Speaking of Love--I mean, VOLES--

Here is poor abused Rosie, being forced to sit when she would much rather be playing "mental dog" running about the yard like an idiot. She is sitting there in front of a vole track left in the grass after the winter. They are all over the place, but you don't see them until the snow melts. Occasionally during the winter you'll see the dog trying to catch them. Stupid dogs dig and dig where they last saw or smelt the little beasties. SMART ones cock their heads and listen for the sound of the rodents scampering along their escape trails. Our late dog George was a listener/pouncer, though he rarely caught one.

Rosie thus far seems to be among the former. She's not much of a killer anyway, although if the cat brings something around she will try to take it away from him and play with it. "K", my UPS driver lady, has reported stopping by to deliver stuff only to be greeted by Rosie with an Interesting Plaything, as she puts it. (Rural life has luckily inured her to such horror shows, like poor dead animals or Residents Who See No Particular Reason To Put Clothes On Before Noon. AGAIN, my apologies, "K".) For some reason "K" refuses to try to take it from Rosie and throw it for her. Maybe this is why dogs tend to not like delivery people. I mean, would it KILL her to toss a dead chipmunk around for a few minutes? (Obviously it would kill the chipmunk, but the poor thing is ALREADY DEAD.)

I suppose if I actually CARED DESPERATELY about the lawn I would do something about it, but since it's just grass and not something truly worthwhile I am content to let the little beasties have their run of the place. I figure if they can dodge the cat, more power to 'em. More Mojo!>>

Mojo Tells a Tale, Finally....

Someone reminded Mojo off-blog yesterday of something, and she re-read her blog entry pertaining to it. And the blog entry said I had another story to tell about the subject, and I would someday tell it. And as usual, Mojo never did. So I'm going to tell it now. More Mojo!>>

Pet Jewelry! YES, Pet Jewelry!

Still flush with my apparent ability to break the law with the sale of my bear bottles, Mojo pushes the envelope of legality yet again with this little number! What! a shocked nation exclaims. Who shall our children look up to as a role model if Mojo turns to a Life of Crime? Rest assured, gentle Craptacular reader, that Mojo does not make a habit of trading in illegal goods and services. But the story behind this was Craptacular enough that Mojo is willing--this ONE time--to overlook some of those pesky moral questions in her quest to entertain the masses. That's you. So if I wind up in jail, clearly it's ALL YOUR FAULT. More Mojo!>>


As regular readers are sadly aware, Mojo does not shrink from opening the guts of really expensive equipment and fiddling around in there with various implements of destruction. (She likes to think she is Brave and Ingenious, but we all know it's more like Ignorance and Stupidity that drives her.) And while this stuff prefers a lint-free hygienic environment should it be opened, that is NEVER going to happen in Mojo's house, what with the dog drooling on it and the cat dropping small live rodents into the interior.

And since Mojo is way too cheap (and does not often think ahead properly), she has not invested in any sort of proper tools for this work. So she is often messing around with delicate motherboards and drives using things like sledge hammers and butter knives. Oh, and the rusty needle-nosed pliers I found down at the reservoir, left by some slobby fisherman. More Mojo!>>

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