Pirate Dog PDX

Don't hate me because my dog is beautiful.

Dogs, as charming and life-affirming as they are, have a controversial side. Apparently, my love for Rico is pissing people off (for example, a gal who I had drinks with this week). There are those who think I would better serve humanity by spending my money on people, rather than my pets. The drinking gal's words: "I just can't stand people who love their pets more than people. I don't see where it's okay that they spend all their money on some animal's surgery when they could be giving their money to, say, foster kids."

Interesting.

Now, mind you, I come from animal-surgery spending people. My dad and mom have been known to put untold thousands of dollars into the mangled legs of pets. In 1988, Dave-the-wunderkitteh had extreme surgery and steel pins in his little paw for months. Though I don't specifically recall, I suspect there was a physical therapy/kitteh massage aspect that lucky Dave enjoyed.

BTW. Today. Dave is dead anyway. Points for the animal-hater girl. That said, he lived another 13 years after the pricey surgery ... and when I finally did have him euthanized (I mean, you know, enough is enough), he held on for about 20 minutes, when a normal cat would have just gone to sleep. Go Dave! (Points for joie-de-vie kittehs)

Also. Also. The animal hater's boyfriend owns a 50-foot yacht. Um. Wait. How is that not misspent orphan money?

My issue is this: I've worked for the nonprofit mafia for about 15 years. Animal-hater girl is absolutely right that there's not enough money in the system going to support foster kids ... or orphans, the environment, the arts, health care, or even (gasp) animal welfare ...  not to mention pro-life, pro-choice, gun control, the NRA, gay rights, conservative Christian organizations, the whole political fight-starting lot.

Government doesn't pay for it -- and frankly, probably wouldn't be super-efficient about it if they did. We, the people, make charity happen. How democratic. Isn't that what's so great about our country?

I believe, as good "citizens," we all have to choose something--and support that cause with our time, treasure,  or talent -- whatever we can comfortably give. Without a wide variety of interested donors, these varied causes (many of which are diametrically opposed) couldn't be fought.

Also. Good citizens would be better off to learn the mantra of the fabulous VA: "Reasonable people can disagree." We used that mantra when we worked together at an animal shelter, in which we all loved animals, but some of us were vegetarians, didn't wear leather, wouldn't wear make up/ take drugs that had been tested on animals--and some of us were burger eatin', leather-wearin' Mary Kay make-up wearers, spending our weekends putting hairspray in bunny eyeballs. (Okay, I didn't know any bunny eyeball people, but I knew lots of hunters.)  "Reasonable people can disagree" means that we can still fight for the cause we share, even when we don't agree on every detail.

It doesn't make me want to give my money to foster kids, but I know they're gonna love their new 50-foot yacht.

Portland Squirrel Quest (By Rico)

As you may have heard, it's been a  long, dreary winter. I'd like to share a little secret about how I got through the worst of it. I am a squirrel fan. "Hi squirrels!"

We have a huge, and I mean HUGE squirrel television. Three screens. Here I am watching the smallest screen. I like it because this part of the squirrel habitrail is smaller. You can practically touch 'em! See:

Here, I am watching the show, "Squirrel plays a pan flute." I can't hear it, though, because we live in the city and have double paned windows to keep city sounds out. Instead, I'm wearing a headset, listening to my "Bolivian Show Tunes" cd and it works. Here's the big screen:

As you can see, there's nothing on right now, which is too bad because it's in color. We have RED squirrels and the regular grey ones, too. When squirrels are not to be found on the big screen, however, we go on epic squirrel quests. Very Indiana Jones.

"Oh, great Squirrel Goddess, tell us please, where the best squirrels are. Hey. Are you naked?"

As you can see, a squirrel worshiper who came before us brought the Squirrel Goddess a white flower offering and Cheetos. I'm eating the Cheetos.

In some cities, the squirrels come to you. The must have a Squirrel Goddess that is chock full of Cheetos.
Or maybe, cookies.

We do not live in that city. Questing on ...
 

"Dude, you are not a squirrel. What? No. I'm not a squirrel. What are you, even?"

This is the guard dog for the Portland Art Museum we talked about Sunday. He hangs out in the sculpture garden, with the "bronze" squirrels. Whatever buddy. I'll bet your squirrels can't play the pan flute.

I tried to discuss Pietro Belluschi and he has no idea who I mean. Not a blog reader, I guess. This is awkward. I'm going home.

Sometimes, the only squirrels on television are stoopid squirrels. In this weather, the only way I'm going to find a quality squirrel-worth-watching is on My Space. That's not epic, I know. But, it's raining. And, I ordered a pizza.

Tom Cruise IS "Born on the Fourth of July"

That's only funny if you remember the movie. Actually, this is my friend Moose, who along with his lovely sister Flower,

rules the roost at Ken and Lesley's house. We had dinner with them tonight. I can hardly stand how cute they are. (All four of them, really.)

So, I brought my camera.

And, I suspect, it is going to keep us from getting invited back.

The story of Moose, how he got that way, and how Flower and the family have made adjustments to keep up with this super-dude is a great one, but it's not mine to tell. Lesley will do that, and you can bet your adorable diapered doxie we'll link to that story as soon as she does.

Meanwhile, my fancy camera (thanks mom) takes video. Did I mention that Flower and Moose race?

"What the Hell?" (By Rico)

Who taught this stoopid cat how to spell stoopid? That is my trademark, dammit.
more funny pictures

Second, how big did they build that cat? My brother dog looks dwarfed by all the hulking kitty real estate.

A Dog More Gay

Just when I was all about accepting Rico and his gayness, in swished Sparkles. He's here. He's queer. And, I'm getting used to it. Go Sparkles!

Last week, the fine folks at Portland Mercury asserted that there are a gaggle of gay dogs in Portland. According to our local paper, we're something of a mecca for limp-pawed pets.

Who knew?!? We SO need a parade. Rico loves a parade. Naturally.

Soon, if the Merc has anything to say about it, they'll have one. But first, my dog took the "How gay is your dog?" quiz. And we learned that Rico, by quiz standards, is not gay. Hm. But ... the outfits?

Okay. Thank god. There's a second gay pet test--about clothing. (Not everybody tests well, you know, but that doesn't make them not gay--wait, sorry, my "No Child/Gay Dog Left Behind" rant is for another post)

In outfit world, Rico's totally gay. We own, collectively, a biker hat, a handsome trench, a kicky little snow coat, a pirate outfit, and a reindeer costume. Actually, he has, count them, three reindeer costumes. It's surprising how often a tiny dog needs to dress like a reindeer.

I knew I was right to move him to Portland, where Rico can be all he can be. Now. Where can I find chihuahua-size chaps?

The French are all Hype, but Nice Anyway (By Rico)

We've got this dream that someday we can bring joy to old and sick people as pet therapists. Scratch that. SHE has this dream, that I will entertain old and sick people while she takes the credit, and maybe, just maybe, that will karmically balance all the outfits she puts me in and the off-color jokes she's been known to make. So many outfits. We are going to have to visit a LOT of old people.

So. To achieve HER dream, I have to get over my distaste for other dogs. To that end,we're attending Miss Caroline's Night School for Stoopid Puppeez. If you've been reading along, you know how that's going.

Now, we're doing playgroups. Yesterday, we went to LexiDog Boutique and Social Club. They offer a free Sunday playgroup for dogs of all sizes. I played in the 12-30 pound group.

According to LexiDog's website, "playgroups are a time for you to bring your dog to play with other dogs in a warm, dry indoor environment, while you get to visit with other dog loving humans."

According to reality, French Bulldogs OWN the LexiDog mid-size playgroup. This is good news. The French have such a cool look, like mimes. As you may know, I want a beret so bad, so mom got me to go to this "playgroup" deal suggesting that the French Bulldogs could tell me where to buy a beret in my size. And, you know, maybe give me some tips on growing a tasteful pencil mustache. Tres Francais, I thought.

Not so. Here's what I went through:

Do you see berets? Striped French sailor suits? I do not.

Ppfffffffttttttt ... You smell like beans, monsieur.

Dude. You look like a loaf of bread. Not even French bread.

She smells like bouef bourgingnon. Pretty, too.

The French are insane. Know that.

The French obsession with Jerry Lewis totally makes sense now.

Is that a pencil mustache? No. They're teeth. Wait. You're not even FRENCH!

La femme jolie, avec treats!

"Bonjour? Je suis 'Winston.'"

BTW, they were all named "Winston," as in Churchill or "Sherman" as in tank or "Butch" as in tough little fireplug of a lesbian or "Tulip," you know, 'cause it's ironic. But, they aren't French names. What gives?

I thought the French weren't supposed to be f-a-t. They're hitting le fromage a little hard, n'est pas?

Okay. In fairness, I smell haggis. Maybe I really do smell like beans.

That was my day.

I have to say I like the French (and all the dogs I met at LexiDog) better than puppeez.  The LexiDog staff was super nice and I loved their fashion-forward boutique. No berets, but they had sailor suits (I think French) ... for $60! Maybe for my birthday.

Happy Martin Luther King Day!

Dr. King's most memorable quotes, as portrayed by Rico's bathtime interpretive dance.
 

"Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed."
    --Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

 

 

"All progress is precarious, and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem."
    --Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

 

"In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."
    --Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Puppeez are Stoopid! (By Rico)

It wasn't my fault I got put into a puppy class. It's all our local PetSmart offered. At first I thought being the smartest would be fun, like in that Cheech and Chong song:

Mexican-Americans love education.
So, they go to night school...
take Spanish ... and get a "B."

As a Mexican-American six-year-old guy (un hombre del mundo), I expected Miss Caroline's Night School for Stoopid Puppeez to be a breeze. In fact, the lessons are. I can sit, stay, come,  the whole deal. When I first got there, because I'm so little, everyone was really impressed when they thought I was just a gifted puppy. My trainer, Miss Caroline, thinks I'm cute. And, she's right.

That said, puppies just suck. I have to yell at them all the time, always with the playing and knocking me over because they can't use their brakes, getting bigger and more clumsy every week, and the way everyone thinks they're so cute.

I hate them so much.

Because I'm not stoopid, all the mommies and daddies in my puppy class think I'm a jerk. Miss Caroline has made it clear to everyone that I'm helping their stoopid puppeez learn boundaries. It's like a service. But, it's still awkward. I'm not the popular kid, and I have never not been the popular kid.

Here's a bit of what I endured just tonight:

Where's the dignity? Jimeny Crispees, they're stoopid.

Bella's a spaz, but she's okay.

Toby thinks I smell like beans. I do not.

Rolly has doubled in size in six weeks.

Why doesn't that bother anyone else?

I am teaching Blu about "personal space."

See. When Bella pulls it together, she's quite a lady. She's my best friend at school, but really, she likes everyone.

Yeah, there's more. Puppies. Freaking. Everywhere. Click here if you want to see the "full monty."

2008, numerologically speaking, is already working out well for me.

According to a recent report on NPR, nearly 100,000 people start a blog every day. Moreover, there are an estimated 100 million blogs in existance right now. "Most of these are read by exclusively by our mothers." added the NPR reporter. So true. (Hi mom.)

Numerologically, according to my swell new age friends, 2008 is a year for new beginnings since its digits add up to one. Okey dokey. Since the number of people starting blogs and writing blogs also have digits that add up to one, I've decided it's a spooky sign that I must blog to be successful. As my Aunt Mary would have said, "Oooeeeeooooo."

Thus, through an online blogging community, I've committed to posting to my blog every day in 2008. To give some structure to this weirdest of new year's resolutions, I've joined three blogging groups: one for the weight loss obsessed, one for folks living in the Pacific Northwest, and one for dog weirdos. Each ot them will get their own category. For now: "Hail, the Chubby Pirate," "Haute Dog," and "PDX PDQ." Check, check, and check. I've also joined a meetup.com group here in Portland that specializes in "people who like to dress and talk like pirates" We're a little afraid of this particular group, but content is best when it's true AND weird...both of which this group promises to be. But, I'll need to wait until the moment, as our "pyrate" leader says, "When right 'tis the hour, slip below deck an' gather to teach, learn, an' share knowledge o' the pyratical sort!" Oh god.

I'd like to come up with category names that are as good as "Throw up in my mouth Monday," created by the brilliantly different Herb Urban. But, we've got a year to get through. If I peak too early, you'll be expecting Tolstoy by July. So for today, we're set.

Happy new year, crew. Arrrrgggggghhhhh! 

David and Rico's Cinema Artistique

David: "Dude, look at the camera. We're wishing folks a happy holiday!"
Rico: "I am le bored. I have post-Thanksgiving ennui."