Animal House


Spring has snuck up on us here at Chateau Chevre in beautiful Southern Pennsylvania. I went to San Francisco for one week, and when I returned I discovered that flowers were blooming, horses were shedding and all of the stuff that I had neglected over the winter was now threatening to collapse altogether.

Last Winter: My wifes pointers acting like fools with their pants on the ground.

Over the past year my lovely wife has acquired what seem like several thousand new pointer puppies (two, to be precise), each of which is finding its own unique way to bust out of our dog exercise yard (which I modeled loosely on the French Penal Colony Guiana as portrayed in the movie “Papillion”).

Just kidding. The dog yard is a fairly large open space surrounded by wooden and wire fencing. The new puppies are into digging, unlike our older and wiser dogs who are mostly into yapping and pooping.

Anyway, these new puppies, whom I love dearly, are directly challenging my authority and ingenuity and must be crushed. I have deployed electric fencing around the most vulnerable places, and that seems to be holding. However, the bitch (I can call her a bitch cuz she’s a female dog) has moved her base of operations to another, much harder to electrify, location and is awaiting my response. I plan to plotz many heavy things there, and if (when) that doesn’t work, I’ll call in the drones. They should be done in Libya by then, don’t you think?

Happier Times: The author and Jane the puppy before she turned to a life of crime.

Meanwhile, election season is gearing up and I have a whole bunch of non-dog-related things to be angry about. For example, Rick Santorum and Michele Bachman are raving, hate-filled idiots. Shame on Republicans for giving these poisonous dill-weeds a moment’s notice.

Donald Trump is a buffoon. I don’t think he’s a serious Presidential contender: he’s just hyping his own self and his reality TV career. His hair, on the other hand, would make a fine Vice Presidential candidate.

At last Barak Obama has gotten off his butt and remembered that, in addition to his day job, he’s the leader of the Democratic Party. He’s stopped letting the Republicans walk all over him and in his recent budget speech staked out a position that’s at least visible from where I’m sitting. Maybe I will be able to vote for him without holding my nose. Woot!

Our Friend Jen proudly displays the next Republican presidential candidate: a baby goat.

Stop the presses. Friends of my wife have just stopped by to drop off a baby goat, which is about the cutest thing seen in all of human history, especially since my wife’s friend has dressed the critter in a little hat and embroidered blanket. It won’t be staying long: my wife is transferring him to her riding teacher’s barn in a couple of days. In the meantime he’s hanging out in a big dog crate, undoubtedly working out how he’s gonna escape from our yard when we let him out to poop.

Say. Maybe he should run for president on the Republican ticket! He’s cute and lovable, and he’s clearly better-suited for the job than Bachman or Santorum. He could run with Trump’s toupee, but he’d probably just eat it after the election.

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