The Little One Returns from Florida--and gets a surprise! -- by Buster

So little Diva-Showgirl Gracie, accompanied by her crazed tiger-mom impressario, came back from the tropics! She told tales of strutting her stuff in the ring, paparazzi, and lazy evenings sipping mimosas and fending off gentleman-callers. Plainly, she deserved what she got!

And what did she get?

Morning came, and Her Petite Eminence trotted out to perform her morning ritual. This is what she saw!



Yes, folks--that's the back yard. Now Her Nibs is not especially tiny for a Kerry Blue, and it troubled her that she could not see the beach. Nor the mimosas. Nor the gentleman callers. Nor the horizon--period.



The Gods of Vengeance were extracting their due! Little Miss Blanche DuBois puttered from the front step to the garage. What was once a walkway had become a Stygian tunnel. Note the snowbank on the left...



She demanded to be taken away. Far away. "South," she said. The humans dryly noted that, while the driveway had been shoveled, the streets were impassable. I told her not to worry. Bailey and I would be great company during her confinement over the next few days.




I posed beside my favorite glacier on the back deck. Do I not look like something out of Jack London's bourbon-fueled imagination?




Miss Bailey was having some issues with the new era of limits. She thought she could bark at the snow and it would melt. Nice try.

Gracie decided to launch a reconnaissance of the back deck, convinced that somehow, there would be a patch of sunny beach and palm trees somewhere. She sank into despair. I smiled warmly at her.



As the sun set upon the tundra, Miss Blanche posed in the shadow of the advancing ice, blathering something about always relying on the kindness of strangers...and would some stranger not take her far away from New England?

Gracie will have lots to report about her trip to the Confederacy. In the meantime, Bailey and I are enjoying this.

Your buddy,

Buster of the Yukon

Gracie Visits Tara, and all we get are these Lousy Icicles! --by Bailey

Ms. Bailey Blue, Preeminent Diva, at your service today, with a report from the Gulag.



It seems that the Anointed One, little Ms. Cutesy-Brown-Eyes, has departed in the company of her Mom for the Great American South. The Confederacy. The place where they talk funny.



The reason? you ask. Mais naturellement, she is to be entered in the Miss Canine America contest!


We've been listening to her incessant practice..."Ah believe in world peace..." She struts, she winks knowingly, she exudes a schadenfreude-laced innocence that can be deadly.



And yes! She is heading South--with her Evil Human--toward the Land of Sun and Mint Julips and Cotillions! Bourbon on the veranda! Gentleman-callers and military schools!




And I--Bailey--like Ishmael, am left behind. Well, not exactly alone...



Bozo-Beard has been summarily exiled with me. What company! Dad offered to take us to Walmart as a special treat!

And while Little Miss Scarlet basks in the tropics with her Mommy and all her gentleman-callers, what do we get?



Advancing glaciers, ominous ice-daggers, aggressive polar-bears, and even more aggressive Red Sox fans! It's enough to scare even a Kerry Blue Terrier!



Occasionally, a giant icicle will fall from the house and impale an unsuspecting pedestrian.


I stand guard, looking for rapacious, hungry creatures, gliding across the ice as the dim sun hugs the horizon...




My dull-witted but easily-amused companion contemplates his green idol. Sometimes he reminds me of Queequeg!



After hours of incessant whining from the Bozo-Beast, I condescend to teach him a few lessons in the proper manipulation of the Sacred Yellow Orb.

But alas, he MISSES HIS MOMMY ! What a wimp! But we know who is the weaker sex. I allow him his hour of weakness.


Buster unleashes a therapeutic howl of mourning.





I reassure him that his Mommy and the little Rebel Turncoat will return from the South-Land before the week's out--with tales of sorority parties and frozen daiquiris beneath moss-covered trees, barbecues and hush-puppies, she-crab soup, and the joys of boo-ing the New York Yankees.


Your faithful correspondent,


Bailey Blue

My Life in the Yukon--by Gracie

Mom was reading The Call of the Wild to me last night, and as luck would have it, we were visited by a real blizzard! It was time to get in touch with my Inner Carnivore.

Here's what greeted Uncle Buster and me Wednesday morning when we left in search of a caribou to eat:

Yikes! I'd never seen snow this deep! Uncle Buster reassured me that caribou can't travel very fast in deep snow and life was good...

The noble, predatory Alpha-wolf posed for a photo-op beside a glacier...

The tundra was littered with Chrysler carcasses. Uncle Buster told me about Mr. Darwin's great idea...the one about survival of the fittest. Uncle Buster recounted that the weakest critters had to be left behind so that the herd might live. We decided not to disembowel it and proceeded onward...

We came upon an Inuit dwelling. Uncle Buster told me that these nomadic creatures lived on seal meat and lived in large ice houses. I thought the gate was a nice touch...

It was time for my howling lesson. As Uncle Buster watched, I meditated and achieved a complete state of Wolf-Mindedness...

The howl curdled the blood of a nearby moose, causing it to faint and trigger an avalanche.

The glacier grew more treacherous...

I struggled to keep my footing.

Uncle Buster demonstrated the optimal "caribou-stalking" posture. He says that it's all in the attitude. One must look hungry, mean, lean, and stealthy!



And thus it came to pass that I decided that Uncle Buster had been Alpha-Wolf long enough!

I would challenge him in the deadliest of all lupine blood-sports: Buster-Ball in the Snow !

I had the chance to become Alpha, but in the end, I decided to give Uncle Buster back his precious ball.

In the meantime, Ms. Bailey appeared strolling leisurely down a crevasse in her Sunday-best, as though she were going to attend the premiere performance of Tosca.



The tufted titmice came to the window of the Inuit dwelling...



Uncle Buster and I struck camp, lit a fire, and curled up.

Life in the Yukon is certainly brutal.

More to report soon!

Your faithful correspondent,

Gracie

A Brief Tutorial on the Proper Harassment and Vexing of the Male Human Lackey after a Long Day at Work--by the Abominable SnowBuster

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Abominable SnowBuster has decided to honor his audience with a return engagement. Yes, folks, there is drama here!

Now it happened that Friday Evening, the Heavens unleashed enough snow to drive a Dire Wolf to extinction!

Wooly mammoths foraged along the Interstate. Giant Ground Sloths retreated to their dens.

We intercept the male human lackey on his way home from a long day at the office...

He's tired. His senses dulled. The brake lights ahead become a blur and he does not even notice that a sabre-tooth cat has decapitated a Toyota on the shoulder of the highway.



As he arrives home, the warm, symmetrical Cone-heads beckon. In a moment he will be...

Mercilessly lambasted by a crazed SnowBuster !!

The stealthy, graceful Creature of the Pleistocene demonstrates his All-Terrain capability!

Properly terrorized, the male human lackey panics and retreats.

But no ! The devious Proto-Neanderthal resorts to subterfuge...

Not... THE NEFARIOUS SNOW-FARTER !!!

Dang !!! What a horrid species. No sense of fair play!




The Abominable SnowBuster returns to his lair to lick his wounds. Snow-Farter will die!

Your faithful correspondent,

Buster

(of the Clan of the Cave-Buster)

The Abominable Snow-Buster Confronts his Innate Color-Blindness while Pursuing a Yellow Orb in a White Field

SNOW!
just let it SNOW!
&
SNOW some more!

I'm waiting!
After all, I, theBUSTER , am the Abominable Snow-Dog.
The one,
The only... Wilson-chasing...
Snow Dog!

Notice the frozen beard-hairs.
I was looking for some lost Wilsons before the snow-blower
shoots them into the sky...

To get back to "me" (it's all about ME....!)
Pretty soon, the rest of me will be as white as the snow.
Snow will be arriving on Friday, fur sure. WhoooOOOooo

See, this is my "Snow House"...it's got icicles hanging
over the door.... and I bet my Wilsons are stuck
somewhere in that snowdrift!

Come to think of it, I seem to be missing many, many Wilsons!
Each year, I have to launch a Search-and-Rescue operation...

I laugh at the cold...
After all Abominable Snow Dogs are a tough breed.

Here I am... checking out the snowdrifts...
and various other things...
Here, Wilson... yoooou whoooo... Wilson?
uh, Wilson, where are you?????

PSSSST!
I heard more snow is coming my way FRIDAY...
Did I already say that?
We Abominable SnowBusters have limited RAM...

I am just so
excited to hear this...
more white stuff!
WhOOOOoooooooO!

Cancel the schools, cancel the STATE!..
I see a flake....... uh... no smart remarks puleeeze.

Your most reliable Abominable Snow-Buster,
signing off for now.

B