To a Different Drummer

I have been working my tail off trying to catch up with Jill Pribyl, world renowned dancer and choreographer. Between New York and Uganda she's been stunning the dance world for the last several years. She is, if my lead is correct, a part of the Okulamba Dance Theater,Uganga.
Anyway, as I was sniffing out a lead, suddenly I couldn't’t stop my two front paws from raising up into the air, "highah! highah!" said I; while on my back two paws I started to dance; I danced, frenzied, elated, transformed.
( It reminded me of the time I was preparing to interview the late Babtunde Olatunji who was performing at the UN General Assembly in Russia. Nikita Khrushchev took off his shoes and started dancing. Stole the show away from my interview plans. But I can’t blame the poor fella; when the music gets in ya, be you man or beast you cannot resist. Especially those drums!)
Tell ya what I’ll do, (pa tahtah pa tah tah papa tah) until I can find Jill and her troupe I’ll hook you up to one of Africa’s greatest drummer/musician/social activist/teacher there ever was. Babtunde Oatunji, my hat’s off to you, sir. You may not be with us on this tilting planet anymore, but, brother, the beat goes on.
please visit the world wide web at olatunji.com
I am sorry I cannot link you directly to that page. I am experiencing technical difficulties.

Neglected!

This is a story about neglect.
(Before I complain about the way my granny is neglecting me, I must apologize for neglecting my journalistic duties. I, uh...(scratching ears with back paw) don't have a valid excuse. heh heh…)
But my granny, on the other paw, has been far far too preoccupied with Amy. Amy this; Amy that… “Amy Waymie pudding and pie…” AGHHHHH I am sick of it. Ever since Amy came to visit I have had to retreat to places of hiding that are simply insulting for a dog of my stature. For example, just yesterday I tried to offer her a peace-rope; she chased me under the foot stool! Under a foot stool! A stool for feet. Can you imagine how ridiculous I looked?
She plays with tennis balls and she leaves them all over the house; I on the other hand, return them to their proper bucket when I have finished a game. (Well, OK, I don’t actually do that, but Buddy did, and I am his protégé, so one day I will do it…it is just not true, yet.
Granny, consider this a formal warning: don’t forget the senior members of your pack! We have feelings too. Just because we are not deaf and blind doesn’t mean you can neglect us! Pet us, please, and tell us you love us once in a while…would it kill ya to throw us a bone now and then?
Hmph.

They Say I'm Gifted

"I asked my folks if they thought I was gifted. They said, "Well yes. Of course. We sure wouldn't have PAID for you!"

Quote from Calvin and Hobbs...wish I'd thought of it.

The First Sandstorm for Smallville, Euphoric usa

Smallville survived its first sandstorm of the season. I had to go out in full combat gear just to patrol the perimeters. It was ruff going, as I'm sure you can imagine; if you've ever had to suffer through a Euphoric sandstorm you know what I mean. A wall of red dirt blasting into every crook and granny. Anyway by the time I made it to the entrance into our facility I had sand inbetween my canines, inbetween my toes and even up my nose. It might have been made worse by the fact that I would not put down the bone I found. But hey, what dog worth his grit wouldn't?

What?

I tried to sign up for an interesting blog but had to read two thousand pages of legaleeze. It was horribly confusing.
I think it means that I can't make derdogatory comments about man or beast, which I would never do anyway, unless my brother's unruly behavior demands some slammin' dog-talk.
But just to be on the safe side, dad, can you see if this is a safe site for an openhearted dog like myself?
http://en.wordpress.com/tos/

Yosemite James - my brother

Here's a picture of me playing with my brother.

Amy

Here's a picture of my sister Amy - she's deaf, blind and beautiful.

Happy St. Patty's Day

My folks are here for spring break. Mom, dad, brother and sister. I'll post pics tomorrow.

Ruff Day

Granny came home weeping today after she was shot down by an arrogant, inhumane barrage of verbal missiles, fired off by a woman in a white coat. This woman had vowed to do no harm when she slipped into that white coat, but it was a vow that was obviously now adhered to because the harm she did is insidious and far reaching.
Since I am granny’s loyal and trustworthy healer I must fly to her side and apply the salve of my furry presence to her wounded spirit. (Plus, she made garlic-ginger stir-fry for dinner and I will be a pretty busy pup a- begging for my sup. Of course, a dog worth his salt can’t beg and keyboard at the same time, so you’ll forgive my terse verse for tonight. Right? )
But I can’t live on begging alone. The Barker does after all, butter my toast; I do have to actually work for my bones and kibble. I would be remiss if I didn’t provide your Daily reason to smile.
And Sweet Lucy, what a smile!

Pay Day!

While my person (I call her Granny) was busy with her prayers this morning I took a little trot over to the horse pen next door. Yesterday there was branding going on there, cattle, not horses; we, the animals who live here knew it was going to happen the day before.
My dad, Sam knew it too. He bears a preternatural sense of things happening, both in the psychological and physical realm.
When Granny told him that we, (my wife, my editor and myself) were acting crazy he said, “Maybe the cowboys next door are branding.”
Granny said, “No, I don’t hear anything that sounds like animals being branded; maybe it’s gonna rain or something.”
I don’t know how he knew; he was 100 miles away from here, but he was right, only a day early. Yesterday was branding day, but there was no activity in the pen today; the cold rain seems to have kept the cowboys from there grizzly task. So I guess Granny was right too. Branding and rain. Shiver.

But the mud is still half frozen between my toes and my whiskers are a little frosty too, so I am gonna have a cup of joe-co while I warm up to the keyboard. (For those of you who don’t know what joe-co is, it is a cup of hot chocolate stealthily steaming from under the lid of a coffee cup. No one but the drinker knows it is cocoa and not a triple shot espresso. I learned about it when I was a freshman in college.)
I won't be writing much today; it's payday at the Barker. My pack and I have a few bones to pick.
Bones, joe-co, and a pack to snuggle away the coldest day in March. Not a bad day. Not bad at all.

Evidence of Editorial Prowess

Well, Babe is quite a trickster. She put her own pic before my wife's. Figures.

Let Me Introduce You To

My wife Lucy Elizabeth Labradoris,
and my editor, Babe Likethapig.