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Aaaand We’re Back

I haven’t been entirely keyboard-silent since last week. To prove it, have a gander over at the new-look(!) Bugs & Cranks for my latest on the Braves:

Braves After Ten: Don’t Get Too Comfortable — The record after ten games? Good. The concerns? Several.

Now let’s step back up to the plate.

Sorry for the extended absence. A busy schedule, followed by technical difficulties on the server side, kept things quiet around here into the weekend, and a Nor’easter-related power outage delayed things for another day or so.

“I’m no genius, but I know when Mother Nature is preparing to blow rainwater up my ass.”

Luckily, other than a few downed tree branches, things are getting back to normal around here. The power’s back on, the house didn’t wash away, and the local Bible kook who collects ‘two of every animal’ every time it rains is busy putting pairs of raccoons and squirrels back in the trees.

(We keep telling him a rusted-out rowboat hardly qualifies as an ‘ark’, but no amount of anguing or rodent bites seems to convince him.

Besides, it’s either this or he runs around the neighborhood screaming about brimstone and devils. Better he should bother the chipmunks.)

With the storm happening over the weekend, I was lucky enough to mostly miss being caught out in the elements. In fact, I didn’t leave the house all weekend.

Except. The dog.

The dog doesn’t know when it’s raining. Not even when it’s raining sideways with fifty mile per hour winds, apparently. She only knows when she wants to pee — and who has the opposable thumbs to hold the leash. Peachy.

The wife pulled ‘monsoon duty’ the first couple of times the mutt needed a walk. Each time, they both came back in dripping, shivering — and quickly. The dog’s dumb, but not stupid enough to lollygag around in the middle of a rainstorm. I guess when you’re being pelted by raindrops the size of peaches, you learn how to speed-tinkle. Just like in the shower.

Or, um, so I hear. Moving right along.

Anyway, eventually it was my turn. You’d think the damned dog would learn — if it was spewing rain six hours ago, and it was spewing rain three hours ago, and you can still hear rain pelting the porch, then it’s probably raining. I’m no genius, but I know when Mother Nature is preparing to blow rainwater up my ass. That’s when I stay inside.

Unless there’s a pesky pooch making incontinent doggy eyes at me. The things we do for our dumb soggy animals.

At least it was quick. The mutt took three steps off the porch, realized she was wet, and gave me an annoyed look as if to say:

‘Hey, make this stuff stop — some of us are trying to piss around here.‘

A quick detour off the sidewalk, a shake, a squat, and we scampered back inside. I thought about leaving the dog tied to a tree for a while, to ‘encourage‘ her that she didn’t want to go outside again for a while — but even I’m not that mean. Plus, my wife promised us both Snausages when we came back in. So we had that going for us.

Other than that, it’s been a pretty quiet long weekend.

(We Massachusettsians get that funny ‘Patriots Day’ holiday, so we can sleep in and not watch the Boston Marathon, then start drinking early when the Red Sox play. Talk about a holiday I can get behind — oh, mama.)

Until next time, let’s all try and stay nice and dry inside. Next time it rains, I’m dangling the dog’s ass out the window. Let’s see how long it takes her to piss when she’s the only one getting wet.