A Day In The Life Of A Dog

7:45 AM. Awake and feeling hungry. Granted, I'm often hungry. Hmm, so where's my human? Awake yet? No sound from upstairs. Will wait dutifully for ten minutes. Then might feel the need to bark my head off.

7:50. Looking outside. It is supposed to be spring, right? According to the calendar, yes. So why are we still buried in snow? And why is it snowing even more?

And the bigger question: can I get out there and run like a demented lunatic in it as quickly as possible?

7:55 AM. The human turns up downstairs. Good morning, human! I'm just raring to go, and by the way, if it's not too much trouble, how about a bit of breakfast? I'd be ever so happy to have something to munch on.

8:00 AM. The human feeds me kibbles. Delicious! I am, of course, obliged to wolf them down as if there'll be no tomorrow....

8:05 AM. Whining at back door. Human lets me out. I sprint out into the snow like I'm running from a fire. Oh boy oh boy oh boy!

8:20 AM. Running through the fields. No sign of robins. Spike The Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels, often says that robins are a surefire sign of spring. Instead I am met by vast fields of white snow covering everything. Oh well. Who knows how long it might last? Might as well enjoy it while it's here. Spring will be here soon enough, and I can get to rolling around in muddy puddles when that happens....

8:35 AM. Continuing my morning constitutional. I wonder if it was just one of his tall tales when Twain said he'd seen 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours of spring....

8:55 AM. Hey, what's that up ahead? Is that the annoying squirrel I hate so much?

It is! I'm going to get him! Bark bark bark!!!

8:56 AM. The devious little bastard made it up a tree. Chattering away, taunting me from that branch. Why you annoying little punk, when I get my paws on you....

8:59 AM. Is that little bastard giving me the finger?????

9:03 AM. Circling around the tree. Squirrel continues his high pitched chattering. I don't speak squirrel, dummy, but I know you're taunting me. Consider yourself lucky you're not down here...

9:25 AM. How long can I stay here? Do I have enough patience? Or will my rumbling tummy and my incessant need for a snack drive me back off towards home? The devious little bastard is laughing at me...

10:15 AM. Okay, that's enough. Time to go home. I've been barking at the devious little bastard and circling this tree for over an hour. He's not coming down. One day, you little punk. One day. You'll pay. Oh, will you pay...

10:16 AM. I can hear the devious little bastard chattering away as I walk off. He's still laughing at me. I absolutely hate squirrels....

10:25 AM. Back home. In a foul mood. Have I mentioned I hate squirrels? The human greets me, and despite my foul mood, I wag my tail. Then she takes out the Towel of Torment.

10:28 AM. Reasonably dried off. Lying by the fireplace. Might take a nap. Will dream of finally getting my paws on that devious little bastard.

12:10 PM. Waking up. The human is making lunch in the kitchen. Oh, good! I can mooch something off her.

12:15 PM. Have successfully swindled the human into giving me a couple of bread rolls. With cheese and smoked meat. Yummy! Human, have I mentioned lately how much I love you? Even if you do occasionally wield the Towel of Torment?

12:20 PM. Back in living room... but very puzzled. Was the human redecorating while I was napping? What's with all the paper eggs on the windows? And why is there a bunny theme all over the place? Human, you do have a way of confusing me, you know...

12:30 PM. Consulting calendar. Ah, that would explain it. Apparently Easter is in a few days. That explains the eggs and bunny theme. Humans are quite peculiar.

12:45 PM. Musing on what Spike The Magnificent, Tormentor Of Squirrels once told me. He says some humans worship someone who rose from the dead, and that's what Easter is about. That and chocolate bunnies. I wonder if the whole rising from the dead thing means he was a cat. They do have nine lives, after all.

2:10 PM. Human? Do I get a chocolate bunny? I know, I know, everyone says it's bad for me, but you like chocolate....

6:35 PM. Human making dinner. Manage to give her my patented mooching eyes sad look. She gives right in and gives me a few strips of meat. Yummy yummy yummy. Human, I'll just say it. You're good people.

10:55 PM. Human turning in for the night. Good night, human. You know, if you want to, you could leave the chocolate bunnies for me to guard. I'd be ever so careful with the bunnies. You can trust me, human.

Human?

Hey, human?

Curses. She can see right through me.

A Day In The Life Of A Squirrel

7:25 AM. Awake and alert. Feeling peckish. Glancing outside my snug tree quarters. Most puzzling. It's snowing. And yet according to my calendar, it's technically spring. This is very disconcerting. When will the winter decide to finally pack up and leave? My food stores here are running low, and the extra caches are buried beneath the snow.

Where they will no doubt spring up into oak trees and the like. Curse my lousy memory as to where I bury everything. Oh well, I'll just have to raid some bird feeders today. Fortunately there's no shortage of them.

7:50 AM. Finished quick breakfast of peanuts and acorns. Yummy yummy yummy. Time to get started for the day. Lots to do, and never enough time....

8:10 AM. Out on my rounds. Have successfully raided bird feeders out at the Robinson house. Blue jays, cardinals, chickadees all very much annoyed with me. Hey, well, if you wanted it that much, you'd fight for it instead of just squawking your heads off.

Mrs. Robinson likes putting out lots of sunflower seeds. And since I love the taste of sunflower seeds, it's a win-win situation. Must stuff cheeks to maximum with extra sunflower seeds.

8:55 AM. Continuing rounds after dropping off extra sunflower seeds at home. Have been sighted by lunatic dog from the farm down the road. He starts barking the moment he sees me, and charges. I sprint up the nearest convenient tree. Lunatic dog circling below, barking endlessly. Nyah nyah nyah nyah! You can't climb trees, doggie!

10:15 AM. After much barking and circling around below the tree, the dog finally gives up and leaves. Good riddance, mutt! I have all the patience in the world, you know! And I know just how to push your buttons!

I don't imagine this teasing thing I do is ever going to come back to bite me, do you? Nonsense. That only happens to less fortunate squirrels.

11:00 AM. Chatting with Dougie from the hemlock grove across the road. We find ourselves wondering what's taking spring so long to turn up. Dougie says that until there's a robin around, we can't count on spring. We agree that we'll just have to make do raiding bird feeders. Humans are so gullible, and if they think they've designed a feeder that can keep a squirrel out, they're sadly mistaken...

11:25 AM. Finished my chat with Dougie. Snow still falling. Tempted to call in a complaint to the weather office. My inability to speak human languages wouldn't get me far anyway in that respect.

11:55 AM. Stopping in my tracks on my way home. Is that... is that an acorn on the path ahead?

It is! I must pick it up! Mine mine mine!!

11:56 AM. Admiring the acorn in my paws when I hear screeching protests from above. Oh, wonderful, it's that nitwit Jerry. This was your acorn? Sorry, Jerry, but if you drop it out of your tree, well, the rules are possession is nine tenths of the law, finders keepers and losers weepers, and I called dibs on it. You can't appeal when someone's called dibs.

11:59 AM. Bickering and snarling with Jerry. Much annoyed chattering from both of us. He finally decides retreat is the better course of action. Besides, he's barely four hundred grams, and I tip the scales at five fifty grams of pure squirrel muscle and attitude. Bye Jerry. Thanks for the acorn.

12:10 PM. Is there anything tastier than acorns? Well, maybe acorns with sunflower seeds on the side...

1:15 PM. Passing house along my route. Oh, that one has that annoying cat inside. I wonder if she's in or out?

1:17 PM. Have found out the cat is inside. She pounces onto the window sill, growling at me.

Nyah nyah nyah nyah! Can't get me!

1:20 PM. Still taunting the cat when I suddenly realize the cat isn't behind the window anymore. Where did she go?

1:21 PM. Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap!!! Running for my life!!! Cat in hot pursuit! Can I make it to that tree? I'm too young to die!!!!!!!

1:22 PM. Whew! Safe! Up the tree where that cat can't...

Oh, right. Cats can climb trees.

Oh, crap!!!!

1:23 PM. Have gone as high as I can. Fortunately the branch won't hold the weight of that cat... and she knows it. Whew! She looks annoyed with me.

Let's see... is it true cats find it hard to get out of trees? Will that buy me enough time if I make a jump for another branch and scramble past her?

1:25 PM. Have successfully leapt to nearby branch, bolting back for the main trunk of the tree, and down to the ground. Cat growling up in the tree in outrage. Hah hah hah, cat! I live to fight another day! You can't catch me! Sprinting off, leaving the cat behind. Glory be. I'm sure this won't come back to haunt me, right?

Right?

6:35 PM. Settling down to a nice dinner of sunflower seeds and oak seeds. Yummy yummy yummy. Yes, the squirrel's life is the life for me...

10:55 PM. Settling down for the night. Will dream of acorns. And peanuts. And sunflower seeds. All on a peanut butter sandwich. Boy, I wish humans had picnics in the winter. It's kind of hard to steal sandwiches from them this time of year, when all they do is eat inside.

Good night, world. Someone tell Old Man Winter he can leave post haste. I'm so overdue for spring....

Don't Cry For Me Argentina, The Truth Is I Never Liked You

While the Roman Catholic conclave was going on last week, drawing the world's attention, something else of note happened at the far edges of the world. The Falkland Islands, a south Atlantic outpost of the British people, held a referendum to remain a British territory. The islands, which thirty years ago saw a war between Britain and Argentina after the latter invaded, have long been an issue of dispute between the Argentinians and the British. The 1982 war still sticks in the proverbial craw of the Argentinians. Getting your ass thoroughly kicked will do that.

The vote was nearly unanimous in favour, which annoyed the Argentinian government to no end. They cried foul, claimed vote rigging. Having had given the impression they would abide by the will of the islanders, the Argentinians nonetheless insist that the Malvinas, as they call them, are being held by piracy, that the islands were hijacked, that they- and the energy and resource rights around them- are rightful property of the Argentinian people. In short, they decided to throw a temper tantrum.

From the writer's point of view, the subject draws my attention. I've been fascinated by this strange place for years, perhaps because it's one of those places that I don't understand. That's a draw to me. What is it about this place that triggered a war? I'd love to see the islands for myself, to explore the place, and understand it close up.

And as a writer, this ongoing story inspires me. I've speculated on the notion of writing antagonists into a book, a family of Germans who flee to South America in the dying days of the Second World War, still holding onto their fascist beliefs over the decades, hiding it beneath a veneer of respectability. Plenty of Nazis did manage to sneak away to South America, after all, including Argentina, after the war. Writing in a family of Nazis in the current day wouldn't be that difficult a prospect, particularly a family with close ties to the government in Buenos Aires, and their eyes on the Falklands.

Well, Argentina, I think we need to have a word. Come on over here, and we'll talk in private, just you and I. No need for the other countries to hear you get dressed down.

I think you need to let it go. Yes, I know, you've had your heart set on the Falklands for many a season, and how can I blame you? They're beautiful and inviting in their own way. All of that potential natural gas and offshore oil must be tempting. But it's not going to do you any good. They've told you they don't want to go steady. They've told you in as polite a way as possible that if you don't leave them alone, they'll issue a restraining order against you.

Now, I know, you're thinking if you just get them away from the burly British they've been going steady with, if you just get a chance to talk to them alone, you might stand a chance. You're figuring, hey, if we stand outside their window with a boom box and a puppy dog look, we might get a chance with our beloved Maldives. I'm sorry, but that only works in the movies. Or so I imagine. I've never actually seen that movie.

It's time to move on with your life. Forget the Falklands. They're not going to change their mind. They're not in the least bit interested in you. Invading them did leave them with a long memory after all. They're trying to be as polite as possible, but you're starting to grate on their nerves.

You need to rethink your life. Maybe get a new hobby. Pay attention to soccer. For some reason you seem to like that sport, and it'll take your minds off the referendum. Stalking the Falklands, insisting that you belong together, is only going to get you in trouble. Particularly with that British bloke they've been seeing. Remember what happened last time? Well, that'll happen again if you get uppity.

So for now, you'll have to tango amongst yourselves. The Falklands aren't interested in dancing. At least not with you.

Oh, don't start crying. You really want Chile to see you crying? You think they won't take advantage of that the first chance they get?

Why Can't We Have A Pope Daffy?

"And in my first act as the successor to Saint Pete, the Fisherman, the proverbial Bishop of Rome.... by the way, what's a Bishop of Rome pull in a year? In my first act, I'll hereby declare that across the world, it'll be rabbit season every day of the year, or wabbit season, as Elmer would say. That'll teach Bugs a lesson or two. No more of that confusing me by yelling Duck Season! Wabbit Season! over and over again. You know, that really gets me annoyed. I'm yelling Wabbit Season, he yells, Duck Season, and I start off on Wabbit Season, and he keeps going on Duck Season, until inevitably I'm stumbling over my words and yelling, "Duck Season! Fire!!!!" ~ Pope Daffy, moments before the opening of Swiss Guard gunfire.

"You're despicable." ~ Pope Daffy, seconds after the opening of Swiss Guard gunfire

"Okay, how long can we goof off until we actually have to get around to electing a Pope? And wouldn't this conclave be so much easier if we just settled it with a few games of high stakes billiards?" ~ unnamed Cardinal, Vatican City, March 2013

After Benedict (otherwise known as Darth Palpatine) decided to call it a day, I did a blog on the turn of events, fully expecting there would be another one with the Conclave and the choosing of another Pope. And I assumed that I'd be doing a few thousand more hail marys for it. You might want to step back; you don't want to attract the lightning that'll probably be coming my way, do you?

The editorial cartoonists of the world have continued to have a field day since last we did one of these, playing around with Benedict himself, the bizarre nature of the Conclave, and the new Pope, Francis of Argentina. Strangely enough, the Pope I wrote into my manuscript turned out to be a South American too.

 

And so we have a new Pope. Who just happens to look like Paul Shaffer of the Letterman show. Or Woody Allen. Or Peter Sellers in Doctor Strangelove. Or Jonathan Pryce. You could set up a drinking game based on this: Who Does The Pope Look Like? Pour yourself a shot everytime a player names someone else Pope Francis looks like.

In closing, I'll leave you with some of the other also-rans for the papacy. We're lucky some of them missed getting the job. And by some, I mean most of them.