NaBloPoMo

Well according to Christine (I didn't verify this with other sources, so this may just be a trick) November is NAtional BLOg POsting MOnth. So basically an acronym with training wheels is cajoling me into writing. I'm okay with that. I'm a little late to the party, which is pretty typical, but if I feel really inspired maybe I'll backdate a few of these. Yeah, I'm not above lying. Lots has happened since I posted last, and I don't feel like doing a formal update. So... I'll give you little pieces as background is required for these daily posts and you can take them as given. Tidbit #1: I now have a puppy, her name is Moo.



She has about a billion toys, but a few are her obvious favorites, like these squeaky balls.



Alas, the squeaky balls are rapidly reaching their own individual fates. I thought I'd use this post to commemorate their passing. (Note: this might not be a good idea for a post. I can't tell. It seemed funny when I was thinking about it earlier. It's been so long since I posted that until thirty seconds ago I was writing in the HTML window thinking hmmm, when did blogger get so complicated? Maybe NaBloPoMo will be good for me. You damn kids and your HTML.)

Red Ball

They say that only the good die young, and although I have no way to measure your goodness versus other mini squeaky tennis balls, you certainly bit it first. I guess you can take that as a compliment. You accompanied us to the dog park for some fetch, an overly ambitious idea on my part for at that time Moo's idea of a "fun time" at the dog park was avoiding all dog contact and sitting on my feet. An insane Jack Russell terrier (but I repeat myself) overheard your squeaky attempts to engage Ms. Moo and extended you an invitation to play. I hesitated, as you were small and cute and I had no guarantees of this dog's retrieval abilities. Eventually, I relented and the dog proved to have impressive fetch and drop-it skills. I'm sorry. This was the beginning of the end. Your end.

A surprisingly far throw sent the terrier running, but the ball was intercepted by a boxer. A dog, not the guys who hit each other. The boxer soon realized that what he had caught was truly a prized possession, as the Jack Russell chased him to get it back and then his owner followed suit, realizing the dog had stolen a toy. Also, the ball was the perfect size to lodge in a boxer esophagus, making it that much more attractive. The chase went on for hours, or at least twenty minutes. By the time you were returned to me you were no longer the bright cheery Red I had come to know. Your time in that dog's mouth had changed you, transformed you into a matted, muddy, dented shadow of your former self. Seriously. It was friggin' gross. There was no way you were coming home with me looking like that. It was your time for you to start living your own life as a designated dog park ball. I discreetly rolled you away and headed home. Is that bad dog park etiquette? Hmm. I'm not sure, but if it is, then disregard that and know that I threw Red away like a responsible dog owner.

Either way, I never saw Red again. Hope everything worked out for you, buddy.

Green Ball

You were the next to be drafted for dog park duty. Don't thank me, thank your fluorescent color that stands out so well against the grass. I'm not sure what colors dogs see but half the time she gets distracted and I end up going to get the ball anyway. As for your fate, I'm honestly only including you because you were included in the ball family picture up there. You just kind of disappeared. I think you might be in my dog park bag but I'm too lazy to get up to look. Hey, I just said all the balls had stories. I didn't say they were all interesting.

Blue Ball

This was a walk related incident that was entirely Moo's fault, as she has no blog and cannot refute this. We were walking along the lake on those giant steps which I'm sure have a name but if they do, I don't know it. The edge looks like the top of the castles that I draw. I'm sure you have a very clear mental picture based on that terrible description, but here's a picture just in case.


I let Moo run free to drain the last of her crazy puppy energy. To facilitate this, I rolled you, Blue, and you performed admirably. In my defense, I was careful to roll you towards the step and away from the water. This strategy worked out quite well for some time until you bounced off Moo's paws and headed for the lake. Ugh. What the hell were you thinking, Blue?

At this point I'd like to say that I'm sorry if I seemed more concerned that Moo turned and bolted to follow you to the edge than the fact that you were clearly already going over. You're an $.80 toy and she's a puppy whose swimming skills are limited and certainly wouldn't be helped by a 10-foot fall into cold water. Luckily Moo stopped and we both crept to the edge to see you floating helplessly in Lake Michigan. Not even near one of those ladder things, which to be honest I totally wouldn't have used to rescue you. They look slimy.

I did have the presence of mind to say a few words on your behalf. If those words sounded a lot like me saying, "Whoops, sorry Moo! It's gone. We've got more at home" well then I can only say that you were half submerged and clearly in shock. I said some lovely things and I'm sorry if you missed them. If it makes you feel better, it took Moo a good forty-five seconds to stop looking for you in my hands. Sigh. Good-bye, Blue.

Orange Ball

Hmm, Orange... you might be under the couch. Again, I really only had stories for Red and Blue but you and Green are part of the package. Don't get all full of yourself, based on the early demises of your brethren you don't have long to live. Come to think of it, I recently I saw Moo holding you between her paws and tearing off your orange fuzz coating. So even if you do make it to old age it will likely be a patchy, balding and miserable existence. So quit it with the smugness, Orange. I don't like your attitude.

All right, that's all I got. See you tomorrow.