" I'm your huckleberry,"  Did you ever see the movie, Tombstone?  I took a break from the dog channel and watched it the other day.  Sam Elliott has a voice any dog would listen to.  Especially when he talks about beef! (it's what's for dinner I've heard).  That Val Kilmer makes a great Doc Holliday.  A huckleberry, in this case means " I'm the man for the job'" or " I'm the one you're looking for."   Huckleberry Hound was a humble, sweet dog of good will who lived in cartoonland in the 70's and 80's and stuff like that there. He was your dog for the job when you needed a willing friend for the task at hand.  He was a popularizer of " My Darling Clementine," a song that had something to do with his love for oranges apparently.  I like Huckleberry because he personified the earnest personality and willing friend, a type of character that has been lost in the postmodern era. He hung out with Yogi Bear, Boo Boo, Magilla Gorilla and Snagglepuss.  They were a group of friends who had great cartoon adventures.  Maybe I'll get my dog friends around the subdivision together and form my own "Buffy's Gang."    We'll deal with life's ups and downs with humor and equanimity and all in a half an hour each day.  I hope to be a "huckleberry" to my good friends  and family the next time they set out on an adventure.  I hope they take me along!

Buffy

 

 

     As an emotionally attuned dog, I was aware the other day of a tension in the air emanating from my master, James.  He was sitting at the kitchen table sighing and moaning, and my empathy antenna was up as I monitored his emotional health; nudging his elbow as he tried to write, trying to soothe his unusual upset.  Then he said a number of uncharacteristic words of a biological and potentially ontological nature about taxes and government and money and such things.  There was some reference to April 15th and how it could kiss his posterior, a reference I didn't get at all.  I later heard him and my Mommy master talking, and understood that a large amount of money had been sent to the IRS, which is apparently not a favorite charity.  Scatological references were again employed and I felt like joining in since I was made to understand that the dog chow would not be premium for a few months, and there would likely be few steak bones.  Apparently the government took all of my family's money, and I felt like going out into the neighborhood and see if I could find the robber scofflaws and show them a little dog justice.  My Mommy master must have noticed that I was nervous and came over and calmed my jitters; telling me that all was well; she really didn't mean it about there being no money for dog food, and that life would go on and the government wouldn't be taking over doggycare or forcing me to change vets.  Not yet anyway?  They explained that the government does some things well, it's just that no one ever wants to pay taxes.  It's just a fact of life, they said. Death and taxes?

     As a dog I never really thought about why "big" government  was such a "big" deal.  Seems like I lived 8 years from 1999-2007 and never heard anything about deficits and government being too big.  I never heard about dog houses not selling, or about stock market crashes.  Then all of a sudden, when the bottom falls out and you need someone to blame it on, I guess you blame it on "big" government, whatever that is.  (Or you blame it on the dog). They were supposed to protect us, or they weren't, they weren't big enough, or were too big, or something like that.  What is a "big" government?  I assume it's smaller than gargantuan or enormous or monstrous.  It's probably larger than tiny government or minuscule government.  I don't suppose it's ever just right.  I heard about tea parties and wondered if the type of refreshments served depend on the type of government we are aiming for.  If conservative parties have tea, liberal parties protesting governments that aren't big enough must serve beer and alcohol, since these people are so intemperate, I hear.  Coffee parties could be used to protest insufficient tax breaks for proposed neighborhood Starbucks stores which are the bellwether of economic activity these days.  Tall, Grande or Venti.  Which one would be " big "enough I wonder.  Parties that are big on minuscule government would probably serve Dom Perignon champagne, since these people must all be in the top tax brackets and don't need the wealth redistribution government offers.  Milk of Magnesia parties could be arranged for seniors living on a fixed income since they would support extra large government to keep the Social Security and Medicare coming.  Those in support of humongous government might just serve water, since the government will have taken all of their discretionary income.  Lemonade parties on huge plantations under lovely tents could be reinstituted if the government gets small enough and no longer upholds civil rights or minimum wages.  Those that support no government at all probably won't have parties since they will have to live in fortresses with private security when there are no longer any police or military officers to protect the populace.  Wine parties with French cheeses can be staged by those who celebrate government as just the right size because it works for them.  Party on!

     Whatever is served at these events, as a dog I'm a little worried about the size of government.  If the government isn't big enough, no one will be checking on whether these liquids are palatable and safe.  The people might have the dogs taste them first.  If we don't fall over dead, its okay to drink I guess.  If the government gets too big, I might die waiting in line for a cup of clean water; as the environmental controls will be so tight that the price of water will go through the roof, and public water handouts will be served by government employees trained by the DMV.  Don't arrive too close to closing time,or you might die of thirst!  Is the government too big?  It depends on what the tense of "is" is.  Your answer may change tomorrow, depending on who's in power.

Respectfully Submitted,

Buffy  

 

     More fearsome than the IRS; more dastardly than Snidely Whiplash; in the top one tenth of every dog's top ten list of villains is the unscrupulous dog catcher.  Does such a person in such a position have any redeeming social value?  Not to us dogs!  When it comes time to pay your taxes, take out 2 cents in protest against the government's folly in paying for this job title.  Mention this poorly spent tax money at your next tea and crumpets event, or your rowdy tax protesting wine tasting party.  If your neighbor takes the job, shun him.  Power and authority are dangerous when given to these individuals, so keep a close eye on these characters.  I'd be suspicious of anyone who'd even apply for the job?  Trying to lock up Lassie and Marley.  You should be ashamed!

 

     Sometimes I wonder how I developed into such a selfless dog; when it is ingrained in my biological nature to be selfish, to spread my DNA, and to love only those creatures that can give me more status or are closely related to me and my brood.  As I sit and look out the window, I feel compassion for those rabbits and squirrels who must fight their way through the travails of nature; equipped only with their lowly animal brains and their preprogrammed responses and instincts.  There is no morality in the lives of the lowly creatures.  They spend each day looking for immediate gratification; that day's dinner and a warm shelter.  We higher level beings ( I include most of you humans in this category), must pursue our happiness and gratification while giving consideration to the moral equations that run through our conscious and unconscious minds as we consider acting.  Our pursuit of happiness may lead to another's unhappiness.  Our greed always looks good, and other's greed that takes away from us, we call evil.  It's both a blessing and  a curse to have a cerebral cortex.  In the end, it appears that the actions of most dogs are the result of their own drive towards happiness, and that that drive is moderated by the rewards and punishments meted out by the pack.  Compassion for lowly creatures might be a defect according to some strategies of self interest, and then again it might be a virtue in others; depending on how the society sets up it's rules.
  
     Some pack leaders espouse a code of moderation of our animal pursuits and of concern for the happiness and well being of other dogs.  If all dogs are well fed and sheltered, I won't have to worry about them stealing my bone as I take a little nap.  A little reciprocal altruism can go a long way.  I must admit that this doctrine will only work if it is in the self interest of a large majority of the dog population; since self interest trumps all.  In a very complex dog society, sometimes a dog doesn't even know where her self interest lies.  There will always be some shifty, agressive dog trying to score a bite of grub at another dog's expense.  The cheater must be punished even though we know that he must exist, by the laws of animal nature.  Still, I can envision a society where learned animals can use their brain matter and create an environment that leads to the betterment of an individual dog, and his fellow animals.  Happiness is not a zero-sum game necessarily.  I guess I'm still working my way to being that selfless dog. It's a daily challenge to be a moral animal, assuming you want to be one at all.   I want to be just a little happier than the other happy dogs. I guess I'm just competitive.  I'll race you to the dog chow!  Winner takes all!

 

     I have mixed feelings about watching sporting events with my clan.  I get caught up in the excitement when the Packer game is about to begin on Sunday afternoon.  My family is home and there's a buzz in the air (not to mention food in the family room!).  Once the game begins I always watch for the "red dog" play.  It's my favorite even though I'm black.  Of course red dogs come in many varieties, but in football the "red dog" play is another name for a blitz.  I can picture myself streaking towards the quarterback and flying through the air for a few seconds (cameras catch the pose) before hitting him with great momentum.  If someone rubs a little steak juice on his uniform, I'll be there in a flash.  I'll use my Reggie White club move to get around the tackle, sneak between the legs of the fullback who is back in protection, and hit the quarterback with a resounding thud in the chest.  Of course, I would need to be travelling at about eighty miles an hour to have momentum to faze him with my 50 pound weight, but the sight of my teeth coming at him might encourage him to go down quietly.  In my down-time, which is most of my day; I often dream of playing competitive sports.  Do you believe dogs should be able to play in the NFL?  What we lack in size could be made up in quickness.  Imagine the grace of a dog wide receiver flying through the air, catching a frisbee.  Perhaps we could change the rules and use frisbees instead of footballs to accommodate us dogs.  It could add another whole dimension to the game, no?
     Okay, back to reality.  The down side of football Sunday is when my family sees a great play and erupts into screaming and hysterics.  Besides hurting my ears, this type of activity makes me nervous and causes concern for the sanity of my favorite food providers.  I'm glad the Packers only play once a week!

 

     Parlez vous francais?  Although my relationship to the old country is somewhat distant (a few of my genes hail from France, they hitched a ride on my chromosomes and are still employed today), I find that on certain days I still possess a certain " joie de vivre"  that must have been passed down from my ancestors.  How else would you explain my occasional feelings of cultural superiority for all things French and Poodle.  We poodles (the French say "caniche") can define canine fashion with just the right bow in our hair and a choice from the current Parisian "chic" collar collection.  Then there's our culinary heritage.  It's not "chauvinistic" to say that French dogs have the best table scraps in the world. There's our french fries (yes, they are French Fries), which we dogs love.  Yes, we French dogs get a little saucy sometimes with our pretentious illusions of "grandeur"  but you Anglos benefit from the products that result from our love of food, art and leisure. On matters olfactory, our French  perfume makers create heavenly scents that are famous the world over, though I prefer "eau de dog" myself. 
     I believe that the French Poodle has elevated the conversation when it comes to dog talk in America with our French accented, somewhat nasal barking (it takes a trained ear to detect this); and I stand ready to defend that assertion, at least until dinner arrives. We're eating outside, "al fresco".  I'm hoping for coq au vin with a good red.  Maybe I'll save some for you?  Please bring the wine and "fromage" .  (French wine and French cheese only please).  If you want you can bring along your Sartre books and after dinner we can talk about nothing.  We dogs are good at that!

 

Is that a steak in a pan I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
I know I had better not, and yet thou tempst me still.
Art thou not, tasty vision,sensible
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but
A steak of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain. 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I touch, you're real?
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,
And such an olfaction I was to smell
Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses?
Or else worth all the rest, I see thee still,
And in thy pan and on thy meat gouts of sauce
Which was not so before.  There is a such thing?
Is it this bloody hunger which informs
Thus to mine eyes?  Now o'er the one-half world
Steaks come alive, and culinary dreams abuse
Tormented sleep.  Master griller celebrates
Flavor's offerings; with garlic and pepper
Aided by his abetter, sous chef
Who watches the sauce, thus with his measured pace
And sentinel strides, tending his creation
Moves like a ghost.  Thou wooden, noisy deck
Hear not my steps which way they walk, for fear
That my toenails on the surface prate of my whereabouts
And take the temptation from the present time
That now suits it.  While I breathe, steak grills.
Thoughts will become deed and my stomach will fill.
I act, and it is done.  The grill bell invites me,
Hear it not master, for it is a knell
That summons me to tasty heaven, (though my punishment may be hell)










"Hey!  Where did the steak go!! ..........Buffy!!!!!!!!!!!

 

     It seems some humans think that there is a question as to whether animals (a category which includes us dogs, I believe) have rights.  Humans claim "natural rights" handed down by Divine Providence for themselves; rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; that are self evident and above any laws that governments can enact.  They fail to include all of the other species in their declarations because they believe that humans are different in kind than the rest of the sentient beings that exist in nature.  I would question that premise but we dogs have other ways to protect our interests.  I am happy to report that in my subdivision the rights of dogs are being monitored by humans that are enlightened by our dog association's Rights of Dog declaration (authored by I, Buffy) No, I'm not a Paine, as some have suggested.  I don't have a Locke on the truth.  I can see dogs on the other side of the pond, so I know a lot about life there and foreign policy and such things as dat dere and thus I am qualified to hold high office in the dog association:)  
     As for the Rights of Dog, we obviously have the right to remain silent.  We're not talking.  You won't see us testifying against our interests in a court of law.  We have the right to bear arms, or paws, whatever you want to call them.  We have the right to free assembly, if we can escape past the electronic fence that borders our yards.  Dogs may obtain licenses just like humans.  If we are good pets we get the right to a dog's life, which is hard to beat.  As for the guarantee of our rights, anytime a dog is treated poorly by some wayward human, the TV news will see to it that the plight of the dog is portrayed to the populace in a sympathetic light and rightly so.  The human will often be punished more severely than if he maimed another human!  Our rights are protected due to our lovability factor.  We use our cuteness and innocence to garner your affection, ergo you look out for our interests.  A win-win situation!

 

Rarely has an expression had so many meanings.  "Hot Dog" is what I say when I see my master getting out the leash to take me for a walk.  "There's a hot dog!" is what the male dogs said when I was a little younger .  "Hot Dog" is what the other dogs call me when I'm showing off my athletic abilities with my usual flair.  A hot dog is what I am when I return to my water bowl after a long walk in the summertime.  Finally, there's that scrumptious treat; everyone's favorite baseball game repast, the hot dog.  According to legend, the hot dog name has been around since the 1600's as the sausage resembles a wiener dog or dachsund.  We dogs don't mind that you eat a sausage resembling a tiny dog, as long as it's not produced from real dogs!  There were rumors of such in the old days, but the hot dogs of today are thankfully free of any dog parts.  So did I make you hungry with all of this hot dog talk? Hey, don't look at me that way!

 

Does time originate in the Dog Mind or does mind originate in Time.  Inquiring dogs wrestle with these questions in their quiet moments.  I've been in deep contemplation for a couple of minutes, trying to solve the mystery of why time moves forward instead of backwards.  I think it might have something to do with dogs and eating.  Doesn't everything?  What would the possibility of time travel mean to us dogs?.  I'm interested in eating my favorite treat, then going back to when it was whole, and eating it again.  It would be like a culinary Groundhog Day with the side benefit that the participant would never gain weight.  I suppose I would eventually tire of eating the same treat over and over again, but its a deep philosophical question in my mind.  There's always a need for variety in a dog's life, and that may be why the arrow of time moves forward. Mind is not interested in the past.  Another proposal is that  the constant ticking of time is due to virtual particles travelling in closed loops becoming real particles, ultimately giving space-time a positive curvature. I've got it narrowed down to one of those two. According to Occam's Razor, when there are two competing hypotheses, the simpler solution is usually correct.  Since dogs are fairly simple, I'm going with a dog's need for new experiences and tastes as the reason we haven't had any Astro's visiting us from the future.  Still, I'd like to take that walk I took this morning over again.  I caught the scent of a rabbit at the corner of Pinewood and Lake Meadow and I wasn't given proper time to investigate.