We took The Puppies to a groomer for a bath, brushing, and paw rotation. This place is supposedly where President Gerald Ford took his dog or dogs. The Ford fact wasn't confirmed at presstime, but Deb told me so that makes it totally correct. Right? The Puppies were not impressed some ex-presidential dogs got a bath at this place. The Puppies would rather get neutered than have a bath. Well they spent the whole day at the groomers and came back all fluffy, smelly, and mad. Of course Deb had to drop them off and pick them up. I didn't want The Puppies hating me for the rest of their lives. Several years ago we took The Puppies to a groomer on the outskirts of New Orleans which was a year or two before Katrina flattened the groomer's store--or maybe New Orleans' Katrina shoppers did. Anyway, we went to pick The Puppies up at the New Orleans groomers and walked into the place and The Puppies were on tables being blown dry by large hot air driers. Dude, The Puppies were really upset. What was funny was the hair that was floating all in the air inside that building. It was something to see. Hair was on everything including the groomers. Oh well, The Puppies survived the presidential groomers too.
Speaking of The Puppies, we often walk on this trail that surrounds the park which is the same trail that The Puppies had their close encounter of the rabbit kind. Anyway, this woman with two ankle biter dogs, whom I will refer to her as Poopypants without an explanation, joined us as we got onto the trail. The Puppies liked her dogs and wanted to sniff them, but Poopypants wanted no part of that situation. Poopypants uttered some feeble excuse and scurried up the walking trail trying to get away from us with the ankle biters in tow behind her like dinghys being towed behind a battleship (battleaxe actually). Of course this situation occurred before The Puppies went to the presidential groomers, and I guess they looked like barbarians or something to her. Poopypants was hauling butt down the trail trying to get away. The Puppies were pulling on their leashes wanting to catch the ankle biters so they could hump them or somesuch. I don't know what The Puppies really wanted please ask them. Now The Puppies were not straining themselves too much but did want to pee on the ankle biters or something. Again, I don't know what they wanted. Well, Poopypants just kicked in 3rd gear and was running down the trail really unsociable like. Of course, dogs will be dogs, and one of the ankle biters just squatted and pooped while she was trying to drag the little feller down the trail. Poopypants was in a quandary as to whether she should stop and let The Barbarians catch her dogs or stop and let Ankle Biter #1 finish his democrat statue. I think I heard The Barbarians giggling about now. Ole Poopypants quickly halted, reached down and snatched up the democrat statue and started running again which she might have succeeded until Ankle Biter #2 squatted in mid panic mode to make another democrat statue. Deb and I were laughing loudly about now and sped up to catch her. The Barbarians and us finally caught her and passed her without much fanfare. Poopypants was all bowed up and unhappy. Deb said something to her but I guess Poopypants was too peeved with her ankle biters to reply. Poor Poopypants. Now that I think about it, I think it would be better to say poor ankle biters.
Speaking of idjits, I had to fax something back to Raleighwood and didn't have a fax machine in The Love Boat. What you don't know is that we actually carry a combination printer, fax, and scanner in the basement area. The idea is that Deb and I could have a mobile office. Except I took the dern thing out in Raleigh so I could put different junk in its place. We historically never used the printer. Well duh.. So, I had to find an office supply store that had a fax. It just so happens a small, private supply house resided about 1/2 mile from The Love Boat. It took about 2 minutes to get to the place. When I walked in I noticed a sign that said "Official US Post Office". This place acted for a fee as the local post office and was about the size of a small convenience store but jammed with all kinds of office crap. The counter took up about 1/2 of the store and had a 2" by 12" hole cutout in the front of the counter about 2' office the floor. The cutout allowed people to put mail into a post office bin under the counter. Just as I got up to the counter a guy with a post office uniform came in and walked around the counter and got underneath it busily putting letters that had fallen unto the floor into the bin. In walks a guy, we will call him Mr Genius, about twenty years old with a huge boxful of mail from one of the car dealerships nearby. Mr Genius walks up to the counter and was preparing to put the mail into the slot. Being a person that loves a good joke, I looked at the postman and said, "Looks like people want to fill it up faster than you can empty it". The postman laughed and said that the bin was overflowing, and he was trying to get the mail into another bin. I could see the postman's hands through the slot going like gangbusters picking up mail from the floor. Well Mr Genius had heard us but decided now was the time for him to put his armful of mail through the slot. I started laughing and looked at Mr Genius. It took Mr Genius about a minute to cram all of that mail a handful at a time through that slot while the postman was three feet from him under the counter picking the mail up off the floor. Mr Genius walked out and I had a good laugh at this. I asked the postman, "Dude I'm no rocket scientist but why didn't Mr Genius just hand you that box of mail since you are three feet from him". The guy that ran the store and the postman laughed and said that it happens a lot. The store owner said people would come in with huge envelopes or boxes and couldn't but would try to cram the stuff through that mail slot even though the owner was on the other side of the counter. I'll bet those idjits had BO for Prez bumperstickers on their Dodge Darts too.
See Yall later. I'll try and update more often.
Al
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