Sarah Strohmeyer's Blog - Posts Tagged "fred"
Today I am 5
Well, not me. Fred. Fred the basset. My April Fool. (You can see his birthday photo in my photos since I haven't figured out the Goodreads uploader code.)
I always wanted a basset hound ever since my neighbor Mrs. Arbogast had Pokey, a basset who slept on her driveway and never moved. It was like he'd been steamrolled. Maybe he was stuffed. Who knows?
Having been denied dogs (and Barbies, but that's for another blog) as a kid, the first dog I chose on my very own was Fred. I remember when I used to hold him in my hand and cuddle him under my chin. Now, he's 60 lbs and loooong. And a lover, especially of children.
Now, it just so happens we live about one hundred feet from the elementary school where Fred is something of a local celebrity. When the doors are open in the summer, Fred has been known to saunter into Mrs. Domanski's first grade class and have a sit down. Last year he arrived center stage at the spring concert and more than once the little league coach down the street has had to chase him off the field for catching baseballs.
But that's Fred. He loves chicken and his buddy dogs - Shayla, Sam and Niko. He sleeps. He talks. He insists on sitting in the passenger seat. In fact, he knows all about driving. And he likes dinner at exactly 5 p.m.
What he can't figure out are the cats. And that's just the way they like it.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED!
I always wanted a basset hound ever since my neighbor Mrs. Arbogast had Pokey, a basset who slept on her driveway and never moved. It was like he'd been steamrolled. Maybe he was stuffed. Who knows?
Having been denied dogs (and Barbies, but that's for another blog) as a kid, the first dog I chose on my very own was Fred. I remember when I used to hold him in my hand and cuddle him under my chin. Now, he's 60 lbs and loooong. And a lover, especially of children.
Now, it just so happens we live about one hundred feet from the elementary school where Fred is something of a local celebrity. When the doors are open in the summer, Fred has been known to saunter into Mrs. Domanski's first grade class and have a sit down. Last year he arrived center stage at the spring concert and more than once the little league coach down the street has had to chase him off the field for catching baseballs.
But that's Fred. He loves chicken and his buddy dogs - Shayla, Sam and Niko. He sleeps. He talks. He insists on sitting in the passenger seat. In fact, he knows all about driving. And he likes dinner at exactly 5 p.m.
What he can't figure out are the cats. And that's just the way they like it.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED!
The Cats Are Out to Kill Me
I live in Vermont with two cats I adopted from the local humane society four years ago - evil sisters, or so they said - Fred the basset, as well as a collection of humans. But they're not important. Today, it's all about the cats and how they're trying to kill me.
They've been practicing on small animals, warming up with mice and then moving on to other members of the order Rodentia. Chipmunks. Voles. Moles. They arrive in various states of decapitation much like the Mafia drops off horse heads. Calling cards of cold-blooded assassins. Warning signs that the Sensitive Stomach Purina Chow is just not cutting the mustard.
One day, I emerged from the downstairs bathroom to find their latest weapon - a snake curled up and very much alive right outside the door. This could only have been a matter of revenge since my fear of snakes is legendary. They hate me for reasons I do not know.
Much to their chagrin I'm sure, the snake was a simple garter. Not much poison to kill me and I was able to sweep it into a waste basket and throw it outside.
....And yet they continue to plan and plot.
If I don't blog someday, call the PD and tell them whom to finger. Because if I write "Patches and Tiny" in my blood, you know they'll only lick it off.
They've been practicing on small animals, warming up with mice and then moving on to other members of the order Rodentia. Chipmunks. Voles. Moles. They arrive in various states of decapitation much like the Mafia drops off horse heads. Calling cards of cold-blooded assassins. Warning signs that the Sensitive Stomach Purina Chow is just not cutting the mustard.
One day, I emerged from the downstairs bathroom to find their latest weapon - a snake curled up and very much alive right outside the door. This could only have been a matter of revenge since my fear of snakes is legendary. They hate me for reasons I do not know.
Much to their chagrin I'm sure, the snake was a simple garter. Not much poison to kill me and I was able to sweep it into a waste basket and throw it outside.
....And yet they continue to plan and plot.
If I don't blog someday, call the PD and tell them whom to finger. Because if I write "Patches and Tiny" in my blood, you know they'll only lick it off.
