If I were a Superhero!

The Things you find out on the Internet! Do you want to be a Superhero?

CLICK HERE!

I always give credit where credit is due, I saw this over at Redhead Rantings and followed the links.

Of Course, Every Superhero has a partner! Meet my lovely Wife:

I am in so much trouble for this!

Dogs don't care about Time Changes

Last night, I worked on my literary endeavor off and on again for about 6 hours. The three dogs watched my every move, and every time I rose to stretch or get a drink, they followed, so I let them outside for a few minutes.

Dogs don't use clocks to tell time. They don't really use their master's habits either. What they do use is their own internal clock, one that says "time to pee, time to eat," or "time to sleep".

This morning, long before sunrise, Sally hopped on the bed to let me know that it was time for something. My clock said 4:30, which was 3:30 in old time, but that's about the time I usually get up, and sally had needs. So off to the door we went, with Lucy and Ethel dragging along.

"Everybody go poop" I commanded, and of course they did. Right in the middle of the sidewalk, as if displaying trophies of their accomplishments. Lucy is the smallest in height, but the biggest in girth, and she is proud of her poops, all in one place, one big pile.
Ethel though, likes to walk down the sidewalk while doing it, as if writing a message to the Gods. Translated, I believe the pattern may say something like "Send more Puppy treats."
Finally, there's Sally, who likes to cover all the bases, literally. Sally likes to spread the fertilizing wealth, so to speak, around. One poop here, one poop there, then one over there, and another over here. It all ends up in the Rose garden, but still, she tries to share.

But to them the Time change means nothing. When I get up, it's time to go. When I leave for work, its puppy treat time. When Kricket gets up at 6:30, they go out again, and when she leaves it's puppy treats for the road. when I get home after 3 PM, it's time to run outside and poop once again, after holding it all day.

Between Brinks security, with alarms on every door, and motion detectors, our dogs don't worry about time changes or intruders. all they worry about is sleeping, eating, pooping, and chasing squirrels.

The sun comes up, and the Sun goes down, and all is right in their world. What a life. I'm sort of jealous.

When you wish upon a star...

Whatever happened to Jiminy Cricket? Did he end up in a third world country's frying pan?
Or maybe in a box of chocolate coated crickets? one has to wonder.

Tonight I was putting out the garbage, and I took a moment to stare into the night sky. Lo and behold, I caught sight for barely a second of a shooting star, so I made a wish. Because I want that wish to come true, I'm not going to tell you what I wished for until after it comes true. (if it does.)

One thing I will share, is that I believe the past belongs behind us. Those grudges and slights that we would carry against one another are not badges of honor to be shown with pride.
Those are things that are burdens we bear of our own accord, that we had the power to put down and walk away from long ago. There is no honor in bearing them, only heartbreak, as they take up space in our lives that should be reserved to shoulder that which is new and good.

I'm not saying that we should forget those sins, but I am saying we need to forgive them and move on.

So tonight I wished upon a falling star. Let's all hope for the best.

A FISH CALLED "BOB"

In the past week, I've written about our credit card/household shopper dogs. and a suspected Serial Killing Kitty, so I figured, hey, I should write about our Prehistoric monster looking fish, who Mrs C has named "Bob".

Why did she name him "Bob"? Good question.
Bob is the kind of fish (algae blennie) that eats all the slime that forms on the side of the tank, as well as all the stuff that exits from the other fish. To make it easy, Bob deals with all the crap, much like my brother in law Bob, who is a plumber.

Makes sense, doesn't it?

Among the other new additions to our Salt water tank are 20 snails, and a spidery looking crab that I named "Cranky." Cranky isn't a big fan of being seen, and hides a lot.

Bob, on the other hand, has moved right in and become the "Alpha" fish, displacing our very bossy Blue Damsel fish from her home in the rock cave, and taking it over for himself.

Bob replaces the Chocolate Chip Starfish named "Chip" who died and now resides in a ziplock bag in our freezer. He turned white, and buried himself immediately after the move. I think he knew his days were numbered.
Cranky replaced Bug/Lazarus/Floater, who died within a week after we adopted him. We also have Plellow, Dory, Nemo, and Paint. I have no idea what Plellow is, but Dory is the Blue Damsel, and Paint and Nemo are truly some kind of clowns.

We are 5 weeks in, and everybody seems to be thriving, even though Plellow had a close call when he inadvertently found his way into the filter. Thankfully he survived, and no one has told him that he is supposed to be the most aggressive of all the fish in there.
We have incredibly managed to get the salinity to the correct level, and the snails and Bob are keeping the tank pretty clean.

For the immediate future, there will be no more fish purchases. Mrs C wants a bigger tank. I want to see if the ones we have live another six months, then we will see.

Beware the Serial Killer Kitty!

Last night I was somewhere enjoying fellowship and good conversation when the discussion happened to turn on the topic of the cat that can predict who is going to die.
Now please don't ask how we got on that topic, okay?

Anywho, somewhere in America there is a Nursing Home where they have a cat that has an uncanny knack of visiting the patients who are about to die.

The day before they kick the bucket, most likely before finishing their bucket list, this cat will meander down the halls, pick a room and pop in for a visit.

Next thing you know, the resident of that room is dead.

Observers say it is uncanny, but me?

I'm wondering if something more sinister is at work here.

Y'all ever see them "chuckie" movies, about the psycho killer whose spirit gets trapped is some kids toy? Well, I'm wondering if some "Angel of Death" type once worked at that place, and now their soul is stuck in the cat.

Whose to say that cat isn't unplugging the oxygen machine when nobody's looking, or putting a crink in the old IV line?

I gotta tell ya, if I was a resident in that Nursing home, and I saw old "killer" kitty bouncing down the hall towards my room, I'd be shutting and locking my door.
Then again, there might be some people who would want the old kitty Kevorkian to drop by and ease their pain.

In some ancient cultures, cats were worshipped as guardians of the underworld, you have to wonder if maybe one of them is up and around, trying to bring back the old tradition. "Hi. my name is Kevorkocat, you ready for the afterlife?'

With my luck, when it's my time, I'll get the cat reincarnation of ol Jeffy Dahmer. I don't think a bag of Meow mix will hold him off. Looks like I better plan on double dead bolting the door at my room!