Well, in retrospect it's not Rosie's fault. Just that, when one is feeling rather barfy, so you decide at seven in the evening to go to bed, even though your Favorite Husband won't be home until eight or so, and you drag your weary barfy body up the stairs in preparation for the collapse, and you get to the bedroom and you turn on the light....  MORE Mojo! »

...aaaaannnnd, sometimes it's not.

Over on FaceBook I got into a discussion with a friend and it eventually degraded, as such topics with Mojo often do, into the admission that Mojo was indeed nekkid during whatever it was she was talking about. Which, it turns out, is nothing new. I did a search for the term "naked" on my blog and found over 25 instances of the word, usually referring to MY nekkididity as opposed to other people's. And usually I am indeed nekkid when dealing with the sundry and various creatures the cat has brought into the house.

Of course I am not ENTIRELY naked when dealing with wild animals--the first thing I do is don a pair of heavy leather gloves so I won't get bit. And since usually I am not thinking properly, often being in the middle of the night and all, I get on the gloves, go collect the creature and only THEN do I remember I should have opened the door first, since now here I am naked with both gloved hands clamped on a very scared or angry wild beast and I have to figure out how to get the door open. You would think by now I would have learned, but no. You would be mistaken.  MORE Mojo! »

Short answer is, if Mojo were a heart surgeon who operated out of her house (don't ask why, you troublemaker, just go along with it) and she was expecting a LIVE BEATING HEART to arrive via an overnight delivery service, she might as well give it up and go into the tombstone business instead. Because it just AIN'T gonna happen.  MORE Mojo! »

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! »

As much as Mojo dearly loves to complain, the simple fact is, she leads a charmed life. So much so that every two years or so Verizon offers her a new phone. So Mojo succumbed to spiffy advertising and her pathetic desire to look cool and hip, and bought a brand new Chocolate. A blue one. I think they called it "Blue Mint" or some such car-color name. Who cares.

The point is, a few days before it came, I happened to see my Favorite Younger Sister and I remembered SHE had a Chocolate, too. So I asked to see it. Turns out she has the old, decrepit moldy Chocolate with the fake navigation wheel, whereas MY Chocolate is oh so much hipper and cooler. In fact, I dare say that MY new phone not only TOTALLY KICKS her pathetic phone's butt, but it also dances and stomps on the little bits of broken plastic that rain down after getting its butt kicked, and G-R-I-N-D-S them into the carpet.  MORE Mojo! »