked vehicles, he'll figure that out and work around you. If you want to ride around in wheeled armored vehicles, he'll figure that out, and react accordingly. If you want to dismount and walk, well, he's got a plan for that, too.

The bad guys are not stupid, and we are all served by remembering that.

AN ASIDE - Yeah, I've seen the CNN "sniper footage." As someone who probably ran 150 or so missions as a turret gunner, this video makes my blood run cold. Remember this video - your troops know this can happen at any time and there's very little they can do about it. But they still roll out. Whatever the hell our country is doing with the strategy of this war, our warriors are magnificent.

We're back!

We here at Bad Dog Central apologize for the recent break in posting. There's been some rough news in the Bad Dog Family, and it required contemplation.

Modern medicine being what it is, however, we have great confidence in the eventual triumph of our loved one, and so we will continue to post our thoughts about various trivial issues, but with one ear on the telephone.

Yes, I am posting late

and if you were wondering why (and you know you were), it's because Mr. Abby is Out of Town (in the military sense).

So I have a couple of weeks of getting to be on MY VERY OWN SCHEDULE!!!

Love my husband, but he's an early-to-bed, early-to-rise type. I normally try to conform to his schedule at least a little. Otherwise it's quite easy for us to be in the same house and only be awake together from like 1700-2100.

But he's gone - and his timing is FABULOUS. Mr. Abby is a patriotic American of the first degree, but - he DISLIKES BASEBALL. I know. I know. If I'd realized this earlier, I probably would have called off the wedding. But, as it stands now, I'm good to watch the World Series, or at least the first four games, without anyone wandering into the living room and saying, "what's for dinner?" or "can you help me find my green service cover?"

He's actually developed some sort of jealous adversarial relationship with baseball, in which he occasionally tries to tempt me away from the Tigers.

"Hey, babe - you want to go get a steak?"

I finally had to break it down.

"Babe, this hasn't happened in 22 years. I love baseball. Like 65% of my early childhood memories involve Ernie Harwell's voice. I love you, but please, GO AWAY. Or you can sit here and watch the Tigers. One or the other."

I really am a sucky wife, but I REALLY love baseball.

Crazy World...

Well, I still suck at homework. I just raced through four sections of math that were due at 2359 Sunday, trying to squeeze as many points as possible out. Of course, I could have done these weeks ago (probably would have improved my test score), but that would have been MOST out of character.

So I'm sipping a late-night cup of coffee, and listening to "Mortaritaville." It's some twisted little piece of music I picked up in Iraq (along w/ persistent GI tract issues - the music is way more fun). Another ripoff of Margaritaville, but it DOES include the line, "at least I don't wipe my ass with my hand."

One night, I sat on a plywood porch with four other individuals and watched everything we owned burn to the ground. There were Apaches overhead, the bad guys were shooting at the FOB, we had no pants, and "Mortaritaville" was playing on a laptop.

It makes me smile now. Yeah, I'm still a bad student and I probably always will be. But at least all my shit isn't on fire.

Put your dog On. A. Leash. Dammit.

OK - if you live in an urban (or, I suppose, suburban) area (read, neighborhood), you just gotta keep track of your dog.

I have the Bad Dogs, and they are indeed Bad. Casey loves to run off. Sparky loves to run across roads looking for people willing to pet him. People don't MIND Sparky, but the road is not a safe place for a dog. People DO mind a German Shepherd who loves chasing kids on bikes, so wandering free is NOT a safe place for Casey.

The solution here is simple. My dogs don't wander outside. Our backyard is fenced (a requirement when we rent). The dogs don't go from the front door to the car if we don't have a firm hold on them. When we walk, they have leashes (and they WEAR them).

I just got back from taking them for an evening walk. As we neared the house, we had TWO decent-sized dogs come running up on us from the front, doing that creepy low jackal run.

I hate that. Of COURSE they weren't on leashes (one wasn't even wearing a collar). And of COURSE they had no people.

I yelled at them (sergeant voice! "HEY! GO HOME! GO HOME!") and they drew back. I scooped up Sparky and dragged Casey on down past them. I kept looking back until I saw they'd developed an interest in a neighbor's trash.

Grrrr....

Listen - I love dogs. Love em love em love em. I love ALL the dogs. Ugly ones, smelly ones, ornery ones and hairy ones. I love my next door neighbor's pit bull, and pet her daily.

I DO NOT LOVE packs of unleashed dogs.

1. If your dog is running around the neighborhood unrestrained, there's a good chance it'll get hit by a car. That sucks.

2. If your dog is running around thinking it's part of a pack, charging other dogs, that ain't good either. I love all the dogs. I love mine best. Your unleashed dog attacks one of mine? That will go badly for your dog. That sucks.

3. Unrestrained dogs consistently attack people down here. If your dog ATTACKS someone, that's bad. For you AND the dog. Also sucks.

Keep track of your dog. A neighborhood is not an appropriate place to let your dog roam. Bad things can happen to it, and it's not fair to the dog.

I DON'T MIND BAD DOGS. I HATE BAD DOG OWNERS.

Mellow day

So I got up this morning, basking the the afterglow of last night's Tigers win, and headed off to school. The math test wasn't bad, which was nice.

I was going to swing by the range, but I decided it sounded too "loud," so I just came home. Now I'm on the couch, watching ESPN, with a German Shepherd on my lap. Well, just her head. Apparently I'm furniture today. Normally Casey isn't very cuddly, so it's nice. Perhaps we'll nap.

Mmmm....pears

They say there are three kinds of dogs, as defined by what "motivates" them. There are the Toy-Oriented Dogs (that is, Sparky). There are Praise-Oriented Dogs (I think I've met a few - they're the dog equivalent of the suckups you remember from high school). Then there are the Food-Oriented Dogs.

Casey is a FOD. When I first got her from the shelter, she was skinny and I set about trying to fatten her up. I can get her to around 68 pounds, and that's it. But man, can she EAT. I wish I had my dog's metabolism.

Her favorite thing in the world - fruit. More than steak, more than jerky, the dog loves FRUIT. Nectarines, watermelon, apples, you name it. If I peel the little sticker of a plum at 0330, she hears it and is RIGHT THERE in an instant.

Tonight I tried to eat a pear. You can see how that turned out. Her passion for fruit is stronger than her fear of the digital camera, it appears.

22 Years

That's how long it's been since the Detroit Tigers made it out of the first round of the playoffs.

I was 6 in 1984. Now, I'm not going to get all excited - there's still an ALCS and, good Lord willing and the crick don't rise - a World Series. But...DAMN. That was BEAUTIFUL.

Kenny Rogers pitched last night like nothing I have ever seen. The most inspired performance I've ever seen on the mound. Bonderman was fabulous today, and the Tigers just looked like a team that WANTED it.

And that they won the game in Detroit? SWEET.

So, I'm off to do the Happy Dance again. I fully intend to be intolerable between now and the ALCS opener on Tuesday.

Gratuitous Dog Pic

The Bad Dogs point out I'm not posting enough dog pics here. In my defense, I'd like to point out that Casey is afraid of the digital camera and runs away whenever I turn it on. And Sparky sleeps all the time.

But anyway, on the way back through Orlando, I did get this picture of a Very Happy Big Black Dog.



I do not condone letting one's dog ride in the open back of a truck, and I don't let mine do it. But some dogs really seem to enjoy it, and you know what - when I was a kid WE were allowed to ride in the back of the truck. So good for this Big Black Dog.

Road trip!

Today I went to Orlando. There was a new Gander Mountain outdoor store opening. I was out of ammuntition (well, I'm never OUT of ammunition, but I was getting very low) and I haven't been in an outdoor store since I left the midwest.

So off I went. Now, I was passing up on going to BassPro (which is at exit 75) in the hopes that a "grand opening" would lead to better prices. But I had to go to exit 98. Keep in mind, I start out about 10 miles BEFORE exit 1. And here's a fun fact - if you lead a BAD LIFE, and you DIE, you have to spend eternity driving on I4 through Orlando. Jesus, that was annoying.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks so.



If you can't read this guy's personalized plate, it reads "ICUSS I4"

I got there, did my shopping. They had ALMOST everything I needed. And, a bonus, out in the parking lot, they had THIS!



Yep - that's a GIANT INFLATEABLE BASS with a slide in its mouth. Priceless.

I DID end up stopping at BassPro on the way home for one thing Gander Mtn. didn't have. Oh well - the prices were better at Gander, but BassPro was WAY COOL. Good thing I don't live closer.

Happiness is

ROOT BEER!



That's a frosty cold IBC root beer. I normally prefer A&W, but this stuff is good, too.

I've always liked root beer, but it became a super rare treat while I was in Iraq and whenever Higher could get a truck of soda through to our camp, it was at least 90% some weird Arabic strawberry soda.

And here's a dirty (but true!) little fact. On the rare occasion root beer would come in on a beverage delivery, the desk-sitting weenies on the staff of the battalion we were supporting would raid the soda supply and steal it. I'm not kidding - I saw crates of A&W in the TOC tent when the rest of the battalion hadn't seen anything but Hajji strawberry soda for weeks.

I'll let the unit remain nameless because although they pissed me off then and the thought of them pisses me off now, I'd hate to pop up on someone's Google search for said unit with my root beer bitching.

But if any of them find their way here - that was pretty shitty, guys. Your Joes - the ones out performing the dumbass missions y'all were dreaming up - deserved the first crack at all the soda. You guys should have been stuck with the warm strawberry crap.

Harumph.

The Postman Always...

breaks my heart with his lack of reliability. I think he drinks. Oh, I'm pretty sure he TRIES not to - those are the days when he comes by between 1045 and 1115. Most days. But then there are the days when I think he's fallen off the wagon, and arrives sometime between 1300 and 1515. I'll see him drive down a nearby road on those days, then he'll disappear for an hour or two. I think he's parked down at the corner store, sucking down 40s of Old E.

Just my theory, of course. This wouldn't be so annoying if about 80% of the time he was early, predictable, etc. Makes me crazy.

I blame it all on being a rural only child. Mail was a major highlight of the day, even in the years before I began monitoring the delivery in order to intercept letters from the local school.

Mom also got good catalogs. As opposed to us - we get annoying motorcycle stuff (for Mr. Abby) and threatening letters from financial entities addressed to the deadbeats who formerly occupied our house. Oh joy.

And the mail delivery was always timely at my parents' house. THEIR mailman doesn't drink. Or if he does, he doesn't allow it to interfere with the completion of his appointed rounds. Oh no - Mr. Smelker gets the mail to the masses.

Mr. Smelker rocks.

My mailman sucks.

Why yes - today WAS one of the "drinkin' at the corner store days." Could you tell? And when he finally showed up, the mail SUCKED.