It's not easy wearing green. - TBT

For St. Patrick's Day this year I decided to do a Throwback Thursday post, reprising the one from five years ago. Hope you enjoy this blast from the past!

Those of you who know me might recall that I prefer running around nekkid to wearing any kind of clothing. But I figure that a faithful dog should try to sport some token piece of green attire when (a) his main peeps are largely of Irish pedigree and (b) this just happens to be St. Patrick's Day!

So sure and Begorrah, here goes:

M asked if I could try to look a bit more upbeat, and I said maybe, if someone else puts on a silly hat and gets in the picture with me.

Give us a kiss, sweetie!

Woof! Too much celebration is rough on a body:

Let's all have a safe and happy St. Paddy's Day!

Mike's feeling mathy today.

I'm doing this post as a public service announcement for Mike. Ordinarily I'd blow it off, since numbers usually give me a headache. But M's a special dude in my life, so just for him I'll pass it on for your perusal:

Today is March 14th, which it seems is also known as Pi Day. That's because pi (sometimes written as the Greek letter “π”) is a famous number that is approximately equal to 3.14, and today's date is the 14th day of the 3rd month of the year--3/14, get it?

Technically, M tells me, pi is the ratio of the circumference of any circle to its diameter, and it's NOT a nice, even number--heavens no! It's an "irrational" one, which means that to the right of the decimal point the digits never end, but go on and on forever and never repeat any predictable pattern--sort of like Mike when he gets on a mathy rant, only sometimes he does repeat himself. It's also a "transcendental" number. (Please Google that if you feel like it; I'm getting a migraine. Perhaps you are, too.)

M tells me that by using a computer, pi has been computed to over one trillion digits, and who am I to dispute that--Donald Trump? Its value rounds to 3.14159, which further rounds to 3.1416, which makes this year's March 14th a very special Pi Day, because it's 3/14/16. There won't be another one like this for 100 years.

A hundred. Now that's a number I can sink my teeth into! Speaking of sinking one's teeth into stuff, I asked Mike if he'd like to celebrate pi day with a big piece of--uh--pi, and he said that would be great. I said what kind would you like, and to nobody's surprise he said this kind:

If anyone would like to roll around in this topic some more, here's a website that I'll admit is sort of interesting.

Happy Pi Day, everybuddy!

PS - In keeping with the spirit of the occasion, note the exact time we posted this on 3/14 . . .

I've said it before and I'll say it again:

Some days are diamonds, some days are stone.

And some turn out to be both!

Happy birthday, Grandma!
I still miss you, Grandpa!

Love,
Buddy

Six years ago to this very minute . . .

. . . I was lying in repose at the edge of the old sinkhole across the street from the tennis courts, digesting a nice dinner provided by one of my arms-length caregivers. Suddenly a car pulled to a stop a few feet away, and the driver got out. It was some random guy I'd never seen before. He was carrying a camera, and before I could say "Where's the fridge?" he took my picture.

It was the first one that Mike ever took of me--and as you can see, it was a bit blurry:

He later told me that he'd rushed the shot because he was nervous, since I looked like I could easily have chomped his head off for dessert.

"Would I do that?" I asked him. But at the time all I thought was Just don't try to touch me, Buster, and we might get along. I stood up and struck a pose, and he took another pic, which came out a lot better:

Our friendship grew slowly. It took seven weeks of cajoling before I let him and Jeannie lay hands on me--seven weeks of them crawling up to me on all fours to feed me pieces of raw sirloin steak. You can't be too careful, am I right?

But I think it all worked out okay. Don't you?

Happy Birthday, Rabbie!

Today is the 257th birthday of one of my favorite poets, Robert Burns. In his honor, I've written a wee verse "chiefly in the Scottish dialect." (I borrowed that last bit from the name of his most famous poetry book!)

Here it goes:

The Happy Bog Wanderers

Ah dreamt ah wis a hieland dog

A-rovin' thro' a hieland bog,

Glengarry at a jaunty tilt,

A cauld wynd whistlin up ma kilt.

Th' wynd it did nae bather me,

Fur ah wis wild--ma hairt wis free.

Wi' mukker Mike thare by ma side,

Na ither steid cuid ah abide.

A braw 'n' bonny birthday, Rabbie!