Monthly Archives: March 2014

Mar 27 2014
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Family

The Dames

Whoa, whoa, whoa (click and read). Everyone, allow me to introduce one of my close friends Mozie or Mipsy or Monty or whichever one she is. I may have forgotten to describe a few animals in my life not because I don’t love them, but because they’re so little that my eyes brushed right over their heads as I was gazing at the timeline of my life. These little ladies are Yorkshire Terriers who, as you can read from her comment, smother the heck out of me even if I tend to step on them, roll over them, and overlook them (literally, they’re tiny!). Perhaps it’s my deep brown eyes or deep brown fur or deep brown smell that attracts the love and lust of many a female. I try to keep up with all of them because I truly do love them equally. Right, men? You know what I’m talking about. Sometimes it seems like you get in trouble if your tail wags in the wrong direction, so I started wagging mine in circles to cover any possible direction. You have to please the ladies. Mozie, I did search for you when we first arrived to our new place. I looked everywhere I could think a little one such as yourself might fit. Here’s the proof.

Searching for Mozie

Searching for Mozie

Spoiler: Mozie was not in the bottom of the box. The rigorous search ended a few minutes later because that box was stuck on my head and I got lost in personal thoughts as I stared into the pitch black nothingness of an empty Coke Zero fridge pack. The head encompassing box lead me to ask the tough questions like: If I can’t see people, can they see me? or, Is that smell the box or me? It was a self reflection moment all spurred by my search for my loved, lost friends. In the end, I found myself in that box. I also found a raisin. Thank you, Mozie. Veda and I do miss you and the other ewoks.

-Sir Hams-a-lot

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Mar 19 2014
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Favorite things

Dog’s Best Friend

Who is your best friend? A dog? I didn’t think so. It’s probably a human because you are a human or so I assume. Who is my best friend? A human? Nope. It’s a dog because I’m a dog and we have common interests such as sleeping on floor, sleeping on the couch, sleeping, sniffing each other and chewing on stuff. My best friends are special though. I know my backstory is pretty tear wrenching and joyful, but wait until I tell you about my buddies Dyson and Veda. This story might be a long one.

Dyson was born somewhere in Atlanta in November 2008 and was adopted from the wonderful Atlanta Humane Society in February 2009 as a 3-month old pup.

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Dyson at 3 months old

He was adopted by my Father and his brother and quickly became the coolest dog in the world and loved by many. Of course, Mr. Hambone here wasn’t even born yet, but Dyson was my best friend as soon as I was introduced to the world a couple years later. Dyson taught me the power of The Look, the virtue of listening, and the importance of loving everything around you. We slept together, ate together, I bit his legs, and he sat on my head. Best friends stuff, you know?

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Little D and I when I was just a puppy myself

Sadly, Dyson and his Father moved to Atlanta in August 2011 and then all the way to the Pacific Northwest in October 2011. My Mom, Dad, and I missed Little D a lot, but life was getting very busy for all of us and getting another dog would be another responsibility that would be tough to handle…until something happened. We got a message from my Grandpa in Atlanta that a dog at the humane society who looked just like Dyson was up for adoption. We looked at her on the website and she sure enough looked similar to Dyson, but to be honest, Dyson’s personality was unique, not his appearance. There are tons of dogs in Atlanta that look just like him. Nonetheless, my Mom, Uncle Paul, and I drove to Atlanta to check out this imposter with the idea that we could adopt her if she is well behaved. The humane society smelled amazing! Dogs were everywhere saying “Hello!” “Hi!” “Hi! Hi! Hello!” and then we found the one for whom we were looking. We played for a few minutes and knew we couldn’t leave without her. Mom told the humane society people about how the new dog looked just like our old dog who also happened to be from this humane society, so they told her they would look into her file and do some sleuthing. The dog had been adopted and brought back to humane society on multiple occasions because she jumped fences and yada yada yada. She was first brought in to the humane society in 2008 with a litter of puppies…more info…and then…that litter of puppies included Dyson! This dog right here, 3 years later, staring at us was Dyson’s blood sister, his litter mate, his Gretel to her Hansel! You better believe she came home with us. It was just like old times. I bit her legs, she sat on my head, and life was whole again. We called her Veda like from My Girl and now I have two best friends. Dyson and Veda did reunite once and you wouldn’t believe it if I told you, so just watch what happened.

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Dyson and Veda, respectively, reunited!

-One lucky dog

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Mar 12 2014
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Life Thoughts

My Understanding of What I Understand

Ho hey! I’m not one to comment on current events because more important topics such as balls and myself take precedent, but it’s hard to avoid the ever presence of the frozen tundra which now surrounds me. It appears that my wonderful parents, my buddy Veda, and I have moved cities recently, but it is a little hard for me to tell the difference. We still live upstairs, we still have a deck, we still have a yard, there’s still a large body of water down the road, the only hills around here still are bridges, and we live next to a road which transports things at which I can bark. Maybe the trees look a little different, but by all means it is tough for me to identify anything substantial to support that we actually “moved”…except this one thing. Snow. Oh my, so so much snow.

80 inches of snow? Bring it.

80 inches of snow? Bring it.

It’s white, flaky, and pristine as it piles and piles up everywhere. Prime frolicking material, you know? And bonus bonanza: The stuff freezes into solid blocks perfect for chewing or throwing or batting around the skating rink that was our yard. It all seems like a great addition to what was my world of palm fronded trees, salty water, and warm weather, but there’s a more fiendish side to this snow stuff. It freezes the pickles out of my paws! The squishing of snow under my paws sounds like styrofoam being rubbed together and it feels great when it slushes between my toes until I can’t feel the slushing anymore. The feeling fades into a numb, stabbing pain, so I lift my paws up and put on this sad face in hopes someone will pick me up like the delicate little tortilla that I am. It worked at first! Now I have to rough it and walk up the stairs under my own will power. You should have seen the shoes I tried on as a fix for the freezing. They helped my paws, but hurt my ego. Not being able to feel the ground drives me nuts and it makes me do embarrassing things with my legs. I can’t explain that part. Honestly, throw on the coat my mom made me, take me for a walk, feed me, and give me a pat on the head and I’m happy anywhere. This new place has not only grown on me, I’d say the difference between here and old home is only a matter of degrees. Zing!

-Ham out

 

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Mar 05 2014
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Favorite things

Have I mentioned round objects?

You can’t believe how happy I am to see you! How long has it been? Forever? Something like 3 or 4 days? Oh, it’s only been 15 minutes. Whenever I don’t see you time just stops. I mean, Veda and I romp around the house with reckless abandon for the first 5 minutes, but it’s pure drudgery after that. I sniff the rug and then lick the pillow and then stare out the window and then stare at Veda and then bark at a noise and then you come home. Why can’t you at least leave me with a parting gift of a round object? It doesn’t even have to be particularly bouncy or spherical or even a special color. I’ll be happy as long as it fits in my mouth and I can throw it in the air like a tipsy father throwing his child. You have so many options from which to choose. There’s that fuzzy ball that smells like delicious mildew, that heavy one that you say is red, the one Veda ate a hole in so I can stick my face into it, or even that little piece that used to be a ball would work. Balloons!? What!? Who said balloons? I love birthdays because people bring balloons, food, hands with which to pet me, and beers to spill. I guess most men would agree those are all reasons they love parties too, but we’re getting away from my point. Balloons are magical little things that float gracefully through the air like a blimp until they explode in the air like the Hindenburg. All good things must come to an e…eh…what’s the word?…explosion! Yes. All good things must come to an explosion. Thusly, this post must come to an explosion as well. Boom.

-The Hambone

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