Hey, Harriet! Check Out Baby! The Shadow Cat Camera Critter
This is the one and only cat that I ever had as a pet. I got her from a pet store in West Palm Beach in 1978 where she was a tiny little kitty in a crate with her litter mates. I didn’t go into the pet store specifically to get a new pet, I just went to “look.” There was this crate with 5 or 6 kittens, and on top of the crate was a glass terrarium filled with little white mice. All of the kittens were sound asleep except for one. Picture this little kitten trying to figure out a way to get at the mice! I felt so sad for her, and decided on the spot that I was taking her home.
Baby was a great cat. She liked to play fetch, and she had a real thing for pickle relish, cantaloupe melon, and beef jerky. She only ate 9 Lives Chicken and Cheese and God help anyone that decided that changing up her food was a good idea. Eleven years of Chicken and Cheese made her very happy.
Weekly Vintage Square Shared: Me and Mr. Moe Celebate Halloween
That is Mr. Moe on the left, and me on the right, c. 1960-ish. Mr. Moe was made from an old pair of my dad’s pants, an old shirt, both stuffed with scrunched up newspaper, a plastic pumpkin for his head, an old hat, corncob pipe, and great-grandpa’s old bamboo cane. I don’t know where the idea of Mr. Moe came from, but he was a Halloween prop for many years, right up there with carved pumpkin, and lots of candy for trick-or-treaters.
I think I’ll make a Mr. Moe this year. I just hope the neighborhood kids don’t set him on fire or kick the stuffing out of him.
Weekly Vintage Square Stared: “Dodge Sedan” Streetcar, March 1934
On the lower left front of the streetcar, it is marked “Dodge Sedan,” and on the back of the photo it is marked “March 1934.” That’s it. No further information. No idea where the photo was taken, and believe me I’ve done some major “googling.” I like the composition of this photo, the grainy, dirty, and the cold wintry street. It makes me want to pack my bags and head back to Florida.
Stuff Dogs Like – Thankgsiving Dinner!
Let me say first off that this is a true story. It happened many years ago, and has become one of those family stories that gets retold almost every year on Thanksgiving.
My mom cooked the Thanksgiving turkey early in the day, and the plan was that we would go visit friends across town, and come back for dinner about 45 minutes later. So, when the turkey was done, mom covered it in aluminum foil, put the covered pan on the kitchen counter next to the oven, and off we went. My parents, my younger sister, and me. Left home alone was one 22 pound Butterball turkey, all the makings for gravy, and vegetables that would only need to be reheated when we got home for dinner. Oh, yea, did I forget to mention that the dogs were left home, too?
Cleo and Kissy were mother and daughter. They were both black poodles and weighed in at about 20-25 lbs. They were nice dogs, and both of them absolutely loved my mother. They tolerated the rest of the world. They would attack my dad anytime he got in or out of bed, and while they weren’t terribly destructive dogs, I know for a fact that Cleo used to do things out of spite. Leave me home and go out to have fun without me? I think I’ll dig a hole in your mattress. Stay out all day and ignore me on the weekend? Well, I think I’ll just destroy every pillow in the house so that when you go to vacuum up the mess you burn up two vacuum motors.
I think you can see where this is going. Our kitchen in the house where I grew up was early-1960’s Florida turquoise, and if you were an agile French Poodle, you could jump on the kitchen chair, on to the kitchen table and counters, walk across the kitchen counters, dodge the double sinks, and voila! You would find yourself right there on the counter next to the oven. The very special place where a 22 pound Butterball was relaxing under its shiny aluminum foil hat.
When we got home from our visit, imagine the surprise on everyone’s face when upon entering the kitchen, Tom Turkey was lying on the kitchen floor partially eaten and partially destroyed! My mom started yelling. My dad started laughing. And two little black dogs went running for cover under the couch in the family room.
After everything was cleaned up, Tom Turkey’s remains discarded, and we sat down to a dinner of vegetables. No gravy for the potatoes since the dogs had eaten the giblets, too. If you could ask my dad, he would tell you that it was probably the best Thanksgiving dinner he ever had. He likes the veggies the most, and was probably cheering on the dogs for their ingenious behavior. That was of course, until the turkey, and grease, and giblets hit the dogs straight in the gut. I won’t describe what followed for the next couple of days except to say that it involved a lot of paper towels, Lysol disinfectant, and more yelling by my mother.
So. The morals of this story?
- Don’t leave your cooked turkey dinner unattended in a house with a dog;
- If you do leave your turkey dinner unattended, make backup plans for dinner;
- It is always wise to have Pine-Sol or Lysol, paper towels, and a strong constitution on hand if you have mischievous dogs.
The culprits:
Weekly Vintage Square Shared: Sitting on the Fender- Virginia, 1939
I really like this photo — the look of innocence on the young girl’s face, hands folded neatly in her lap, ankles crossed, knees together; the look of slight impatience on the young man’s face with his slicked-back hair and big ears. Were they boyfriend and girlfriend? Or, brother and sister? Who took the picture? Mom? or Dad? The only thing I know for sure is that the license plate reads Virginia – 1939. There’s a very pretty rose arbor, white picket fence, and is that a Coca-Cola sign over there on the building behind the car (left)? Another time, unknown people, in an unknown place. Very Capraesque.
Daily Vintage Square Morphs Into Weekly Vintage Square Shared
I have a collection of vintage photos and post cards, and for a while I was posting them on another blog called “Daily Vintage Square.” It all got to be a bit too much keeping track of two blogs, then another third photography blog, and then another personal journal. Yikes! Talk about overextending to the point that everything suffered neglect.
I really like vintage photos, and they make me wonder about the people, places, and things from long ago. I love the old styles, hairdos, smart looking cars, and furry little critters. So, starting today, I’m going to post a vintage photo here once a week on Tuesdays. The photos and postcards might be something that you already saw on the other blog if you were checking it out back then, but bear with me. This might be more fun!
Here’s the twist: instead of posting the photo for all to look at and move on, I think it would be fun to make conjecture and wonder out loud. Everyone is invited to comment, make up a story, wonder out loud either by leaving a comment here, or cross-posting on your own blog. Feel free to copy the photos to your own blog with a mention to Two Barking Dogs.
If I know anything definite about a photo like a name, date or place, I’ll share it with you. For instance, this photo was from a collection that I bought on eBay and came from California.
Originally, I liked this photo because of the shadows that the pine trees project onto the little bungalow in the background. Now, looking at this lady’s face, and her clothing, I wonder if she was on her way out for a night on the town? One of my grandmothers used to have a fox stole like that one, and it creeped me out as a little kid. Can you imagine wearing a stole like this in public today? I love this lady’s smile – she seems so relaxed and happy.
My ideas?
Her name is Gladys. She moved to California 10 years previously from Chicago or Milwaukee. She drinks sloe gin fizzes, and she cheats when she plays gin with her next door neighbors. She has two small yappy dogs, and she likes to sit on the front porch in the evenings. She never married, and she likes to go to parties with her girlfriends. She works as a secretary, and she hates going back to visit family in the mid-west because they don’t understand her, and because she would miss the California weather too much.
I’m Back … I Think I’ll Sue Someone
I spent the last two weeks in Florida visiting the Old Folks. It was very hot and very humid. I didn’t do much of anything except run back and forth to the doctor the first week (nothing fatal, just routine), and the second week? Nothing much that week either.
Clover and Cosmo are readjusting to life in Virginia with the little yard and no Hairy Beast to play with, and I’m doing my own laundry again. Ah well, reality sets back in.
A couple of highlights from Florida:
- Cosmo escaped the backyard and ran away for all of about 5 minutes. I was visiting the Old Folks that live next door (my Aunt and Uncle), when my mom called to say that Cosmo was loose and running down the street, and that my 82 year-old -heart patient -recuperating from a hernia operation father was giving chase. I dashed home and grabbed the car keys, almost ran over the gardener, and headed to the last known spot where father and dog were spotted. I no sooner turned the corner that I spotted my dad who pointed to Cosmo who was watering the shrubs. I called him and I could see the wheels turning in his little pea brain … “to run? or not?, that is the question.” He chose the preferred option and came right over to me when I called him, sat very very still, and waited for me to leash him up. Smart dog.
- I got to see a Miami Dolphins game on tv. (Comment: In the words of Forrest Gump, “That’s all I have to say about that.”)
- I noticed that the car dealerships that have dominated local television advertising for years, have been replaced by advertisers for every weight loss system, supplement, or program ever invented.
- Clover barks more in Florida than she does in Virginia. A whole lot more.
- My parents are addicted to Fox News Channel. I know this because, my parents were having a conversation the other day about someone Megyn who just had a baby and that they named it Edward. It took me 20 questions to figure this one out.
- Both of my parents need hearing aids.
- One of the commercials on tv got my attention was www.whocanisue.com. Yes. That’s right, “Who Can I Sue . Com“ I have to say that I am still shaking my head over that one. I checked out the website. I guess it could be helpful to someone.
- What the hell happened to all of those car dealerships that used to scream at you about the latest greatest model at the best lowest price ever? Maybe I’ll sue someone to find out.
That’s it for now. I’m off to watch the Washington Redskins lose to Tampa Bay barely win the game over Tampa Bay.
Please check back after the break …
Back in a couple of weeks …
Courtesy of the Cartoon Blog by Dave Walker
Hey, Little Guy, Check it out!
I love this photo. It is from back when Cosmo was just a puppy. It always makes me laugh. Its like Clover is saying, “Hey Cosmo, check this out. Do you see any squirrels? Who’s out there? Let me show you what to bark at, ok?”
Stuff Dogs Like – Music vs. Talk Radio!
When Clover was a puppy and in the process of destroying my home piece by piece, someone at work told me that if I left the radio on for her, the music would “soothe the savage beastie.” At that point, I decided “what the heck, it can’t hurt.” The first day, I tuned the radio to a classical music station, patted Clover on the head and went to work. When I got home from work, I was greeted by Clover and a completely shredded telephone book. Strike the classical music.
I moved to Country & Western. The results with C&W netted me new holes in the drywall, and a couple of destroyed shoes. Strike the C&W. From there, I worked my way through the music choices, all of which provided Clover no comfort at all. As a matter of fact, I think the music might have even spurred her on in some cases.
Then, I found Talk Radio. I can’t remember the station that I tuned into, but this genre seemed to help. The sound of human voices seemed to have a positive effect on Clover. It wasn’t a cure-all, but it helped.
Now, fast forward 8 years to Northern Virginia. I still leave the radio on for her when I leave the house, and have it tuned to WTOP so she can listen to the weather report, Traffic on the 8’s, and stay up-to-date on Washington News and Sports. The one and only thing I wish is that they would ditch the commercials that use the sound of fireworks in them, usually around any holiday like the 4th of July, Memorial and Labor Day. Drives poor Clover crazy.
There are all kinds of “music for dogs” CDs out there, some of them backed by “studies” made by veterinarians, experts in dog behavior, and so on. You can spend lots of money on music for your dog(s). I am not saying whether they work or not. What I am saying is you should put that Visa card back in your wallet, and put on a Talk Radio station. Your dog(s) wont care what they’re talking about, but they may just enjoy the sound.
Kids Say The Darndest Things
My younger (and only) sister was a very precocious child. She is four years younger than me, and she loves to remind me as often as possible that she is the “younger” sister and that I am the “older” one.
Way back in the day, as I was approaching the age of 11 or 12, my mom made a point of putting some time aside for the two of us to watch a special on PBS about pregnancy and babies. It was an hour show, and it was all about the birds and bees. Afterwards, my mom asked me if I had any questions, and I can’t imagine that I did. I was probably in shock!
My sister, who was deemed too young for the content of the show was banished to the bedroom with a bribe of some Oreos. It wasn’t until the show was over that my mom realized that Little Sister had been eavesdropping from the hallway and that she got her “birds and bees” lesson a lot earlier than my mom had intended.
A couple of weeks later, my parents had some friends over for drinks and cards. My sister, suffering from an upset tummy is sitting on the toilet in our bathroom. She opens the door, sticks her head out, and hollers: “Mom! Come quickly! I have gonorrhea!”
Everyone at the table stopped, and turned to my mother who had turned a bright shade of red. Mom goes in to see what was wrong with Little Sister and make sure she was o.k. , and asks her where she had heard “that” word, to which my sister said that she had overheard it on the television. At that point, my mom tried to explain the difference between gonorrhea and diarrhea!
As you can imagine, the adults at the table all had a great laugh over this. And, 40 years later, it still makes me laugh.
My Dad Ain’t No Julia Child
My dad is one of six kids, and was born in 1927 in New York. One of his first jobs at the very young age of 5 or 6 years was to sweep the floor of the candy store below their apartment. You had to know my grandmother to understand the rest of this story. She worked full-time for many years, as did my grandfather. Her kids were often left to their own devices, and my dad says that “the best dressed kid in the family was the one that got up first.” She could handicap a horse with her eyes closed, and she knew the season’s racing schedule by heart, but she herself would have told you about her lack of cooking skills. She could burn water. Grandma was no Suzie Homemaker.
My grandmother’s one claim to culinary fame was her pot roast. My mom makes it from time-to-time, but it really is a lot of work and the onions really stink up the house. The pot roast is always yummy, and if you didn’t know that it had ginger snaps or vinegar in it you would never know!
So. Back to my dad (and where I’m going with this) …
I was about 10-years-old and very interested in cooking and baking. I remember one Saturday asking my mom if I could make a cake. She said sure, and got out a box of Duncan Hines cake mix. My dad, sitting at the table having his coffee and reading the newspaper, was horrified. He launched into a story about how he used to bake cookies and cakes when he was my age and he NEVER used a mix! So, me being the brat that I was, I challenged him, “So, dad, why don’t you show us how to make a cake from scratch if you can remember how.”
My dad rose to the challenge and said, “Sure! Why not!” I remember my mom saying, “Great. Just clean up the mess when you’re done.” I asked my dad if he needed a recipe from one of mom’s books, and he said “Recipe? Now way! I remember how to do this from memory!”
My dad set out to make a complete mess of the kitchen. He sifted flour, measured out this and that and mixed things up by hand (“The way I did it when I was a kid”). I remember this like it was yesterday. There was flour everywhere, egg shells on the tile countertop, and the oven heating up. My dad greased and floured the two cake pans, filled them with a yummy chocolate batter, slapped the pans on the countertop “to get the air bubbles out of the cake,” and popped the two rounds into the oven to bake.
Hmmm. The smell was divine. The timer went off. My mom and I came into the kitchen to check out dad’s cake. He, with a big smile on his face, put on the oven mits, and reached into the oven to take out his cake pans.
Hmmm. The look on his face! It was as flat as his cakes! He was horrified! He looked at me and my mom and mumbled something about the oven, or the eggs, or the bad baking powder … Oops! Baking powder, you say?
That mishap occurred about 40 years ago. That was probably one of the last things my dad ever tried to bake or cook aside from the occasional boiled hot dog. I’m not even going to go into the time that he “baked the steaks” in the oven at 200 degrees for 4 hours or the fact that he still calls the microwave that “new fangled thing.”
Hey Harriett! Check Out Casey and The Pool and the Little Bitty Shadow!
This is a photo of Casey. She grew up to be a lovely Golden Retriever. She loved everyone, and especially anyone with a treat! She is long gone now, but she holds a spot in the Our Family’s Pet Hall of Fame.
How White Peaches Saved Our Family Vacation From Being A Total Disaster
I know with a lot of people, summer time means watermelon, but for me it means peaches. I suppose I have a fondness for white peaches …
One summer my parents loaded my sister and me into the used early-1960’s Chrysler New Yorker that my dad had recently bought from his boss. My dad hated that car. He said it was ugly and that it drove like a giant boat. This particular summer vacation, we headed from South Florida to a cabin in North Carolina which belonged to a friend of my dad’s.
I’ll never forget driving up the highway, when my sister who was about 8-years-old at the time, asked my dad “Daddy! Is the car supposed to be making black smoke out the back?” My dad cursed, and we ended up staying three days and nights in a Holiday Inn in Valdosta, Georgia. This was back in the late-1960’s, and my dad tells the story about going with the local mechanic after he got off work to some juke joint to find the mechanic’s brother who had a junk yard and who might be able to supply a couple of needed parts. My dad, however, had to wait at the bar in the old rural joint while the mechanic and his brother attended their weekly Ku Klux Klan meeting in the back room. I think my dad won a few dollars in a dice game that night, but hearing him retell the story some 40-years later, he will tell you that he was scared to death, and couldn’t wait to put Valdosta in the rear view mirror.
While my dad was working at getting the car fixed, my mom, sister and I hung out at the wonderful swimming pool, and I even made a few dollars giving little kids swimming and diving lessons.
When the car was finally fixed, my parents reloaded us into the car and we headed toward the remainder of our vacation. We stopped somewhere in South Carolina, and my mom bought a bushel of fresh white peaches. Its the first time I remember ever eating a white peach. It was one of those seminal moments! Peaches come in white! Who knew!
By the time we made it to the cabin, which was up a very steep and winding road, and required my dad to do some amazing maneuvers to get the car into the driveway, my sister and I had eaten about half of the peaches. We were covered from head to toe in sticky peach juice and I thought my mom was going to kill us for eating so many of the peaches. This transgression was completely forgotten when my mom tried to open the front door to the cabin. The door wold not budge. It was one of the first times I ever saw my mom have a meltdown. My dad got the door open after about 10 minutes of struggling, pulling, and swearing. Mom’s meltdown was right up there with my dad’s when he realized the case of Carling’s Black Label Beer he had loaded into the car in Florida was almost gone, and that we were spending the rest of the week in a cabin on top of a mountain in a dry county.
So, there we all were. My mom with a migrane and really pissed off at my father, my dad thirsty and without a beer in sight, all of our vacation money was used to purchase a gasket for a car that my dad really hated, my sister and me sharing a queen sized bed in a room with spiders on the ceiling, and a bathroom without any hot water.
Two things that saved the vacation from being a total disaster for me was the stash of really racy romantic novels I found in the bedroom closet, and the remainder of the bushel of white peaches.
Photo Courtesy of Fir0002/Flagstaffotos
Just Call Me Ms. Monk
A couple of weeks ago, my neurologist called me to say he wanted me to see an Infectious Disease Specialist (IDS) to rule out Lyme Disease. Apparently, those little ticks can cause quite the ruckus in animal and man, and someone with Lyme Disease can present with a lot of the symptoms that I’ve been having over the past few months.
When I looked up the doctor on-line, and some sleuthing as to what exactly an IDS doctor is all about, I started to get worried. Just the word “infectious” is enough to get my stomach all upset. I kept thinking about sitting in the waiting room surrounded by people hacking up H1N1 virus all over the office.
I used my trusty new Garmin Nuvi to help me find the doctor’s office in an area of town that I wasn’t totally familiar with. I did know, however, that at 3:00 p.m., the traffic was going to be miserable so I started out in the general direction completely ignoring the “Turn Right in 50 feet. Turn right now,” which would have put me on the Interstate. Garmin kept saying “recalculating.” After about 10 “recalculations,” I was waiting for the Nuvi to yell at me: “Turn me off if you’re not going to take the route I’m giving you, you idiot!”
I arrived at the doctor’s office a full 45 minutes early, filled out forms, and actually got in to see the doctor early. There was one lady sitting in the corner of the waiting room having a fight wit her significant other on the cellphone between hacking coughs that sounded terrible. I kept waiting for the TB police to show up and haul her off to some sanitarium. There was also a man there that upon close inspection reminded me of another weeble .
I met with the doctor for over 1 and 1/2 hours while she inspected me, my lab work, and consulted with my neurologist over the phone. The verdict? I do not have Lyme Disease.
Oh, and some really bad news? I am now suffering from a case of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). I cannot stop washing my hands.
Road Kill of a Different Kind; or, “Is that a dead squirrel or a toupé?”
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Have you ever wondered about the crap that you see lying along the highway? Or the trash that you see curbside? Or anywhere else you might pass on a daily basis?
Photo from funnyanimalphoto
I think about these things all the time.
A while back, I pulled into a parking spot at the local grocery store and when I got out of the car, “I spied” a man’s toupé! It was a blondish-brown, and it looked like fresh road kill. That’s it. No explanation as to how it got there. Just a forlorn toupé. I wonder if the wind blew it off? Or the guy had had enough with gluing his hair to his big old bald head and threw it out the window? Sadly, we’ll never know.
I am constantly spying things along the highway, too. Last week, along the Jersey barrier that separates the East- and West-bound lanes of I-66, was a suitcase. It was a nice suitcase the first day that I saw it, by the end of the week, it was still there, but had been hit, run over, battered and nearly flattened. A few days after that, the contents were strewn along the barrier. I feel for the skinny little brat that is missing her pink Victoria’s Secret push-up bra.
Just today, on the way to work, was the local WTOP news reporter, who, in a deadpan voice said something like “Everyone traveling South-bound on I-95, near Exit XYZ, please be aware of debris in the right-hand lane. There are stuffed toys and doll parts everywhere.” And, at that point, he just kept reading off the accidents, and work zones around the Beltway. Seriously! You can’t make this crap up. Can you imagine the poor non-WTOP listening folk that came upon the scene of toys and doll parts strewn across the highway? Heart attack city!
When you have dogs, you tend to notice garbage a lot. I’m always on the lookout for a putrid piece of food that escaped from the garbage can, broken glass, and anything else that my dogs might sniff, lick, or munch down. Remember, they’re Labrador Retrievers. They’ll eat anything.
In Scotland a few years ago, Clover and I were out for a walk in what I had thought to be a pretty rural and serene location. Well, I guess I was right about the serene part because the amount of used condoms that I spotted made me believe we had happened upon the local Lover’s Lane. Ever try to lecture a dog on the difference between a condom and a balloon? Yuck.
How about the poor, unsuspecting guy with a pickup truck who has been talked into helping his friend’s brother’s girlfriend move across town. “Hey, friend, no need to tie anything down, we’re only going a few miles down the road.” And, at that point, a swift wind comes along and blows half of the truck’s contents onto the highway. Have you ever seen what an 18-wheeler can do to a king-sized box spring? It’s not pretty. And, it wasn’t pretty as I swerved to miss the flattened remains lying in the middle of I-95 either.
But, these are. You just never know what you’ll spot along the highway.
Written by twobarkingdogs
September 4, 2009 at 11:03 AM
Posted in blogging, commentary, crap, driving, roadkill, trash
Tagged with doll parts, highway junk, I-95, road kill, toupe, trash on the highway, victoria's secret bra, wtop