Damn Dog

So here is my problem. My writing sucks. I used to be able to sweat up a good rant somethin' fierce a few years ago. The angry years. I could write a ten page letter to my friends about riding the L in Chicago. Walking through the zoo would give me fits of inspiration. I once wrote a two volume essay on the size of an oatmeal cream sandwich. Then much like James Hetfield of Metallica, I came to terms with my shit, and now I have lost my touch.


My Wife blogs. She can write very well. I don't know where she comes up with this stuff. She notices random crap and writes really interesting commentary on it. Its like sleeping with Dave Berry.


One of my friends regularly sends out e-mails regarding mundane crap like getting together for running workouts or dropping her cell phone in a porta-potty. Outstanding.



Even the shampoo bottle label made me crap myself (well, I was already sittin on the can looking for something to read, thus the shampoo bottle.)



So why is it that when a situation practically writes itself, I am stuck. Case in point: My dog, the namesake of this blog recently had a big day. Tori walked across the street to talk with our neighbor, Tracy and brought Maddie with her, off the leash. In moments Maddie took of to play with Tracy's dog, Jake. She totally ignored Tori's commands, running all over the yard with Jake. Pretty embarrassing, but not unusual for a dog. Certainly not ridiculous.. One of our other neighbors was coming out of her house. Maddie runs across the street, into her house, pees on the carpet, and runs out.



Ok. The guy who writes the market reports ought to be able to write a gripping recounting of this. It almost writes itself. In fact, if Maddie could type better, she could write it.



Instead, it falls to me and my only-slightly-better-than-the-dog typing to make sure the world hears. God help us.

Yep, She's a Nut.

I realize that every one's dog is "cute"and does silly things, but my dog is special. And I'm not just talking about the way she gobbles down her food in under 15 seconds or sits and looks at you sweetly, then farts loudly.
She also can't type for shit, shakes up soda cans and uses metal utensils on the non-stick cookware. But one of the oddest things she does is hoard shoes. Not chewing, not hiding, hoarding. When she has run of the house, if we are away, or not quite awake yet in the morning, there is a good chance we will come downstairs to find one or more of our shoes on her bed in Tori's Office. She doesn't ruin them, she just gathers them together on her bed. She often keeps the in matching sets. We were out of the house for a wedding one day, and came home to find two pair of my work shoes on her bed, neatly organized, and one more pair by the front door. She must have carried them down from the bedroom one at a time and placed them on her bed. She has repeated this several times, and it is not uncommon for Tori to turn around during the day only to find a new shoe has been selected for service.
Maddie is capable of many other ridiculous feats, and for this reason, and becouse all the blog titles using my name were taken, I have named my blog for her.

Bad dog.