Nutcracker! Sweeeet!

Six months ago I couldn't even spell "nutcracker" and now I am one!

M and J went away for a few hours yesterday and left me and Arlo to rearrange stuff. (Hint: I did all the work.) Before they left, they tried to Buddy-proof the house--especially the kitchen--but they usually like to leave something within reach to give me a feeling of accomplishment. This time it was a basket of walnuts that was on top of the stove, kind of far back, so that I had to stand on my tippy-toes and really stretch to reach it. Before I managed to do that, it looked something like this. (Keep in mind that in this photo it doesn't have as many nuts as it did originally.)

I would have been happy to just move the whole thing carefully to my bed in the living room, as I usually do. But it had so many pieces that as soon as I dragged it off the stove, it sort of went all over the floor. So when M and J came home I'm afraid it looked a bit disorganized:

One good thing that came from the whole experience, though, is that I can now open walnuts with my teeth:

In keeping with the "sometimes-you-feel-like-a-nut" theme, today my friend Davina stopped by with her Great Danes, Benny and Bessie. I got to go outside and schmooze with them. While I was out there I showed them how to eat acorns, caps and all. M and J tried to make me stop, saying I'd probably get sick. But I didn't. (Stop or get sick.) And anyway, a dog's gotta do what a dog's gotta do.

Happy birthday, Devil Dogs!

Today is the 235th birthday of the United States Marine Corps. To let me help celebrate, M loaned me his Marine "utility cover." Clothing of any type usually isn't my thing, but this was a reasonable exception. I think I cut quite a dashing figure:

M says this picture is very appropriate for today's blog post. That's because after the World War I Battle of Belleau Wood, the German soldiers called the Marines they were fighting Teufelhunden, which is pronounced "toy'-ful hoon'-den" and means "Devil Dogs." He also says that to this day Marines like that nickname a lot better than the usual alternatives of "leathernecks" and "jarheads."

We took some other poses while we were at it. Here's one I call I'm too sexy for my hat, too sexy . . .

Of course, it might be even sexier if we cock it down over one eye:

Oops--who turned out the lights?

Anyway, let me get back on message and tell proud Marines and their families everywhere, "Happy birthday and Semper Fi . . . and a great big Ooh-rah!"

When you lie down with humans . . .

. . . someone eventually takes your picture.

The first time something like this happened I was still living in the wild. J had been hand-feeding me bits of raw New York strip steak and then for some reason lay down in the grass, using her purse as a pillow. She seemed surprised when I flopped down beside her. (Here's a little secret: Give me enough steak and I'll let you use me for a pillow!) M was unable to capture that Kodak moment because he'd left his camera at home.

A few weeks ago I heard M and J wondering out loud whether they could recreate the scene in our living room. J pretended to fall asleep on the floor and I couldn't begin to disappoint her, even without the food bribery. So I stretched out in front of her and we made like two spoons in a drawer.

I knew she wasn't really sleeping. But before you could say "Goodnight, John Boy," I was! (Hey--I'm a dog. It's what I do.)

Either Marmaduke is channeling me...

...or I'm channeling him. Does this remind you of my blog entry from last May 28th?

My house is haunted!

It makes sharp cracking noises, which I find very upsetting. I'll be snoozing peacefully on the couch or my bed in the living room, or sometimes just on the living room floor, and all of a sudden--SNAP! I come to attention pretty fast. It happens a lot if I'm in M and J's room, too.

M says the house is not haunted. It's just that the wooden frame joints and siding creak when the sun heats them up. He says it's worse this time of year because the sun appears south of the equator and beats down more on the living room and the master bedroom.

But I think he's pumping a little sunshine of his own. This place is H-A-U-N-T-E-D. Those snaps and pops are the ghosts of Animal Control officers stepping on twigs as they try to sneak up on me.

"What about that noise that comes from the utility room every morning and evening?" I ask him. "The sun doesn't hit there."

"That's the water heater clicking on and off," he replies. "It's on a timer."

I'll let him believe that if it makes him feel better. But after about the second or third SNAP! from whatever alleged source, I head for my other bed, which is in J's office. It's darker and cooler in there anyway.

M says that this would be an appropriate time of year for the place to have ghosts, though, because tonight is Halloween. He says that lots of neighborhood kids--and even kids from other neighborhoods--will dress up as ghosts and goblins and witches and maybe other stuff like ballerinas or zombies or George W. Bush, and that starting around suppertime they'll go from house to house knocking on doors, yelling "Trick or treat! Smell my feet! Give me something good to eat!" Then if you don't give them a candy treat, they might play a mean trick on you.

"Like what?" I want to know.

"Like throw eggs at your car or TP your house or write on the screens with soap."

"Will they really do that?" I can imagine myself sitting at the living room window all evening, warding off the little buggers by barking and scaring the bejeezus out of them, letting them know that they can just take their shenanigans elsewhere.

"Probably not," he says. "We're not participating, anyway. You'd scare the bejeezus out of them as they came up the driveway. And besides, candy is expensive and the sugar will rot their teeth and give them diabetes."

So the treat turns out to be its own trick. How cool is that?

I ask how they'll know not to stop here, and he says we'll leave the porch light off. That's the signal we're not doing Trick or Treat. But I think I'll still sit at the window so I can bark at them if they get too close. Or maybe I'll just bark at them anyway.

When M was boarding Arlo at our cats' vet last week, he took these pictures of a couple of dogs (fake ones, not real ones) dressed in Halloween costumes. I'll admit they look pretty neat, but I don't think I'd like to get all gussied up like that. If you've followed this blog for a while, you know I prefer to go nekkid!

Hi-yo Halloween, everybody!