Four for the 4th.

Amazing that, with a four day weekend, including dynamite inspired entertainment and a family of boys sporting mullets, our most eventful moment was provided by our Italian Greyhound. Tater HATES fireworks. He is absolutely terrified by them, and will just run away (or try to jump into the back of a tinted, close windowed 4runner, only to be met by the stark reality that glass is, in fact, impermeable). We knew this. We took him with us to the farm anyways, where there is always an over abundance of pyromaniac boys and endless boxes of fireworks. We thought he was safely curled up under a towel in the back of the 4runner (the only un-American-made vehicle in attendance; at least it's an SUV). We were wrong. Tater had managed to escape. Where to?? That was anyone's guess.

The pond where we set up camp for the day is surrounded by acre, upon acre, upon acre, upon acre of open fields of 3 foot grass which eventually opens up to a highway that, as evidenced by the road kill every quarter mile or so, is no place for a little rat dog. So, Brock, Tali and I set off to walk the path back to the farmhouse, in case our dim-witted canine friend, had a moment of logic and chose to travel in the correct direction toward safety. Matt was driving back to the farmhouse, as this errand was the reason we even noticed Tater's disappearance, so he would be checking the highway. As I walk with Brock on my shoulder's calling Tater's name and making kissing noises, Tali leaps through the grass seeming to understand our mission and Brock just continually asks with upturned hands "where's Tater" and attempts to make kissing sounds himself.

After walking a good 1/3rd of a mile, my sister pulls up next to us with the car and offers her services. We get in, and decide it best to drive back to the house, then work our way backwards. Well, we arrive, and there you have it. We find Tater comfortably curled up in the backseat of the 4runner, as if nothing out of the ordinary has transpired. Apparently, about a mile or so down the road, Matt discovered our panicked, little greyhound running in the middle of the highway! Guess he figured his best odds of being seen for a tiny, black dog, is running on a black road. Yet again, Tater amazes us that he has survived these 5 years on earth. And thank goodness this little fiasco did not put a damper in any of the daily activities:

Never again will that animal be joining us for fireworks. But let's hope the mullets, coveralls, hillbilly golf, horseshoes, fishing, food, fireworks, family, fun and various facial hair styles make a regular appearance.

Blue Steel

Like Zoolander, Tater has some issues with turning left. And by issues, I mean, he is INCAPABLE of doing it. Every morning, when we head downstairs to go outside, instead of taking an immediate left at the bottom of the staircase, which is roughly 8 feet from the back door, Tater sprints through the hall, the living room and then the dining room to then exit from the kitchen. I'd stay he more than quadruples his footage. Sometimes I try to stop him when we get the the bottom and shove him into the kitchen. This completely disorients the poor fellow, and he honestly is confused as to how to get to the back door. Generally he turns a few right circles and figures it out, but every so often he gives up and sprints out of the kitchen to make his usual lap. One day, perhaps he will figure out how to become an ambiturner, but until then, he remains an idiot.

Best Phh-riends

Brock really loves his dogs. He does not leave them alone, obviously. I turned my back on Brock sitting by his Boppy only to turn back around and find him streched out over it petting Tater's stomach; Tater was in heaven.

Face painting? Count me in!

Cramer, Inc.

Annual Picnic

September 20th, 2008

I guess Matt's company has an annual picnic. I have no idea how long this has been going on, nor how successful it usually is - as far as turn out - but I can tell you that this year was a great success! A couple of his co-workers were pretty much professional face painters! I think someone almost lost a head playing a pick up game of softball, the basset peed on a cooler, a little girl nearly put Tater's entire head in her mouth in an attempt to give him a kiss, and perhaps the smallest child in attendance drank at least 3-4 cans of Sprite (all of which belonged to someone besides herself.)

Oh, and despite the appearance of the above photo, Matt and Danny do know each other, and do get along.

Plaza Art Fair - 2008

This is the artwork Matt and I purchased this year; "Watch Dog" by Keith Grace. I have seen this artist many times, and have mostly enjoyed his work. Though I am not really that obsessed with my Italian Greyhound, it was all to irresitable for me to purchase this representation. Tater is always being described as cartoonish, so this was only fitting. (And I kind of have a thing for clocks/watches in artwork.)

He Never Told Me

So, we had a bit of a crazy thunderstorm last night (according to a friend's 2 year old, Joey, "Jesus was bowling"). As I sat in the living room, playing Snood on my computer, I noticed Tater was cowering under my legs which were propped on the ottoman/coffee table. We've had him for over 2 years now, and he failed to ever mention that thunder and lightening terrify him. Next thing I know, I look down to find him scooting on his side to take cover under that table. Just as a side note, the clearance for that table tops out at approximately 5 inches. Perhaps this is a newly acquired fear, he is getting worrisome and anxious in his old age.