ROBBLOG #532

We have a new addition at Pine Tree House- an 8 week and a few days old mini-Schnauzer.

 

We had a weak moment last Friday.

You see, the week before we had been seriously looking at a 7 year old yellow lab at the Orillia SPCA. We had walked him a few times and even introduced him to our 9 year old Schnauzer Missy. On St. Patrick’s Day, were in the process of taking him home for a visit to see if he meshed with our orange cats- Dickens and Doyle.

We had no prior history of the fellah. Someone had dumped him off in the middle of the night in a dog run behind the shelter. An old blanket had been thrown in to the enclosure for him to lay on.

Nice eh?

 

As I loaded him into the van, he whipped around and grabbed hold of my arm and he wouldn’t let go. He reminded me of Cujo, the Stephen King dog gone wrong. He held me for 15 or 20 seconds, biting through my leather coat, a sweater and right into my right wrist. He wasn’t about to let my arm go. Gathering my thoughts quickly, I talked to him quietly and re-assuredly and he soon released my arm. His tail began to wag again and his beautiful eyes twinkled once more.

Problem was, we couldn’t adopt him because we wouldn’t be able to trust him.

It was sad.

 

Move forward to Friday.

Previous breeders of Schnauzers had told us it was a joy to have two Schnauzers in a household. We had never been in a position to have two, since we had our yellow lab Kiki in residence. Our beautiful Kiki passed last August at 17 years of age. Remembering that, I looked online and found Schnauzer puppies were available approximately a 40 minute drive from our house. I called and made an appointment and a couple of hours later- after breakfast, Tom and I found ourselves laying on a chocolate-coloured hardwood floor with four Schnauzer puppies madly running circles around us.

 

We chose a silver-coloured young lady and by late afternoon we had her home with us introducing the rest of our family to her. It’s been a busy few days over the weekend but she is coming along nicely and already peeing and pooping- as puppies do, outside! We have named her Koko- the “double K’s” in memory of our sweet Kiki. We try to link new pet’s names to

Pets who have passed on,  keeping their memory alive.

 

 

 

So morning feedings are busy. Before I sat down to write this ROBBLOG this is the process I went through. I call it Morning Breakfast Prep at Pine Tree House.

 

Morning Breakfast Prep at Pine Tree House

 

Ingredients

 

1 Schnauzer- 9 yrs old- Missy by name 

2 cats- Dickens and Doyle 

3 plastic containers of assorted food 

4 bowls on counter

Additional ingredient- one new mini-schnauzer, Koko by name.

 

Take one new arrival- an 8 week old mini-schnauzer Koko.

Add 1/2 cup of puppy food to one bowl.

For cats, add measured amounts of soft cat food and hard kibble into two bowls.

Do not mix.

Take 4th bowl and add senior dog food to bowl. Snap vegetable treat in half and place on top

of food.

 

At serving time add 2 two bowls for H2O- Washed and re-filled with fresh Britta.

 

Place each bowl in separate, pre-determined locations throughout dining room,

kitchen and family room.

Serving suggestion: Place bowl for new schnauzer in kennel. Place puppy inside and close and latch door.

 

Sit back and have a well-deserved coffee.

 

ROBBLOG #531

Dear Province of Quebec and Pauline Marois- Dictator,

 

Look, I’ll keep this simple Pauly.

 

If you want to go- leave Canada I mean, just do it and be done with it.

Get the hell out!

 

Like many English Canadians I have had enough. I have listened to the whining from your province for decades and before that through the history books.

 

Keep your language and make your country. I prefer France anyway and your invite to have Canadians visit once you separate is the last thing either I or my fellow English Canadians would consider doing.

Ever.

That means for all time.

Get it?

 

Begone.

Get out.

Close the door and turn out the lights.

 

I don’t want to hear the whys, wherefores and poor, poor us/me and my/our French language and Culture.

Did I mention I would rather visit France- Paris in particular anyway?

 

Keep being the dictator Pauline. Have your language police continue to hunt down those conspiring English bastards who dare use English Language signs for decoration in their place of business or online on their Facebook Page.

I thumb my nose at you and spit in your general direction.

 

Yes, I am one of the “henglish people” you want to get away from.

You have my permission to go.

I used to support your individuality and Culture but not any more.

I am tired of it.

Every last bit of it.

 

If I could, I’d slice a knife down your provincial borders and fling you into the Atlantic.

I’d set you free.

Set you adrift.

Then I’d build a fence.

A big fence to keep you out.

 

So, go my French children for the rest of Canada doesn’t care anymore. We have bigger fish to fry.

I’m sure we can come up with something just as good as poutine.

 

Frig off.

Shut the Hell up and get out of here.

 

There.

I am done.

Can’t make it any clearer than that- can I?

 

Oh. A couple of small things before you close the border.

 

Hand in your passports.

Give us back our money. Print your own or use Monopoly cash- whatever.

I mean why would you want Liz – an English Queen, on your money anyway?

Let all the Henglish out first your Grande Dictatorship

and then if I haven’t been clear enough already and in the nicest possible, English Canadian way-

Shut the Fuck up!

 

Regards and the best of luck,

 

Rob

An Henglish purr-sun.

 

 

 

ROBBLOG #530

A little story not for the faint of heart, the prudish or the exceptionally young...

 

Jarrod awoke.

He yawned as he stretched his bulky frame across the bed. He had a huge grin on his face.

His junk was firm.

Jarrod loved mornings.

 

Jarrod knew he had just come out of a dream. In the dream he had been tied- shirtless to a tree, deep in a forest of tall palms. Strange creatures with long tongues and bulging eyes surrounded him, taunting him with wooden sticks. The strangers had poked tenderly at his chest and arms all the while keeping him strapped to the tree.

 

“Cripes. What a dream that was! Last time I eat chicken balls after nine.”- he thought, “However, I did look real good tied to that tree.”

He was proud of the musculature of his six foot body.

 

Jarrod glanced at the clock on his bedside table.

8:15.

 

He needed a coffee. Slipping into the track shorts he had thrown on the floor next to his bed, Jarrod lumbered to his kitchen. He measured the Arabica coffee and placed it into the filter of his coffee machine that sat on the kitchen counter beneath the cupboards that held a vast assortment of coffee cups. The cups came from many of the places where he had travelled to over the years.

 

Turning towards the kitchen door, he opened it and let the warm morning air filter through the screen. He would take his coffee out onto the deck as he usually did and have a think about life.

Grabbing a special cup he had bought two years ago in Tahiti, Jarrod poured in some fresh, homogenized milk and filled the cup to the brim with hot coffee. Taking a sip he spoke out loud

“Ahhh. The first sip of the first cup is the best of the day. Damn that’s good!”

Jarrod pushed through the screen door to the patio, flopping his lanky frame down onto his favourite lounger.

 

The morning sun stroked his buff skin. It felt warm and safe. His golden chest hair glimmered in the lightness. He took another sip and looked out across the ocean in front of him. He had always wanted a spot right on the ocean with a beach literally a stone’s throw away. Winning the lottery a short year ago enabled him to do just that.

Life was indeed grand.

He was comfortable both in his skin and in his world.

 

“Morning Mr. J.”

It was Pablo the gardener and all round handyman. Jarrod hired Pablo about a half year ago when looking after the huge beachfront property himself became a daunting job. Pablo was a great guy and Jarrod knew he was lucky to have him in his employ.

 

“Morning Pab. How’s it shakin’ today?”

 

“Oh, real fine Mr. J. Beautiful morning, eh?”

 

“Sure is. Hey, there’s coffee in the kitchen. Fresh just 5 minutes ago. Help yourself as usual.”

 

“Thanks Mr. J- I will.”

 

Pablo crossed the patio and disappeared into the kitchen.

 

“Muffins are on the table in the red tin! Come on back and sit with me. This is just too nice a morning to waste!”

 

“I see ‘em Mr. J. Thanks!”

 

Jarrod settled back down to his warm morning thoughts and coffee.

He could smell the ocean.

 

As he lie there, eyes gently closed, he felt something tighten around his ankles and across his broad chest. Opening his eyes he could see two shapes standing at his feet, silhouetted against the sun. He also saw a rope had been lashed across his chest as well as around both ankles.

A third shape grabbed him from behind and threw him over broad shoulders. His coffee cup flew across the yard landing next to a yucca plant in the far corner.

 

Jarrod was transported by these three strange shapes across his property and down the dirt road behind his house.

They never spoke.

Suddenly he felt a sharp zap to his right shoulder and he was out.

 

When he awoke, Jarrod found himself tied to a tree in the midst of a tall forest of tropical pines being poked by a dozen or more shapes with long tongues and bulging eyes. Each held a wooden stick firmly in their grasp. The tree bark felt rough against his skin. Ropes were tied securely around his upper body.

 

“Oh. My God! Like in my dream! This can’t be! Who are you people? What are you?”

The shapes did not speak, although they snorted- just a little.

 

He was being poked.

Jarrod looked around him.  A dozen or so shapes stood a few feet away from him, holding wooden sticks. Some long. Some, much shorter.

A few shapes poked sticks at his chest. One shoved and prodded a large stick at his bare feet and legs. Another jabbed a wooden stick- gently, at his stomach. Still, two others with longer, larger Y-shaped sticks, jabbed and poked at his privates.

 

 

For the most part, the shapes were silent- except for the occasional snort, as they jabbed and prodded every inch of his firm, tanned body. Their tongues hung loosely from the edges of their salivating mouths. Big eyes darted back and forth as they poked and prodded Jarrod some more.

The shapes seemed happy and content. They also seemed harmless.

 

Jarrod tried to relax, yet the more he tried the more he stiffened.

“No! Not now! Not here!”- he shouted out loud but it was too late.

 

 

Jarrod had to admit all this prodding and poking felt rather good although he couldn’t understand why the shapes were doing this to him.

What seemed like an hour later,  the poking still continued.

 

Meanwhile back at the house Pablo called out to Jarrod through the door screen-

“Be there in just a second Mr. J, I’m warming my muffin in the microwave.”

 

The morning sun sparkled on the ocean as the surf gently caressed the sandy shore.