Pleistocene Pleasures

This morning's temperature: - 17 degrees celsius




The more intelligent members of the tribe put on their fur coats.



A passing wooly mammoth nodded his approval...




Bozo the Alpha Male vociferously questioned all scientific support for Global Warming...



A nearby Neanderthal assured us that Global Warming was bunk and that Al Gore would be extinct soon.




I, Bailey, She-Wolf and Shaman, went into my trance, channeling the crazed fury of my ancestors.

It was time for...

DECK HOCKEY !!!!

The sun set upon our cave, a cold wind arrived, and the temperature fell further. It's a great time to have a fur coat. Those humans just don't have much of an evolutionary future!

Maybe we'll do some cave-painting tomorrow...

Bailey

DAY 783 of Captivity for the Wolf-Children: in which Bailey and Buster are subjected to arcane and novel forms of Ennui by their Inquisitor

A BRIEF NOTE-- WE'VE RE-LOADED THE VIDEOS IN THIS POST, 'CUZ THEY APPEARED TO HAVE DISAPPEARED INTO THE DREADED-VIDEO-VORTEX-FROM-WHICH-
NO-IMAGE-EMERGES.
WE HOPE THEY'LL BE VIEWABLE.

Sunday dawned as it had since we were forced to live with humans and learn their ways. We awoke drearily and paced our cells.





The Commandant selected Buster to be taken away. We feared the worst. He was placed in the PT Cruiser and driven off.



The Resistance managed to smuggle out some brief video footage of his fate. Warning: these scenes are graphic.

Buster was taken to The Place of Ultimate Horror. The ostensible reason was that his captor had to get some things to improve the morale of Stalag XVIII's inmates...

Buster remained in Solitary for awhile until his tormentor returned.

Ah! Vermin! Buster was ecstatic, his life perversely complete...




No--it wasn't a rodent. For the uninitiated, this particular specimen, which subsequently was to become Buster's dinner, was an American Marten --Martes americana. It's a member of the family Mustelidae, same as the otters and ferrets. Quite good with a wine sauce and a rice pilaf.



Buster was returned to his comrades unscathed. We plotted our escape.

Inspired by the scene in The Great Escape, wherein Steve McQueen spends his time in The Cooler tossing a baseball against the wall, we perfected our ball-tossing skills and contemplated the Breakout.

It was rather at this point that I, Colonel Bailey, had to assert my powers of command. Had things been left to Buster, chaos would have reigned.

But alas, our captors were far more devious than we had anticipated! They produced a Coatimundi, our MOST FAVORITE of creatures. What bliss! Served with a garnish of Italian herbs and a good Pinot Noir, it was worth remaining incarcerated for a little more time...

As the sun set upon the brave captives of Stalag XVIII, there was contentment and the resolution to conserve our waning energy to fight another day.

Your faithful correspondent,

Bailey Blue, DFC, AKC, ASPCA

Back to Normal...

Our Mommy is back, and things are slowly getting back to normal !

Geese at dawn...

Wilson in the evening...

Darwinian competition for the Coveted Green Frog...

BusterSnush...

Victory in the Coveted Green Frog Competition...


More BusterSnush...



Eyelids at half-mast...

There'll be more to report later !

It's bed-time.

Luv,

Buster
Sephie
Bailey

Mom's Back !!!

She drove in this afternoon, with her frog-green Honda Element and Garmina, the Über-GPS with the Frighteningly Assertive Voice.

It was as though she had never left.

I got some Quality-Cuddle-Time.

We missed her!

Buster

My Challenging Day--by Bailey Blue

For us Canine Professionals, each day unfolds with a combination of intellectual challenge and acute stimulation. Problems to solve, phenomena to explain, difficult challenges to meet... Life is indeed complex!



Typically my busy day begins on the deck, where I take note of all the things to be accomplished and set my daily goals.

I find it helpful to get a little exercise by climbing the stairway to Grandma's apartment, where I scan the neighborhood for intruders, vermin, and extraterrestrial beings from the Palin Cluster of Nebula M48.

The "environmental scan" complete, I return to the Quarterdeck to take command and begin my day.



Since I must constantly exercise my powers of command, I usually undertake a little "voice workout" to ensure that I am able to communicate my desires to the human untermenschen.

After my elocution practice, I stroll the Quarterdeck once more to ensure the readiness of all hands.



I then practice my powers of persuasion on Bozo, who typically requires motivation at this hour of the morning...

Then I eviscerate a green 'Cuz because I like the way it squeaks when held in one's teeth.




Buster intrudes upon my personal space, so I proceed to put him in his proper place...



Reminding him that the penalty for Failure to Pay Proper Obeisance to the Diva-Goddess of All Terriers is prompt decapitation, I give Bozo a brief piece of my mind...

By now, it's time to take the male human servant for a walk, so I bring out the leash!






Humans are rather slow learners, but after awhile, he has the hang of it. "Just follow your shadow," I tell him!

Then, there's the obligatory fireplug...

After my walk, it's time to settle into some wanton pillow-jumping and barking-out-the-window with Bozo.




Then, we con the unsuspecting Human Lackey into giving us some treats. It's fun when he has to extract both his hands from our locked jaws!

As the afternoon draws to a close, it's time for Quality Time with my Blue 'Raffy!



Blue Raffy is my very best buddy, and he goes everywhere with me. One might say that he "wears well" with time!

As my arduous day comes to a close, I take time to reflect upon my many accomplishments before I fall fast asleep...




I tell you--these are exciting times to be a dog !

Your faithful correspondent,

Bailey Blue

BARKFEST 2010 -- or, "Mom's Away and It's Time to Play!"

Dearest blogbuddies:

We submit to you two brief video sequences demonstrative of the power of demonic possession upon Kerry Blue Terriers--especially in the absence of The Mother.

Scene One: Seraphim--the highest order of the Choir of Angels





Scene Two: The Arrival of Satan





Hey, Mom--Don't you wish you were here?

We miss you!

Buster & Bailey

We Want our Mom Back!

She left in the wee hours of the morning.

Heading South.

In a Panzer V Honda Element armed with an 88 MM GPS.

Said she was going to visit some of our close relatives in the Confederacy.

The Kerrys are reputed to be unreconciled Irish Nationalists whose human keepers have to combine brogue with drawl; as in, "Ya'll come back now, or I'll send yer Sainted Mother into the pub after ye!"




Anyway, we're into a heap of trouble in the absence of the Mom!

Buster just demolished one of his human brother's stuffed animals, and I, Bailey Diva Mistress of the Known Universe, am vexing my Grandma by barking endlessly at the sky.

Life is good.



I have adopted a fashionably ratty, "contemporary tramp" look-- ah, c'est moi, vraiment!



Bozo the Wunder Slug has placed his pit-bull wannabe jaws around every forbidden object, from stuffed animal to wireless router, refusing to release his grip until momentarily distracted by a collision between Earth and a passing comet.

We hope Mom gets back soon!

But not too soon!

So much trouble, so little time.

La vie est belle.

Faithfully,

Bailey

Sephalumpagus elegans

My dearest blogospherical friends:

My mom opened her beauty parlor for me last night and gave me a make-over.

A mere 24 hours ago, I was a ratty Irish street-urchin.

Now look at me!



Don't you think I could crash a White House state dinner and get away with it?

Even better, I can see beyond my nose! There are wondrous things out there!


Your faithful friend,

Persephone

A Proper Snout

Friends, here it is!

Don't you think it's a snout to die for?

Oooooohhhh, I feel so proud to be a carnivore!

Your faithful correspondent,

Bailey

My Humiliation--by Bailey

Dearest Bloggy Friends:

Just a brief note from me--Bailey--with an account of unimaginable cruelty and ultimate humiliation.

My human Controller--the Supreme Mother-Person and Kerry-feeder--has deemed it necessary to wrap both my snout and my beard prior to my meals. She thinks that tuna sticks to me like glue!

This has caused me to be the laughing-stock of the household.

Normally, my snout is elegant. But not at mealtimes.

Buster, on the other hand, endures no such humiliation. He just thrusts his furry face into his food, and no one seems to care!

Plainly, this is blatant discrimination!

One must be properly attired to get into the very best restaurants, and no maitre d' will allow me to enter looking like a rhinoceros from Sesame Street.

If anyone has any advice on this matter, I would be most grateful!

Your friend,

Bailey Blue

A Blue Moon Inspires Buster to Fine-Tune his Classic Leap

Yes, it was a Blue Moon--the rarest of lunar events!

Twice in a single month, the full moon shone brightly over the evening snow. With a lycanthropic howl, I set about perfecting my "Classic-Buster" leap!

What, exactly, is "Classic Buster?" It's, well, rather vestigial. Evocative of earlier times. Mother, apple pie, and rotting mastodon carcasses on the pleistocene tundra. Nasty Neanderthals competing with wolves for scarce protein resources. Oh, the romance of it all!

Now, the "Classic Buster Leap" is necessarily preceded by the "Classic Buster Stalk." Here I am sniffing out a Giant Ground Sloth in quintessential Kerry Blue form.

Now...The Leap...

It is performed in precisely five highly-choreographed movements:

I. The Launch

Note the semi-camouflaged position of Canis Busterensis Terribilis at the very beginning. This fearsome predator is actually airborne before his prey even notices his presence!


II. Gaining Altitude

In this phase of the manoeuvre, all legs are deployed to the rear, facilitating the aerodynamic lift-to-drag ratio. Ears are forward, and fangs are bared.


III. Preparation for Landing

Forepaws now extend in front of C. Busterensis. Head moves downward to better track the movement of the now-terrified Giant Ground Sloth.


IV. Descent

Fully-extended forepaws contact the cold tundra. Local Neanderthals scatter in fear. Ground Sloth knows its fate.


V. The Landing

Ever hear the phrase, "hit the ground running?" Here, I am moving horizontally at a dazzling rate even as I land. Note the tracks of the terrified sloth...


Putting it all together....

It's difficult to judge the vertical distance from this angle, but there are three steps and about three and one half feet to the deck...


Encore?

That ground sloth was awfully good!





My mom tells me I'm a growing wolf, and a single carcass just wouldn't suffice. I found a sabre-tooth tiger in the kitchen!





Anyway, that's today's report from the Younger Dryas. I can't wait for Global Warming!

Your friend,

Buster