Category Archives: Fang & Claw

Mighty Casey at the Bark

Hello, my name is Scott, and I’m that dog guy.

At some point, you just have to accept it. I see miracles in any change in Teddy and Esme’s behavior, ones that I cannot help but anthropomorphize. So give me the beagle nose, or dachshund ears, or whatever equally ridiculous mask we make dogs wear. Funny-gif-dog-mask-butt For what could be goofier than chronicling the way hounds play?

Still.

They share a new toy, a beautiful Kong that looks and feels like a real baseball.baseballkong

Esme suffers it gladly; at least it’s something to fetch, even if it is barelybigenough to lift  and squirts out a dozen times before she manages, like Sisyphus, the return. Teddy simply loves it. The way it tastes, smells, stands politically, I dunno. But he’s desperate to gnaw it, like my wallet.wallet-300x193

One afternoon, Ted really had is Kong jones on. Took it to the yard first thing, plopped it between his forepaws. Homey was gonna chew that mother.

I didn’t want to ruin the old guy’s rare exhibition of possessiveness. He hadn’t displayed that in years. Still, I didn’t want to to penalize Esme for her brother’s will. I took the tennis ball, the fuzzy, chewable orb that is to her like catnip to a tabby, and chucked it across the yard. She brought it back rocketquick. ‘Ok,’ I thought to myself as I tossed it again, ‘They’ll both have their way.’

But then nothing. Esme didn’t return. A minute later, she emerged at the edge of the yard, baseball Kong, unwieldy and smelling like Ted’s slobber, balanced precariously in her maw. Stunned, I throw it, as Teddy, probably uncertain why it was taken from him in the first place, gallops dopily behind.

Was this Esme putting a value on the Kong because Ted had it? Because I preferred to throw it? Because she hated her dumbass brother? Like I said, I admit to being That Dog Guy, so I get to assume the smartest: That she is exercising revenge for Teddy’s youthful, out-of-reach torture in years bygone.

Because you can’t deny: Payback is a bitch.

 

 

Everything That Can Be

 

In 1899, Charles Duell, the Commissioner of the U.S. Patent Office, was famously quoted as saying that the office could be closed because “Everything that can be invented  has been invented.”

Turns out the quote belonged to a clerk at the office. And, despite the hypocrisy (after all, I’d be dead without inventions), I’m beginning to see kid’s point. Inventions of late seem awfully one-tracked: To get ads in front of people. It’s made for a new generation of oxymorons, like personal computers and smartphones.

But Teddy and Esme have shown me the upside of technology. Recently, the HB hit a benchmark; more than 10,000 page views.

Of course, 10,000 people haven’t looked at the website. But thanks to spam emails hoping to inundate the inbox with diet pill and webcam ads, the number spiked. Which is why the site has no inbox. Or feedback forum, Contact Me link, About Us section or anything else that would approach commercial website success. She is the closest thing I can get to paper and real.

But automation, at least, has given the hounds their 15 minutes.

When you Google “Teddy and Esme,” not only are they the first reference to appear on on the Big Brother site; they’re the first two, competing with each other for the top spot. Sometimes it’s Ted. Sometimes it’s Ezzie. Even their movies sit atop Google Videos.

So, while they’re gassy and indifferent to the fame, let me serve as their talent manager in saying:

Thank you, spambots!

:-)

 

 

I’m loathe to use the term lol, except when I’m deriding it, like now.

It seems that humorous e-missives evoke a :-), not an lol. So why lie? And, if it did inspire an audible chortle, guffaw, cackle or titter, wouldn’t such a gift merit more than an acronym in response?

But a recent email triggered an actual lol. Maybe even an lmao.

It was a YouTube link accompanied by a two-line message: “This dog and Esme should be best friends. How can we arrange this??”

Maybe the chuckle came not just from the hilarity of the video, but from the joy of realizing: My daughter is not alone.

You see, Esme suffers from Hysterical Energy Syndrome. I once thought she was alone, but no longer. Apparently, when any Boston gets a jolt of energy — like, say from, anything — it loses its shit.

The disorder has gotten so bad I can barely have visitors, all of whom must think I starve Teddy and Esme for attention. Because when the doorbell chimes, the dogs go bonkers. Even Esme. Especially Esme.

Normally, she’s the subtle one of the pair, which tells you something. But she seems to get genuinely, lethally jealous whenever Teddy bigfoots the spotlight (which eager 90-pound Goldens tend to do). She’ll bark and tear and try to shred the boy, who is oblivious to the fury:

Ding dong
Theodore Ruxpin Bowles: OH MY GOD!!
Esme Beyonce Bowles: Company!
TRB: HI!! I’M TEDDY!! I DON’T KNOW WHO THESE OTHERS ARE!!! WHO ARE YOU?? NEVER MIND, COME IN!!! DO YOU WANT TO LIVE HERE???
EBB: Shut the hell up. Do you remember last time?
TRB: HI!! I’M TEDDY!! CAN I SNIFF YOUR CROTCH??!!!!
EBB: That’s it. You die now! (mini-bark, mini-growl, mini-rabid, mini-maul)
TRB: HI!!! I’M…SIS!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? HAHAH…NOT NOW!! STOP TICKLING!!!! HI!!! I’M TEDDY!!!

Still. And I’ll deny it if you tell em. But, truthfully, who could not yearn for such pandemonium, at any arrival?

It’s enough to make you laugh out loud.