For those of you not in the know, a mid to large size pit bull barged her way into our life two years ago this month. Since then, that dog has orchestrated a whole new facet of my life adorned with Uverse remotes, challenging flatulence, chewed up hats, training aids, and partially consumed pillows.

We named her Hope, as a companion name for our other dog Faith.

No, we’re not getting a third dog. If we do, I’ll name it something a little less divinely inspired.

How does “Gooch” sound?

Just as an update, Hope has become a challenge in the last year. As she has come into her own mentally, she’s become aggressive to Faith and other animals in general. In those events we have to take on the persona of a pack leader and express to her in the most calm and assertive of manners that we are the boss and she needs to stand down.

For the most part we have to keep the two of them separated in order to avoid a heated argument between Faith and Hope.

We’re still working on the relationship between those two. It’s just going to take some time.

Hope hasn’t been feeling well lately.

The experience of a pit bull losing her lunch has become a genuine assault on the senses as of late. First you hear the rhythmic heaves which serve as a notification to you (the audience) that the next ten minutes of your life is not going to be what you originally expected.

You subsequently rush to her in hopes of getting her outside, but deep down you know that you’re going to be fractions of a second too late. The key indicator there is that juicy sounding splat which follows the heave. That, of course, is the dog food which you had originally hoped would be processed through the other end of her alimentary canal.

The smell quickly follows, and if you’re unfortunate enough to be there with hand on her collar trying to rush her out (you were too late), you’ve seen it too.

Ick.

Had enough on the description about my dog getting sick?

Doesn’t matter. I have.

After a few days too many of continued vomiting and lethargy, we opted to take Hope to the vet.

You guessed it. Blockage.

A whole bunch of it.

Primarily cotton or it’s synthetic equivalent, however there was some red string and plastic in there too.

Surgery has taken place, and she’ll be able to come home on Monday. I’m debating whether to make a diorama out of what was removed.

Where do you put something like that though?

Ironically enough a family member had emergency surgery this week in order to clear a blockage too. I’m pretty sure the excess consumption of cotton from a doggie bed wasn’t involved in that one though.

When I opened mine up, Junior brandished his out of a defensive sense of paranoia that I would make him my first target.

The paranoia was well founded.

A fire fight ensued, primarily composed of carefully aimed shots to the respective crotches of the two of us who were participating.

In her state of genuine concern for her master (me), Hope the Pit Bull launched a charged attack on Junior once I ran out of ammo.  Hilarity then ensued as she chased the 17 year old boy around the living room.  In the meantime, I had reloaded and was popping more shots off at the boy and his crotch as he dodged the Pit Bull.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Of course, we continue to keep the dogs separated at practically all times.  When they’re not separated, the human members of the organization execute rigid policies which will not create an environment ripe for hurt feelings and muzzled growling combined with aggressive Jello wrestling sans gelatin.

The premise of the training comes from the template espoused by Cesar “The Dog Whisperer” Milan.  The main difference is the sound we use to correct the dogs. Cesar uses “Ttssshhhh”.  We growl instead, while maintaining a calm assertive demeanor.

Big picture, it’s just unfortunate that we can’t get our beloved dogs to stop using their laser eyes to render others into a smoldering pile of ashes.

More to come.

For those of you not familiar with the this collection (how could you not be), half of the canine contingent here at TharpSter.Org is comprised of a 55 lb., 2 1/2 year old Pit Bull named Hope.  I rescued her from the wooded area near my office in January of 2010 when the weather was particularly cold and windy.

Since then, we’ve had various outlays of expenses for medical care, training, and silver U-Verse remote controls.  Every single penny has been worth it.

At the same time, Hope’s hijinks and antics have given me plenty of material in which to liven up an otherwise dull internet.

The last time I published an entry about Hope was on March 25th of this year.   Rightfully so, I’m overdue in producing an update about my favorite Pit Bull.

Unfortunately, this one won’t be light hearted like the previous ones.

It won’t be funny.

It certainly won’t be my favorite.

What it will be, ladies and gentlemen, is the casting of light on a very ugly and volatile situation.  I feel compelled to write about it because there are several of you who work with me at the auxiliary offices who are emotionally invested in Hope’s well being.  You saw her out there in the woods before I was able to get her to come home with me.  You offered you’re encouragement when I posted those first pictures of her on Facebook.  You expressed your concerns when she disappeared for awhile, and then your joy when she came back.

You deserve to know.

Canine adolescence and Hope’s use of it has reared an ugly head in the last 6 months, namely in the form of aggression towards other dogs.

We initially got a whiff of such aggression when we had her in obedience training last fall.  At the time, the class we were in had a Boxer in it.  No fights every broke out between that particular dog and Hope, however it was pretty obvious to us that there was some trash talk going on between the two of them.

Once this became apparent to us we put a rule in place that public dog interactions, no matter how insignificant, were completely unacceptable.  I hate to be rude to other dog walkers when I have her out, however the alternative is not a scenario I want to deal with.

Earlier this summer, she started attacking our other dog Faith on a regular basis.  When she started doing this, it was under very certain circumstances which usually revolved around members of the organization eating at the kitchen table.  Faith is a notorious beggar at dinner time.  At one point, Hope apparently got jealous that she wasn’t getting the same level of attention that she perceived Faith was getting.

Hope is an attention whore.  Even now, she’s nuzzling me as I write.

After that first attack in the kitchen, a new rule was put into place.  All eating is to be done in the kitchen, and no dogs in the kitchen.  We have a way of keeping the dogs out of the kitchen.  Problem solved.

Not.

The attacks have continued.  Every single time an attack has taken place, it’s been the result of what has been characterized as a competition of resources.  Faith was perceived to be getting attention that Hope wasn’t.  That’s been regardless of whether unequal attention was being dealt out or not.

The rules were expanded further.  Do not create an environment where jealousy can occur.

Sadly, mistakes happen and such environments have been inadvertently created.  On two different occasions, the creation of those environments resulted in sutures for Faith on her neck and chest.

More rules were created.  We bought a nylon mesh muzzle that limits Hope’s ability to open her mouth wide enough to make a strategic use of that world famous pit bull bite strength.  The muzzle stays on at all times.  It still allows her to eat and drink.

Faith & Hope sport harnesses, Hope sports a muzzle

For awhile, the attacks stopped.  The muzzle served as an instrument which put Hope in a more submissive mindset.  Complacency and familiarity with the muzzle set in after a week or two, and the attacks resumed.  It was at this point that a new dynamic was created.

Faith started fighting back.

This made it harder to break up the fights.  In the past whenever we had to break up a fight, the goal was to pull Hope away since she was the aggressor.  With Faith jumping in there with swords drawn, we now had to focus on breaking up two fighters instead of just one.  To make a little easier in breaking them up, we converted both dogs from collars to harnesses.  When the teeth are flying, it’s a lot easier to grab a harness and avoid being bitten.  It also gives you more control over the dog when you’re breaking up the fight.

The competition of resources has transformed to sibling rivalry.

Another rule was put in place involving kennels.  Keep the dogs separated.  Sadly, that’s what it’s come to.  The dogs now rotate time in an out of the kennel which allows us to avoid unfortunate situations.  The one time we’ve been able to enjoy the time when they’re both out of their respective kennels is at night when everyone is in bed.  At that point, Hope is muzzled and they both sleep in our room with no incident.  Naturally this makes sense, because none of us are giving either one of them any attention.

All of the rules resume in our waking hours.

There’s one rule we’re looking to avoid putting into place.  That particular rule dictates that Hope needs to be in a home where she’s the only dog there.  An acquaintance displayed brash testicular fortitude a few weeks ago about that particular rule.  “So are you going to get rid of Hope?”

“What?  No.”  I responded.

“So you’re just going to let her kill Faith?”  Brash, blunt, take your pick.  His underlying message was poignant, however the delivery just sucked.

“No, I’m not going to do that either.”  I ended the conversation then and there.  I don’t need to justify my actions  to anyone who presents such audacity to suggest how I should run my own private life.

The dogs know that I’m the boss.  They also know that either Wifey or the kids are in charge when I’m not around.  Fortunately the kids are old enough to fully understand what’s going on with the dogs and how to handle them.  If they were considerably younger, Hope wouldn’t be here now.  Just sayin’.

Even though the dogs know who’s boss, they set that knowledge aside when these fights break out.  In one of their latest scraps where my son and I both took wounds to our hands, Junior let his own adolescent fury take over and questioned whether it was worth it to have two dogs.  When Wifey looked at him in disbelief that he had even suggested it, he head her off at the pass.  “Yes, Mom.  I love them too, but look at what we’re doing here.  I’m bleeding, Dad is bleeding, Hope is bleeding, and Faith is now in a cage.  How long is this going to go on?”

Junior is 17 now and starting to come into his own as a young man.  Whereas I can look back and appreciate his ability to assess the situation, I didn’t really like where he was going with this cross examination.  “You need to drop it right now.”  I told him.  The relationship between Wifey and Junior has become contentious in the last year.  He’s growing up and getting ready to leave the nest that she’s spent years preparing.  Such a verbal assault warranted a response from Wifey which was going to turn into a major argument between the two of them.

Wifey took a different approach in her response.  “We love those dogs and they are part of the family.  The easiest thing to do would be to pass our problems off to someone else.  Do you really want to do that?”

Hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic ointments were administered where necessary, and the discussion was closed.  Fortunately, Junior had exercised additional situational awareness and realized he was speaking out of anger for having been bitten.  It was smart of him not to push it at that point.

The problem here ladies and gentlemen, is that I need a new set of rules.  To this point, all of the rules have been reactive in nature and just a treatment of the symptom of a bigger issue.  Rotating the dogs in and out of cages and muzzles is no way for them or us to live.

For the last several months, I’ve stepped out front with both dogs every morning for them just to get a chance to be out front.  I can’t do that now because I can’t trust them not to start something.  Every morning around 9am, the dogs would run around here playing with each other.  They don’t initiate play time anymore, and even if they did, we wouldn’t allow it.  Forget about taking both of them on a walk at the same time.  That’s just plain stupid.

I want to go back to doing those things.  I want the two minions who used to follow me around and hang on my every word to come back without re-enacting a knife fight.

In the process of getting Faith stitched up last month, the vet suggested an animal behaviorist may be part of the solution.

Fine, I’ll do it.  The obedience training for both of them only goes so far.  The pack leader mentality which we take around these dogs is only going so far as well.

I’ve called a behaviorist who offers a solution to our problems.  They also offer a guarantee for the life of the dogs to resolve the sibling rivalry, and any other issues these dogs may have.  They’re coming out next week.

It won’t be a quick fix from the 2-3 hours they spend here next Saturday.  Follow up appointments will be scheduled as well.

If it works, I will give them free advertising here on TharpSter.Org as long as the site remains up and running.  If it doesn’t work, I’ll also give them free advertising.  It just won’t be the kind they want.

More to come……

Have you noticed?

For the small few of you which may not remember, March 25^th marks a milestone for those of us here at TharpSter.Org.

Reflecting back on this time last year, a cloud of sadness hovered over the TharpSter compound, its Board of Directors, the CFO, and even the TreadMill.  Hope, the pit bull we had rescued a few months before had disappeared in early March.

We don’t know how she had gotten out.  We had combed the neighborhood.  We had hung posters.  We continued to check on line for hope that a lost dog had been found. 

And then, we placed an ad on Craigslist.

It turned out that the Craigslist ad was the kicker.  After spending the previous days ferreting out empty leads, and email landed in my in-box with the claim that Hope had been found within a matter of miles of the compound. 

Shortly after receiving the note, a call came in from the vet.  The person who had found her had delivered Hope to the vet.  We only had one vehicle at the time, and the CFO had taken it to work that day.  Did I mention that I was in the middle of a staycation at the time?  As such, I didn’t initially need the truck that day.

Once the vet verified that it was Hope, I immediately hoofed it over to their office to pick up our missing dog.  Fortunately the office is only about a mile away, so it wasn’t a major undertaking to get there.

And there she was.

Just a few days before, I had written an article about our other dog and her obsession with squirrels.   Upon returning home with Hope, I took to the PC and wrote a piece on her return.  I published it, announced it on the Facebook fan page for this site, and sent a note to a few people at work who were emotionally invested in the matter.

My son had received a text from the CFO about it.  He in turn sent me a text from the middle of class asking about Hope.  Fortunately, he didn’t get his phone taken away for committing a school district no-no.  Since she didn’t have a phone yet, my daughter didn’t find out about the days events until she walked through the door and got mauled by the brindle beast who was glad to see her. 

That wasn’t all though.  Readership on the blog announcing Hope’s return blew up and secured March 25, 2010 as the absolute busiest day which TharpSter.Org had ever enjoyed. 

Since then, a few subtle changes have been made here at the compound to insure we don’t go through those 20 agonizing days again.  Hope has been through obedience class…..twice.  A virtual moat has been installed around the compound which keeps both Faith and Hope here at home.  A muffin policy has been implemented in the pantry.  Drunken, accidental intruders and solicitors have been dispensed from the front door.  Email notifications pining about the fluffiness of stuffed unicorns have been suppressed.  If you aren’t familiar with these events, you can read about them here.

Sad to say, probably more frustrating, Hope has taken on the same obsession with squirrels that Faith has.  This morning and every other day, the two girls stand vigilantly at the window looking into the back yard on attentive guard for something to go yelp at.  The neighbors love that.

Over the last several days of my 3^rd Annual March Staycation, the dogs have taken a good 45 minutes out of their busy morning of trash talking squirrels and snoozing on the couch to play a spirited game of canine grab-ass.

Some things haven’t changed though.  Hopes flatulence, much like that of my son, can clear a room.  Just about every night, she provides proof to us that the human olfactory nerves can still detect canine halitosis, even when the human attached to said nerve is in deep REM.

All in all, we still continue to thank the Lord for putting that dog in our lives not once, but twice.  We’ve never regretted for one moment the prospect of taking her in, and we look forward to many joyful years to come with her.

This last week for Christmas, I gave the CFO a DVD of the movie Despicable Me.  I personally wasn’t interested in watching the movie, however Wifey liked it a lot so I obliged.  As we watched it, I began to feel the sense of despair I felt the last time I did a DVD review.  Not wanting a life-sucking void to form in the living room again, I disengaged myself from the potential anguish of watching that movie and went off to read one of the books I had just received from my kids.

How’s that for a less than half-assed movie review?  Let’s move on to other things.

In my own perfect little world, I would love to post a sign on my front door advising that Girl Scouts and their thin mints are welcome, and all others should scram.  Nothing would make me happier than to advise a door-to-door profiteer / crusader that if they are going to ring the doorbell, they had better be ready to back up about 20 feet to the sidewalk to make their pitch to me from there.  I do not intend to keep the dogs from greeting them at the door.  Any crotch sniffing or leg humping that should happen because of their ill-advised decision to ring my doorbell is not really my problem at all.

I have already been sufficiently accosted in my 42 years by every sort of plan, scheme, and contrivance to liberate me of the grayish-green pieces of paper in my wallet.  If I want to set the said portraits of various statesmen of this great country of ours free, I will go do it myself.  Do not come to my door with your magazine subscriptions, automotive maintenance plans, and water analysis kits hoping that TharpSter will invest in your snake oil.

Fortunately I don’t have to post a sign.  Whenever someone knocks on the door or rings the bell, the first audible response back to the unfortunate soul who just committed such an act ranks second only to the sound of a shotgun shell being jacked into its chamber.  That sound is the menacing and intimidating bark of our Pit Bull Hope.

Here at TharpSter.Org, we have the process for handling visitors at the door down to a science.  Step one in this process sets off a chain reaction of events over the next several minutes which will evoke a plethora of emotions from those of us who inhabit the compound, and those who don’t.  Naturally, step one involves the ringing of the doorbell.

Once the generic tone of your standard doorbell resonates throughout the house as it bounces off of the tiled floors and vaulted ceilings, Hope begins her bark.  It’s not inviting.  It’s not warm.  It’s not friendly.  The canine warning to the unannounced visitor has now planted a seed in the mind of the young merchandiser that there will be one additional challenge to hocking their crap here.

As she barks, those of us inside the compound don’t make an effort to quiet her.  We don’t want the guest here anymore than she does.  I calmly and slowly walk to the door, and just before I open it I yell into the living room loud enough for the visitor outside to hear my orders.  “Someone hold that beast back!  I don’t need another lawsuit on my hands!”  Seed number two has been planted in the solicitor’s head.  There have been issues before.

Unbeknownst to our hapless visitor, the dogs cannot even approach the front door unless I allow it.  That little trick comes by way of a few seeds I planted in their little doggy skulls several months ago.  The dogs take up a position on the couch where they can see the front door.  Hope continues to bark.  My son takes a position next to Hope to make it look like he’s holding her back.

With everyone in position, I open the door all the way.  Hope continues to bark and adds in a growl or two.  She licks her chops as if she’s reading the menu.  This causes the pupils of the poor soul at the door to dilate to twice their normal size.   Seed number three has been planted.

Now that I have full control of the situation, I use the culmination of my verbal brilliance combined with my exacting control of the English language to inquire as to the nature of the visit.  “What?!?!”

With the fourth seed successfully planted, I let them throw their pitch at me.  Just a few weeks ago, a young gentleman was there to sell me some miracle household cleaner.  He said the stuff was so good that it took the black out of Michael Jackson.  As humorous as that claim was, I just wasn’t interested.  I use Mr. Clean for the floors as well as a model for my hairstyle.  When I told him as much, he attempted to give me the guilt trip.  “Oh, you’re going to be like your neighbors, huh?”  He then went on to suggest the reason I didn’t want to buy from him was due to some racist undertones.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last year with Hope in the house, it’s the fact that dogs will key off of the behaviors and energies of people.  If you show dogs you’re afraid of them, they will sense it.  If you show dogs you’re the boss, they will follow your orders.  If you are confrontational, or on edge, they will mirror that same behavior.  Hope is no different.

“Fine.”  I said.  “Does this cleaner you’re selling get blood stains off of a porch?”  With the door still wide open and the growling dog still in full view of the solicitor, I turned around to my son and barked an order at him.

“Boy, get my checkbook.”  In a very animated fashion, my son released his fake grip on Hope and walked away from her to carry out my instruction.  Hope jumped off of the couch and got as close to the front door as I would ever allow her to get.  She continued to bark and growl.

When I turned around back to the young salesman, he was gone.  Those door-to-door salesmen are pretty fast when properly motivated.

Aside from having fun with unwanted visitors, I’ve really come to appreciate Hope’s protective behavior about the joint.  There have been times where such behavior was unwarranted, however those events have been few and far between.  On those occasions, we corrected the behavior.

Just the other night, we had one of those instances where Hope took on the persona of a mean guard dog.  The only problem was that we weren’t too sure as to why.  At about 1:30 am, I was drifting in and out of consciousness in bed.  Having spent the entire day trying to fight off the symptoms of a sinus infection, I was having a problem getting a decent night’s rest.  As I drifted off, I heard a high pitched voice that I didn’t recognize.

Obviously it wasn’t in my head because Hope began barking from the living room.  The CFO and I jumped out of bed and went to the source of the commotion.  We looked out the front door and the windows which face to the front and found nothing.  Either Hope was dreaming, or she heard something at the door.  None the less, there was nothing there so we went back to bed.

Twenty minutes later, the same thing happened again.  I heard the voice and then Hope began to bark.  Just as before, we reacted the same way and found nothing.

Maybe it was just a cat outside mocking my beloved pit bull.  Stupid cat.

Do you remember the movie review I alluded to up above?  You know, the review about Despicable Me that wasn’t really there?  Shortly after watching the DVD, my son created a ring tone from it for the CFO’s Motorola Backflip.  That’s a cell phone for those of you who may not be familiar with it.  I’m no big fan of the thing, but Wifey and the Boy seem to like theirs, so I’ll dispense with my opinions about it.

The ring tone the Boy created comes from the following scene of Despicable Me.

Isn’t that cute?  Once the tone was loaded on to her phone, Wifey set it as her text and email alert.

As a reminder to those of you who know this phone, and an insight to those who don’t, allow me to tell you about one of the features of this phone.  Since it’s a smart phone (I use that term loosely where this phone is concerned), you have to buy a data plan with it.  It would only be logical that if you’re going to pay a monthly charge for a data plan, you should use it.  Wifey has her primary email address feeding into this particular phone.  Sadly enough, she gets spam on it.

Every night, she plugs it in at the kitchen counter near the front door and charges the phone.

Here’s a little tidbit you may or may not be aware of.  Spammers don’t keep banker’s hours.  In fact, spam has been known to fly at all hours of the day.

Did you know that spam has been known to land on smart phones in south central Texas at approximately two in the morning?

Did you know that smart phones which have customized email alerts which depict little girls pining for stuffed unicorns are capable of bringing out the territorial and protective behavior of a sleeping pit bull?

Yeah, it took us a day or two to figure that one out too.

From:  TharpSter

Date:  October 4, 2010

RE:  I’m back

That’s right people I’ve returned to the fabric covered land of Cubeville in favor of continued gainful employment.  Between now and the last week of the year, you can count on seeing my hiney and the rest of me ensconced in dark solids and planted firmly in front of some strategically mapped out spreadsheet on one monitor, and the dreaded new version of Lotus Notes on the other.  I’ve disabled the auto reply on my notes announcing that I’m out of office.  I’ll change the outgoing message on my voicemail in a few minutes.

Did you miss me? Has Office Services provided my new battery operated desk fan yet?

Naturally, I expect a few of you to approach me on my return and ask the dreaded question: “Hey how was your vacation?”

To be absolutely honest, I hate that question.  I came to the conclusion many years ago that there’s no creative answer I can give you.  You should know by now that short of the two weeks I took this last March (part of which was building a nasty ear infection on Pike’s Peak), that I don’t do anything on my extended time off.  That’s why I call them ‘Staycations’ instead.

However if you must know, I’ll give you a rundown of what I did. 

First of all, I trimmed the hedge and mowed the lawn.  My lawnmower hasn’t worked correctly all season so I borrowed my brother—in-law’s.  No worries on that one though.  His wasn’t working that well last year, so he borrowed mine all last summer.  We’ve come to the conclusion that among the CFO’s siblings and her mother, it’s rare that all five households ever have a properly working lawnmower at any given time. 

According to the app I’m using to aid in the TharpSter PounDown event, I burned 549 calories in an effort to remove the façade of ‘Redneck Chic’ from the compound.  For those of you playing the home game, I’m down about twelve from the point in August when the surgeon gave me a shot of whiskey and a bullet to bite on while he took the machete-like scalpel to that thing on my chest (pictures available on request).  The cyst, by the way, is clearing up nicely and the hair is starting to grow back.

Pretty exciting, don’t you think?

Doing the lawn wasn’t the only thing I did though.  I also fixed the door into the garage. 

It would seem sometime this last spring, the TharpSter TreadMill let her psychotic separation anxiety copulate with her irrational fear of rain and thunder in order to put a laser like focus on tearing up one of my own doors.  Just a matter of days before, the door knob on said door had been rendered useless.  Yeah, it was me.  I broke it.  It’s a long story that’s not very blog-worthy. 

None the less, I had removed the knob with the intention of replacing it.  In the midst of the TharpSter tragic flaw known as my procrastination, the compound was beset with rain and thunder sufficient enough to throw the Lab-Jack into a froth filled tizzy large enough to make Cesar Millan give up his calm assertive behavior in favor of a good choke chain.

When all was said and done, Faith had torn up the existing hole in the door in an effort to find some semblance of refuge in the garage.  The dog is definitely about the latter half of fight or flight when it comes to the rain.

Several weekends, many months, and two vacations later, the TharpSter Dad appeared in town on vacation from his duties at the western branch and made a suggestion or two about the door involving copious amounts of wood putty.  I’m sure the likes of Hank Hill and Norm Abrams wouldn’t be very proud for what we did, however the door now has a functioning handle on it.  I’ll eventually get around to painting it.

While we’re somewhat on the subject of the dogs, I’m glad to announce that our Pit Bull Hope will finish her basic obedience training next week, provided she doesn’t break wind during her loose leash walking exam.  It’s amazing what that dog will do for a small piece of hot dog or cheese.  We’re quite proud and will probably look to continue her training.

Speaking of flatulence, we’re still looking for a place here at the compound to put the fan which I had to unceremoniously remove from my cubicle at the auxiliary office.

So those are probably the most productive activities I participated in this last week.  In the same time period, two of you fellow cubicle dwellers now grace my friends listing on Facebook.  I attended two baseball games where my son’s team won by ten-run rule.  Fall ball this season should be a good one.  I watched some DVDs on the new 42”; including The Runaways (good), Crazy on the Outside (predictable and boring), and an unaired episode of Family Guy which serves to trample both sides of the abortion debate (hilarious).

In order to expedite the loss of my hearing, I’ve added some tunes to my library which help keep me rocking.  The entire new Linkin Park offering (A Thousand Suns) is pretty good, as well as the song Born Free by Kid Rock.  Check them out.

Out in the blog world, I banged out three articles which touched on my impending vacation, my colorful assault on the 9/11 truther movement, and an update on the activities of our Pit Bull.  In addition, I’ve started what promises to be a spirited discussion over the premise of progressive taxation.  My prediction is that the blogger will become so infuriated with my persistence that he’ll either delete my commentary or moderate them into oblivion in the same manner I kill off stupid comments which land here.

Yes.  I’m back from a week of staycation.  The term alone should tell you that I completed a whole lotta nada.

Aren’t you glad you asked?

Chalk this one up as the latest in what I hope will be a plethora of entries to The Pit Bull Diaries, because I’m going to spend the next few minutes of your life bragging about my dog.  If any way you feel that your life is currently incomplete, I hope the forthcoming collection of colorful metaphors and verbal brilliance serves to fill that hole.

If I were to compile a top ten list of the dogs I’ve had, Hope the Pit Bull would have no problem appearing on that list.  Completely set aside the fact that I’ve had a total of 8 dogs in my life.  In the short time that she’s been with us, she’s taught us a great deal about a misunderstood breed.  At the same time, she’s also taught us that the human condition isn’t always averse to frolicking in the muck and mire.

It’s not like she’s planted us in front of a chalkboard, donned her professor’s cap, and lectured us on the finer points of doing right by dogs either.  Instead, she’s used her body language and behavior to school us in the way things are.  One of her most predominant behaviors is that look of guilt she has whenever she looks at you, especially when she’s done nothing wrong.  Couple that with the general hesitance and mistrust she shows to parties from outside the organization (especially men); I can only surmise the first year of her life before she ever came to us may have been a tough one.

On the other hand, her protective streak is impressive to say the least.  Sometime back, some drunken bonehead made his way to the compound late at night, opened the unlocked the door, and wandered into our vast foyer.  Hope had been snoozing on the couch next to the dozing CFO; however the instant she heard that door open she came alive and made a move to escort our unwanted guest out of the compound by way of her 235 lb PSI bite strength and its proper application to the man’s testicles. 

Fortunately, said contents of the intruder’s scrotum overrode the brain’s instructions to do something stupid and simultaneously made their own decision to get the hell out of there as expeditiously as possible.

On her own will, Hope slept in the foyer for the next couple days.

The whole event provided an interesting legal consideration.  Here in Texas, my 2^nd Amendment rights would have allowed me to shoot the idiot if I had felt that my life was in danger.  What would have happened if Hope had mauled him under the same premise?  I’ll throw that one to the high school debate team.

At the same time, Hope’s protective streak has proven to be a liability.  Just the other day, our six year old nephew burst through the door without knocking or ringing the bell.  From Hope’s point of view, there’s nothing like a meal that comes to you.

As of this posting, Hope has two more weeks of obedience training.  During the second time around, our beloved Pit Bull has learned all of the basics like sit, stay, come, and that being walked up strategically placed hula-hoop and then commanded to sit in the middle of it really isn’t that bad of a thing to do.  She’s also learned that bull dogs don’t like her, and that she’s not particularly fond of them either.

There’s still the issue of some of her behavior off of the leash though.  This last summer, I purchased the highest quality sandal which $12 could get me at Wal-Mart.  Within a matter of days, my $12 sandals had become a $12 chew toy thanks to the efforts of Hope.

In the past few days, Hope has also shown some disloyalties in the sporting world toward two of the professional franchises in which my previous home of Houston currently hosts.  In her own defense, I know she would have shredded any gear sporting the logo of that craptacular football team from Dallas.  The only thing that kept her from doing so is the fact that such paraphernalia is banned from the premises.  Indoor plumbing is okay around here but sporting the blue and silver is a major no-no.

Even more frustrating is the item she selected last night.  It’s been several months since she even entertained the notion, however she went at it like a former smoker to a Marlboro after running out of patches. 

That’s right people.  Hope chewed up yet another silver AT&T U-Verse remote last night, and rendered it to the status of paper weight.  She had a choice between that, and remotes for the TV and DVD player (both black).  Even to this day, it can still be said that Pit Bulls prefer the taste of a silver remote over a black one.

I went on eBay this morning with the intention of ordering a replacement.  Previously I had just gone through AT&T, however I wanted to see if I could get one for cheaper than the requisite $15.  Ironically enough, I found a vendor that was selling them in lots of ten.  After paying for the product itself along with the shipping and handling, I would still come out better than paying for one from AT&T.

Have I mentioned before that the internet is a wonderful thing?

The most irritating thing about buying ten remotes at a time is the thought that I could really ever need that many.  I imagine I could use them to teach Hope to fetch, but wouldn’t that be sending her the wrong message?

I guess I’ll have to break out the Yuck.

I should warn you now that there is no one singular aim, focus, or theme in this entry.  Instead, today’s dispatch will parallel the activities I have planned for the garage this weekend.  Brush pick up is happening in my neighborhood this week and I’m cleaning out the clutter. 

It’s not like I’m going to produce something on the order of a gaggle of buckskin clad beauties dancing around a rhinestone cowboy or anything. 

As my dogs have walked up and down the streets this last week with me in tow, it’s been pretty obvious that I’m not the only one with a veritable plethora of flotsam and jetsam to leave curb side.  Along with the standard issue of tree branches and fence posts, my neighbors who reside within a one mile radius have taken steps to unload everything from laundry hampers to broken toys to mattresses to computer parts to vacuum cleaners. 

Hope ponders her next move.

Commodes appear to be on order as well, as you can find one immediately to the east and another one to the south of the TharpSter.Org compound.  The mere presence of such practical joke-worthy gold has nearly put The Pit into a tizzy with thoughts of pulling the ultimate prank on the neighbors with some low level bombing.  Fortunately, the virtual moat which surrounds the compound keeps her from running across the street and assuming the position of crouching tiger, hidden dragon on the discarded toilet.  It’s nice to know that even though she’s learning a thing or two in obedience training, she hasn’t lost her mischievous sense of humor.

Where that dog is concerned, I can’t help to sit here stupefied about what her life may or may not have been like before coming to the organization.  Every day she gives us a reason why it was a good decision to take her in.  Sadly, we received some bad news about her the other day.  It would seem that when we originally had her tested for heartworm back in January, the organisms in her blood were not sufficient enough to generate a positive test result. 

Now they are.

As soon as I can generate some major ad revenue for this site, I’m raising the rates in order to help pay for the treatment.

Overall, the outlook appears to be pretty good for Hope.  The biggest challenge will be to keep her calm, rested and lethargic in the weeks following the first treatment.  She’s yet to start taking after me, so such behavior won’t be inherent.

One other oddity about the trash pile I’ve attempted to assemble and retain at the edge of the compound is the sudden revelation that I appear to have better junk than my neighbors.  I know this because the drive-by looters and scavengers with their flatbed trailers and junk laden truck beds liberated everything I left out there yesterday, save for a basket weave hamper which has been on my hit list for years.  Watching all of my stuff go away so quickly gave me the same feeling I had when I had to make a call on keeping Brett Favre on the fantasy football roster this year.  Sure he’s been useful in the past, but his future is uncertain.  Sometimes you just gotta knowingly flip a two headed quarter and call tails.

The TharpSter PounDown continues.  I continue to use the app on a daily basis reporting whatever caloric input or output I undergo.  The total loss so far since I originally reported the event to you is four to five pounds, depending on whether I have my keys in my pocket whenever I get on the scale.

Speaking of food, wifey made a great dinner last night.  We had her homemade spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread.  Sure it seems like pretty plain Jane stuff, but you haven’t tasted her spaghetti. 

Don’t get me started on the garlic bread either.  The way that woman mixes the butter in with the garlic before spreading it on the French bread could very well be considered a work of art.  So much so, that the flavors lingered in the butter I spread on my toast this morning.  That was right before I put grape jelly on there though.  I haven’t quite mapped out how I came by eating garlic grape jelly on my toast this morning, however I can only guess that the organizational CFO’s efforts last night to provide us garlic bread may have generated unintended consequences.

Blog comment spam still appears to be on the rise.  I took steps last week to shut down the ability to place a comment on The Pit Bull Diaries page.  That particular page was being pounded with every piece of junk mail one could fathom.  Frankly, I was getting pretty sick and tired of moderating all of the irritating canned statements which offer no relevance to the post in which they’ve been added.

Perfect example:

“Low amounts of useless traffic” don’t bother me.  It’s the high amounts of useless traffic which litters my website with the electronic equivalent of door to door solicitors and circulated advertisements in my mail box that bother me.

The mischievous part of me is typically inclined to let the spam pass and subsequently use my creative outlet to criticize and mock the cranial shortcomings of others.  However since I’ve dedicated a big portion of this blog to big government types, I can’t see where it would be fruitful to duplicate my efforts.  Instead, I’ll just delete the spam with the caveat that I’ll discuss the extremely stupid ones in a blog every once in awhile.

So let’s do a quick checklist here to see if I was able to clear some of the clutter.

Trash pile.  Check.  

Pit Bull update.  Check.

Garlic grape jelly.  Check.

Blog comment spam (aka doosh baggery).  Check.

Buckskin clad beauties dancing around a rhinestone cowboy.  (I know.  I said I wasn’t going to go that far.)

Check.

It’s 7 am on a Saturday morning at the end of August. The neighbors aren’t up. I know this because I have an opportunity to read their newspaper. I’m out in the backyard watching the dogs apply just enough canine urine (female) to the lawn in order to keep it qualified for hospice care. The 68 degree temperature is uncharacteristic for south central Texas during this time of year.

I wrote the first two paragraphs of this article on my iPhone this morning in the notes application. At the point I finished the second paragraph; the dogs approached me in their attention whore-like behavior. In one way or another, I must have shaken the iPhone enough to activate the undo feature. The only part which survived the shaking was the first sentence. Needless to say, I was a little ticked off to find that all of the efforts I executed to fat finger yet another piece of verbal brilliance without hitting the ‘M’ key instead of the space key had been rendered moot. Not wanting to lose such art again to a mere shake, I’ve decided to continue my Saturday morning soliloquy on the computer.

To me, it’s the strangest thing in which I come by the inspiration to compose these dispatches to the worldwide web. Ninety percent of the material I manage to publish comes by way of some sort of waking epiphany which presents itself when my slumber ends and my consciousness takes hold. On some of those mornings as I sit on the edge of the bed in a desperate attempt to conjure a really good excuse for avoiding the day’s agenda, the monologue between my ears kicks into high gear and I’m suddenly in possession of the next collection of a thousand words which will make its way onto my computer. Sadly, my computer and ability to publish aren’t as fast as all of the colorful metaphors which sprout up during my brain’s process of assembling my next masterpiece.

I had one of those mornings this morning. Probably one of the most memorable terms which came to mind this morning was “nipple laden corpulence”. Sure it’s a phrase which may get your attention for a moment or two, however unless there are pictures, I don’t believe it’s anything to keep a readers attention.

As much as I had wanted to fire up the pc at that exact moment in order to capture on hard drive that which was going through my head, I couldn’t. Without saying a word, I had conveyed a non-verbal energy to TreadMill & the Pit that I would take them for a walk. Canine impatience was edging out my creativity in an effort to reign supreme.

It had actually been quite some time since I had taken Faith on an early morning walk. By getting away from that ritual, there have been consequences. She’s lost the discipline of being a good doggy on a leash. At the same time, I had lost any semblance of exercise that I bother to participate in. Last night I had gotten the gumption to take her and her alone for a walk. For whatever reason, I not only had the gumption to take her again just 12 short hours later, but I also felt compelled to include our pit bull Hope.

That’s right people. Walking these two gives me 35 pounds of resistance on one arm and 55 pounds on the other. The saving grace is that Hope is pretty good with walking on a loose leash. That’s except for when Faith is present, then she follows suit with the Faith’s bad habits.

For the most part, the morning walk was uneventful. The odoriferous emanations of the morning conveyed the message to the three of us that there were skunks nearby, and they were probably in the midst of bumpin’ uglies.

As I worked to clear such imagery from my mind, I continued to focus on being the calm, assertive pack leader to the dogs. At the same time, I couldn’t help but ponder the possible danger we could be in on those occasions where we take our walk in the dark. As a perpetual purveyor of the arts which involves wearing dark solids, I couldn’t help but to think that vehicles passing by may not see the three of us humping it up and down the street. I should probably consider wearing lighter colors when I go out. The alternative would be to put some reflective tape on my shirt. Perhaps the words “In Tow” plastered across my back would do the trick.

I should probably take this moment to explain my gumption to get back into the habit of walking the dogs more regularly. Obviously, the answer to that one is easy. It’s good for the dogs and it exercises my control over them. Hope is currently going through obedience training, so such activity will reinforce the lessons and commands which she’s taking in.

Granted, there is a selfish element involved which presented itself in the form of a sebaceous cyst. Last week, I had an infected one on my sternum. Without going into a lot of detail, let me assure you that it hurt to have it removed. I’m pretty sure the term “nipple laden corpulence” came from my thoughts on discussing the cyst. Prior to the surgeon making the thing look like a coin slot, the infected red bump had a nipple-like façade.

In the process of having the cyst taken care of, I found myself on the scales both at the regular doctor’s office as well as that of the surgeon.

Geez, I’ve let myself go.

It wasn’t much of a surprise though. The spring of 2010 had been pretty stressful, what with activities I had taken on in my personal life combined with an assignment at the auxiliary offices. I don’t need to go see a shrink to understand that gluttony is probably one of my favorite defense and coping mechanisms.

I’ve gotten off lucky with it though, as I don’t have any problems like high blood pressure, diabetes, or even the cholesterol issues which one would normally associate with such bad eating habits.

Regardless, the number which showed up on the scale was way beyond what I have always considered unacceptable. I need to do something about it.

There’s a lady at the auxiliary office that has been in the process of losing weight. She does a lot of walking and she’s adjusted her diet. Based on what she’s done, I can at least start off by doing the same thing. I’ve set my goals, my timeline, and my game plan. I’m also tracking things through an app on my phone. When all is said and done, the TharpSter PounDown Event of 2010 / 2011 will have me feeling a lot better about things within the next 12 months.

That’s all I’ll let you know. I may follow up with the occasional update, depending on what creative word combinations my brain can generate on any given morning. For now though, I’ve got to wrap it up here. I’ve got to go find some reflective tape.