Your body won’t be injured but in your mind you’ll get scared

For the record, I have several rants brewing, so that’s going to be the theme for a while.

Bubba is a head case.  We all know that.  He’s my head case.  I love that dog but sometimes he can work your last nerve.  Like jumping on Norman and starting the brawl to end it all when Norman was down with an abscessed anal gland.  Really Bubba?  Extraordinarily dickish.

So I spent $275 taking him to an animal behaviorist.  In this particular case I would have been better off with a witch doctor.  The idiot I went to, first words out of her mouth were about his prong collar.  I knew the conversation and the appointment were doomed.  The next person that pops off at me about my prong collars is going to get punched in the face.  And then while they are laying on the ground, I’m putting my prong collar on them and proving to them that they are an ignorant pile of parrot droppings.  A prong collar properly used does not hurt the dog unless a situation arises where a stern correction is needed.  When might a stern correction be needed?  When my dog is fixin’ to swallow your Yorkie.  Do you want me to say “Now Bubba, it’s not nice to swallow the Yorkie?” or do you want me to jerk him out of his dog suit and save your Yorkie the trauma of being swallowed by a 75lb Doberman?  They are dogs, we cannot predict what they are going to do.  We do our best to train them and hope for the best.  Every now and then, NATURE get the best of them.  So all of you Jean Donaldson wannabe asshats, kindly STFU.

He’s Bubba.  He is not the bastion of good decision making.  He’s Bubba.  There’s a reason he got that name.  Does he mind?  Yeah about 90% of the time.  Do you want to take that chance on the street?  I don’t.  So kindly shut your pie holes all of you so very concerned think you know everything there is to know about dogs types.  You don’t know me and you don’t know Bubba.

Welcome to my silly life

Hello Kittens!  Bonus drive by today.  It’s 16 days until the AIDS ride.  13 days until my broker’s exam and the day before I do a rescue presentation at the NorCal Doberman Pinscher Club’s Specialty in Vallejo.  The good news, I got a couple of buyers into their homes.  The bad news, I’ve barely cracked a book for the broker’s exam and that’s not going to bode well for me.  Somehow it looks like I’m going to get through this May after all.  God williing with my broker’s license.  But that’s the one that’s really worrying me.  Once I get through Saturday I’ll be banging the books until June 1.  Saturday is our last long ride before the AIDS ride and then it’s taper, which is good.  My body is exhausted.  I haven’t been on the sunny side of 4:30am for a month now.  I’m not sure why I’m up now.  I missed a workout yesterday just because.  No reason.  I just couldn’t.  So I didn’t.  I’m not missing cycling work outs.  I was out in the sideways rain on Tuesday.  Weightlifting I’ve given myself a break on.

Yesterday turned into an accidental day off.  I wasn’t completely off, but I sure as hell didn’t do much.  I had a closing and managed to get all of the disclosures to my transaction coordinator by about 5pm yesterday.  I went up to Mutt Lynch Winery, a great little family owned winery who does great things, Bubba got to go for that ride.  They donated a nice package for the silent auction at the show tomorrow, I went to pick it up.  Of the thousands all the wineries I asked, Mutt Lynch did not hesitate to step up and help Doberman Rescue.  They make some very nice juice, I’ve reviewed it here before.  Give them the nod, they’re the real deal.

I came back and wanted to work for the two hours before my haircut but Healdsburg is almost 2 hours each way.  I was beat and dozed off in my chair after lunch.  Except every time my phone got an email it said “Droid” and Ike lost his mind, which involved banging into my chair, trying to crawl under the chair and generally making himself über obnoxious.  Nap aborted I got Rita and headed for my haircut.  Rita was invited because the next stop was the vet.  The glop in her eyes had turned from the normal grey goop to wads of white and yellow ick.  Somehow they know when I get paid.  A c-note later she’s got antibiotics and her eyes are already clear this morning.

The final screw around of the day was some wine fueled jackassery.  About two weeks ago a friend of mine asked if I wanted to be involved in a Twitter Taste Live.  I said yes, but didn’t know if I’d be able to or not.  Little did I know this was a special invite and they SENT ME THE WINE!  UPS shows up on Monday with a bottle of Peter Lehmann Wines 2008 Barossa Shiraz.  I didn’t have to order it or pay for it.  So there’s your disclosure, somebody gave me this wine for free.  I don’t really know who.  That being said, I had to show up and drink it with them and tweet about it.  It always starts out serious with wine notes and then moves on to jackassery.  I will say this Shiraz was wild.  It’s a screw top, that’s ok.  Easier to close since I really don’t drink a whole bottle in a night.  Lots of chocolate on this one.  Others had chocolate in their house and they said it was very good with a 72% chocolate.  My original plan was to make a Farro risotto with asparagus and fava beans since my fava’s are ready to pick.  By 4pm when I still didn’t know where to find Farro, it had become apparent that the dish was to be saved for another day.  Sadly the pairing would have been amazing.  I still might try today to pick up some farro.  Back to the wine.  Tart plums on the front palate which became riper on the back palate.  Chocolate on the finish.  The winemaker, Ian Hongell participated from Australian and the whole thing was part of the thirstygirl project with Leslie Sbrocco.  You may have seen her on the Today show.  Or not. Anywho this Shiraz has a lot of high heat that calms with food.  It’s a lively wine with a lot going on in the glass.  Did I like this one?  You bet Shiraz!

Yes, I’m livin’ at a pace that kills

Well shit howdy!  I am safe.  My kidnappers have released me.  I’d like to thank the anonymous donor who paid my ransom.  This new job shit is wearing me out.  These guys work and they work hard.  I’ve got to say the Cult of Red is one of the most positive, collaborative places I have ever been.  Aren’t the famous last words of the girl in the horror movie “Everybody’s so nice here!”  And then somebody does a Ginsu knife commercial on her ass.  Except at the Cult of Red, they really are.  And while it’s a knock on them on the street, they are not cult like at all.  Just extremely professional and focused.  They have a plan and they work it.  And they’re very successful at it.  One of the underlying precepts of Atlas Shrugged in my mind was the idea that if one were successful, we all could be successful.  Granted I’m probably one of the few people who actually understood what I read, God knows the teabaggers didn’t.  That’s how these guys think, if we’re all successful, then we’re ALL successful.  Of course the problem with Atlas Shrugged is the same as the problem with the theories of Marx and Smith.  Add people and it doesn’t work.  The Brother has said in response to people who complain about attorneys that “if people would act right, I’d be out of work.”  Word.  The same could be said for regulation.  If everyone would act right, we wouldn’t need regulation.  And Socialism would work.  And Communism would work.  And Capitalism would work.  Not at the same time, but they’d all work.  But it’s not in the human DNA to act right.  Our brains are always trying to get one over.  So regulation is necessary in a capitalistic society. 

Sometimes it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. 

I’m certainly glad that the folks that come here are used to my tangents.  Because it’s been a wild week here at The Farm.  The NIMBY neighbors have moved out, soon to be replaced by the really nice man and his really annoying Russian wife.  I did what I could to discourage them.  They came up to talk to me about the neighborhood when they were looking at the house.  Of course I mentioned that I had three large dogs and that I wasn’t going anywhere and if they had a problem with three Doberman Pinschers they should probably just move along.  I went on to say that they are good dogs and not yard dogs, but they’re dogs.  Well, she proceeded to ask me “Do they bark?”  Well of course they bark, they’re dogs.  They aren’t yard dogs, they’re house dogs, but they’ll bark at squirrels and noises and shit.  “Do they bark at night?”  When they’re out they might bark at something but they sleep in the house.  “Do they bark in the morning?”  Sometimes if they’re out.  “How early in the morning do they bark?  Do they bark before 7am?”  Lady, I get up at 4:30am.  If there is a raccoon in the yard they’ll bark at it.  I’m not particularly hopeful that I’m not going to want to string this woman up.  You can imagine the joy when NIMBY neighbor husband mentioned that my eucalyptus had split again and was laying on their shed.  I wanted the broken tree out of there before they moved in.  Last night after a day of yoga, door knocking, open house and Costco I fired up the chainsaw and got that half a tree off that shed before that woman saw it. 

And about Ike.  Bubba lost his mind and attacked Ike a week ago Saturday.  I heard the ruckus, I was shoveling dog shit at the time and had a shovel in my hand.  I was also in the back forty.  I thought it was Rita until I heard the screaming.  Then I realized that Bubba was on Ike and Ike was down and screaming.  I ran across the yard yelling but Bubba wasn’t letting up.  He had Ike by the back of the neck.  Now my family has a history with shovels.  My paternal grandfather, who I never met because he died when my Dad was seven years old knocked a horse down with a shovel for kicking him.  And one of the running jokes between The Brother and I is the cause of Parkinson’s which has affected at least four and probably five of our father’s siblings.  I maintain it’s caused by frying everything in bacon grease and The Brother maintains it’s caused by hitting each other in the head with a shovel during their youth.  Knowing that, when I arrived at the dog fightattack with a shovel in my hand I knew I’d met my roots.  I also knew that if I reached in I ran the chance of getting severely bit.  Naturally hitting them with a shovel was the next move.  I’ve been around enough dog fights to know that if you break their concentration you can safely break it up.  I knew hitting Bubba with a shovel would do that.  I also knew that if I messed up I could kill him.  Hitting him in the head was out.  That left his butt.  I knew if I hit him too hard I could break his leg or his pelvis.  I turned the shovel so that the rounded part hit his ass and smacked him on the ass with it.  It made a loud metallic sound and got him out of his zone.  He wouldn’t let go but he wasn’t on attack any more.  I pulled him off of Ike and shoved him in his crate.  Ike was hurt.  Worse, he hadn’t even attempted to defend himself, he was just down and screaming.  It wasn’t just a scrape, it was a deep puncture/tear.  I poured peroxide over it and irrigated it with my saline solution.  In the end he had to go to the vet but they didn’t stitch him, they just cleaned it up, gave him antibiotics and put a drain in.  The drain came out yesterday and he’s healing pretty well.  And he loves his warm compresses.  And now I spend my days shuffling male dogs so Bubba doesn’t try to kill Ike again.  He’s acting as if he didn’t do anything and they’re buddies but Ike looks at him as if he’s Satan.  And I’m not positive he isn’t.


He’s still high, they didn’t put him under, just doped him up a little.

You want your job you better free that brown eyed man

I have always sang songs to my animals.  If you’ve heard my singing voice you’ll know why they are the only ones who will live with me.  It started with the cats.  I had two great cats.  Broderick Catford and Rayette DiPesto.  Rayette DiPesto was the Karen Black character in Five Easy Pieces.  I lived on Broderick Street and thought if he ever got out I wanted to be able to stand on my porch and yell the name of my street over and over again and have the cat come home.  Neither ever got out.

And of course the song I sang to them was:

Then came Xica da Silva.  She was named after a character in a Brazilian film of the same name.  Back then Bravo was a station that played foreign and indie films.  They would have never considered, actually, I can’t imagine their disgust at the idea of airing a show such as The Real Housewives of Orange County.  Xica da Silva was on heavy rotation.  I can remember laying on the couch at the apartment on Broderick Street watching it for about the 10th time just because.  And when that little black puppy came into my life, I named her Xica da Silva

Did I mention that Miriam Makeba sang the song?  I’m sure the dogs wouldn’t like her version as much and Xica loved mine.

Toby didn’t have a song, but Beauregard has his own song that I sang to him since the day he arrived.

And it was the most fitting song for him.

OK, that was a great version of that song.  Perhaps better than mine.

Rita is a no brainer.  It’s not my first choice but it’s the only one the really works.

Sometimes she gets this one.

Especially when I think of this picture.

And poor Bubba doesn’t have a song.  I can’t believe there isn’t a country song out right now that has a good Bubba reference, but for now the poor dog doesn’t have to listen to my singing.  And he thinks that’s a good thing.

But Ike is another story.  That poor dog has heard nothing but the Eisenhower jingle for days.  And I think he likes it.

Or maybe he’s just bored.

I think right now his answer to Eisenhower or Turner would be Turner.

But we don’t like that Ike.

What goes up, must come down and down and down

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Have we had enough of BP yet? Or Joe Barton? I heard an amazing economist speak last week.  Carol Rodoni managed to cover damn near everything in the current economy and connect it to Contra Costa real estate in about 90 minutes.  She touched on BP.  I’ve heard her speak before and believe her to be pretty conservative fiscally.  She said that she believes that BP is criminally negligent and will be charged as well they should be.  I found that to be interesting.  She has been 100% right on everything I’ve heard her talk about.  I hope she’s right on with this one.

Bubba has been spending more time up my ass hanging out with me as of late.  I think he’s afraid that he’s heading where ever in his dog mind he thinks Sherman went.  Don’t worry little man, you aren’t going to Washington, it’s cold and rainy up there.

And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales

I had a nasty little head cold that seems to be wrapping itself up finally.  This time I went with Qin Chiao and Zicam.  I got the sore throat on Tuesday, naturally the DAY AFTER I gave blood so I had to call the blood bank and tell them that particular pint might not have been my best work.  Then I  spiraled downward Wednesday and Thursday.  Spent Friday down there and started working my way out on Saturday.  I’m not 100% but I’m almost out of the web.  Friday was the funeral for our friend.  I don’t believe there is much worse that watching a 22 year old kid get up in a chapel and say she’s going to miss her Daddy.  I wish I had put something together.  As it turned out, no one spoke for the title plant. Of course the title plant sat together in the back.  And went through a lot of Kleenex.  Between the cold and service I’m sure I was covered in snot and tears.  Friday was a rough day.  I left Old Republic in 1998.  They brought in a new plant manager who was such an idiot that I just couldn’t abide by that guy.  He was that special kind of corporate brownnoser that I so respect.  I spent the next 10 years having a great career until I ran into the Amateur Manager.  But we all pick back up like it was yesterday.  I had lunch with a couple of the guys afterward.  We just don’t miss a beat.

In other news, Bubba has blown his coat again.  He looks like an alien species.

He had a run of antibiotics for the abscess on his manhood.  I don’t know if that was a contributing factor.  I can’t remember how much I said about that, but he had something on his boyness.  The interns poked and prodded and squeezed and ultimately got a needle and aspirated it.  I stood over him repeating “I’m sorry little man”.  Little Bubba took it like a champ.  They gave me a run of antibiotics and it’s finally gone.

And in spite of lots of advice in the contrary, I planted peet pots and put tomatoes, jalapeños, habañeros and some of Rudy’s peppers in there.  Rudy’s seeds were 2 years old, but I got lucky and they sprouted anyway.  Everything came up except two of Rudy’s, so I’ve got four of them, 7 tomatoes, 2 jalapeños, and a habañero.

I’ve built a 4X4 raised bed for the peppers so that the soil will stay warmer.  They’ll go into the ground in the next couple of days depending on rain.  Somebody left a half of a squirrel on the back 40.  I discovered him yesterday.  I’m hoping the bird circling the yard really was a vulture and took care of the rest.  If not, I guess I have to bury half a squirrel later on today.  I don’t know who introduced him to his maker.  Rita got back there twice last week, but wouldn’t even pretend to venture back there yesterday when the gate was wide open.  I can’t’ imagine she wouldn’t have brought her prey back to me, but who knows with that dog.  She’s kind of sociopathic at times.  An owl or a bird of prey could have introduced him to his maker too.  That’s actually the way I’d like things to work around here.

We all shine like stars

I’m beat.  Two weeks of 12 plus hour days and no day off.  So today is dog pictures and nonsense.  First up, Britain’s got talent.

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The Brother sent me this one.  Oh yeah, he knows this dog.  I don’t.

And the Teabaggers show their true colors.

And the Borowitz Report.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart Mon – Thurs 11p / 10c
Don’t Mess With Textbooks
Daily Show
Full Episodes
Political Humor Health Care Reform

I’m thinking about sharing the last week’s worth of nightmares.  They’ve been epic.  Murder, mayhem, accidents and freakish occurances.  And no reason other than stress for these strange occurrences.  Needless to say it really messes with your head.

But the sun rolling high through the sapphire sky

I’ve been heading out to the vegetable garden every evening around 4pm and pulling weeds.  The reason is two-pronged.  One, I get the weeds out of the garden and the real plants can get some sun and start to grow and two, Bubba will run non-stop while I’m outside.  Mr. OCD needs to burn off some of that energy so it works.  If he had opposable thumbs I would teach him how to vacuum.  Instead he runs a path in the yard.


He does the same thing in the morning when I go out to pick up dog crap.  He pretty much cries with glee that I’m going out into the yard with him.  Then he runs laps while I pick up his crap.  To be a dog and to find ectasy is such simple things.  Anywho, for the last couple of weeks I’ve been hearing bees when I was out there.  My property is pretty wooded so birds, trees, bees, it all made sense.  In this one area I noticed they divebombed me a little.  But it was always at sunrise and who really cares that much around sunrise?

About a month ago, amazingly before the 14 days and 10 inches of rain began I went out and trimmed one of the trees that was touching the roof of the house.  New roof, tree scraping off asphalt=bad.  My contractor was supposed to have built me a new gate back when I was in Laughlin, but he’s kind of a trainwreck so he finished it a couple of weeks ago.  The DAY the rain started.  During that period of time I couldn’t get from the front yard to the back without going through the house.  So the tree trimmings sat in a big stack.

1-31 sticks

(Yes that’s Bubba running in the background)  Yesterday it was dry enough to get the green bin from the front and start clipping up the branches.  I did the first stack no problem and then headed over to the major stack.  The previous owner’s brother built bird houses all over the property.  Birds may have used them at one time but I’ve never seen a bird in them in the last two years.  As a matter of fact, I was planning on pulling them all down to keep the rodents out of them.  As I approached the stack, Rita was under the tree watching something.  Then I looked up and noticed the bird house.  Something was inside it.  Not what I expected.


I think they are some sort of real bees, as opposed to wasps which means there are rules as to what I can do to get them out of there.  I assume once it gets hot honey will run out of the box and all over the ground and attract ants and I’ll have the freaking Circle of Life going on in my back yard.  I  just hope they aren’t Africanized.

Staring at the goldfish bowl, poppin’ phenobarbitol


I know we need rain, but this is ridiculous.  At least I don’t live in an area that was ravaged by wild fires last summer.  I know folks out in places like Fallbrook and Santa Cruz.  That’s got to suck for them.  Here on The Farm, which is now known as the Everglades, it’s just a big pool of muck out there.  I keep them in as long as I can stand them and then just send them out to make a mess.  At 5:30 I get out the hose and give them a good hosing off and they come in for the night.  They’ve been very good with this routine and I appreciate it.

I see plenty of articles floating through about animal control coming and taking dogs away because they’re thin.  It’s kind of scary to me.  I can currently see all of Rita’s ribs.  Every freaking one of them.  According to the labeling on her kibble she’s suppose to get 3 cups a day.  She gets 4 cups a day and usually a midday snack with Bubba and she’s still rail thin.  There’s nothing wrong with her besides she runs it off.  Bubba gets 4 cups per day plus 4 cups of rice and either a chicken thigh or a hunk of ground beef.  He’s under 70 right now.  WITH the prednisone.  His gut is much better, but he isn’t gaining any weight and I’m out of funds on this project for a month or two.  I don’t know that more visits to the vet would make much difference.  I kind of think that this project just needs time now.

Tufts just finished a study on OCD in dogs.  Not good news to the Wine Dog household. (that is NOT Beauregard, he was perfect in every way)


Separated at birth?  It’s called flank sucking and it’s an OCD behavior in Dobermans that they have been studying.  I guess the good news is that they found a gene.  The bad news is that Bubba has it.  If you read on in the article it talks about fence running, spinning in circles and just about every other activity that occurs around here.  Apparently I am the new Atascadero for dogs.


And finally, I spent yesterday watching football.  I used to get the full NFL package and work around the house on Sunday’s watching the best games in the country each week.  But times have changed in the Wine Dog bank accounts and I haven’t had the package in two years.  More importantly, I haven’t had time to watch football in the last two years, but I made an exception yesterday.  I turned off the cell, didn’t even fire up the work machine and had a seat.  If ever there was a day to take off and lay on the couch watching football, it was yesterday.  It’s really sad that any team had to lose either of those games.  That young New York Jets team looked unbelievable and they have some fine years ahead of them.  I know a lot of people hate Peyton Manning, but I’m not one of them.  I think the man works hard and has talent and makes the most of what he’s got.  I’m glad to see his team advance again.  And the Vikings?  That’s the stuff movies are made of, they pull the old man out of retirement, he’s hobbled in the 2nd half, has to go to overtime.  Kirk Gibson would be proud.  But it was the Saints day.  Laissez les bon temps rouler. GEAUX SAINTS!

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Dr. Johnson called me around 4:30 today. He says that Bubba has colon cancer. We’re going to do a second biopsy tomorrow to be sure. This is crushing.