"World's Most Beautiful Woman"!

When Ozzy and I take a trip to Walmart he has to go incognito; otherwise, he can't go into the store. Once inside I have to prevent him from tossing things into the cart, or scold him for making derogatory comments to fellow customers. After we finished shopping, we stood in the checkout line. As I placed items on the belt I noticed Ozzy kept staring back towards the shelves lining the isle. At first I couldn't figure out if he was looking at the multiple choices of candy, or some other item. It finally dawned on that he was checking out the magazine stand. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. The ususal celebrity romances, divorces, and diets. I did notice People Magazine voted Beyonce' the "World's Most Beautiful Woman" for 2012. Other than that, nothing Earth shattering. On the trip home Ozzy sat silent, which is unusual. As he looked out the window I could see the inquisitive expression on his little brown face. Finally, he broke his silence, and what he said nearly caused me to go off the road. "Daddy, WHO is Beyonkey?"

"Damage Control"!

The "Know Your Dog" book warned this would happen. In the chapter explaining ownership of this little breed of terrier, it specifically said "Spoiling is not recommended". So why did I do it? Perhaps they shouldn't have been offered in the cudly and cute department. I just couldn't help myself. Now I'm paying the price. Ozzy demands constant attention. The problem is my work gets in the way of my other full-time job... taking care of a spoiled rotten min-pin. He just bats those little eyes of his, and a grown man melts like a chocolate bar on a sidewalk. However, when I need to be somewhere else, the little brown dog doesn't like it, so he protests. By the time I arrive back home after a day on the job, I will usually find a mess in the living room, or trash scatterd all over the house... Brat! Last night I had to chew him out for another of his misbehaviour moments. Ozzy has tried several manipulative methods in an attempt to divert blame or avoid discipline. This time he tried the "thousand yard stare". Tomorrow I have to perform a wedding ceremony, and I'm already wondering in what way my home will be re-decorated.

"Operation Fast and Furry-ous"!

Ozzy and I don't just ride ANY motorcycle. When we go for a ride, we straddle a big blue Ninja ZX-14. He says this makes us one of the baddest duo on the interstate. From that standpoint, it takes serious competition to impress us.

Earlier this week we decided to hit I-20 for an incursion into Augusta. As we approached the congested city traffic, something merging onto the interstate caught our attention. I heard Ozzy screaming for me to "catch up to that thing". Weaving our way to the head of the pack, we rode up alongside a beautiful silver BMW 8i. Wow!!!

I couldn't help but admire the vehicle. It seemed more a work of art than just another sportscar. I paid little attention to the blonde chick in the passenger's seat... unfortunately Ozzy did! I gestured to the guy driving the Beemer that his car was beautiful. In return the man became angry and shook his fist at me. It took me a minute to figure out why.

Apparently Ozzy was making googly eyes and smoochy kisses to the driver's lovely companion. The little brown dog almost got me in a road-rage confrontation. What began as a show of respect quickly deteriorated into an embarrassing disaster. I actually had to pull off the interstate and scold Ozzy for his inappropriate behaviour.

Frustrated, I decided our little ride was enough for the day, and we headed toward home. Within two minutes another sportscar pulled onto the highway. This time, however, I ignored the repeated screams of "Catch up to that thing"!

"Prescription For Disaster"!

My dog Ozzy and I decided to take a little camping trip. We figured it was chance to do some Daddy-Dog bonding. My wife called it a camp for boys. Packing was a bit more involved for me, since Ozzy has no need to take several changes of clothes.

Our list of items included shower essentials, groceries, bug juice, and the usual camping gear most folks carry to the woods. Most of this was packed into common containers since we would be sharing our supplies. One thing I emphasized to Ozzy was the need to separate our Doctor prescribed medications. Unfortunately, Ozzy didn't get the memo, thus my current delimma.

Upon arriving at our campsite, we set up our camper, and started the charcoal for cooking a fine outdoor meal. I'm uncertain what caused my indigestion, but shortly after dinner I had need of relief. Unable to locate my reading glasses, I fumbled through my med bag and found what I thought was treatment for "heartburn". Unfortunately Ozzy put his meds in the same bag. When I found my glasses I could see the label more clearly. Instead of "heartburn" the label read "heartworm". That dang Ozzy!

At this time I am sitting in my outdoor lounge chair... I just hope death comes swiftly!

"North Korean FireWerx!"

The world was on the edge of it's seat (Ozzy included) at the prospect of a rocket launch by the North Koreans. We heard it everything from threats to excuses and explainations for the earth-shattering event. Was it a satellite, a peaceful mission, or a nuclear practice run? Ozzy says it's all academic at this point.

My canine pal watched as the international community weighed in. Every so often Ozzy would tell me the U.N. was threatening to issue another "revolution". I told him the correct term is "resolution"... he disagreed. He asked me if I had ever watched what transpired prior to his afternoon naps. "You mean the ridiculous circles you turn before you hit the pillow", I asked? "Exactly", he said. He understands international diplomacy better than most.

Back to the rocket launch; in short, the thing went up, the thing came down. While the world shuddered, the rocket sputtered. Now the U.N. Securtity Council is holding and emergency meeting. I asked Ozzy what "revolution" they might come up with this time. "I don't know", he said, "but if these Rocket Scientists ever decide to manufacture cars, I hope the revolution prevents the North Koreans from importing them to the U.S.!

"Invitation to a Bait Ball"!

My dog Ozzy and I spend quality time relaxing in the old recliner while catching some great high-def entertainment on the Plasma screen. As long as it's wholesome, we are liable to watch any kind of program, as our tastes and moods vary. This eveninings viewing choice... Animal Planet's "The Blue Planet; Seas of Life".

Sharing a peanut butter Zone bar and some high quality H2O, Ozzy and I were captivated by the sights and sounds of life in the open ocean. Things got a little crazy during the "bait ball" feeding frenzy. For those who don't know, a bait ball is a large group of small fish traveling together for protection in numbers. When the bigger fish come along, the smaller fish swarm, forming a huge ball. The bigger fish swim fast and furious into the ball, picking off the smaller fish.

As we watched, I noticed Ozzy began jerking. Somehow the episode rivaled a teen horror film. He was screaming "Get out of there", and at one point had his eyes covered..."I can't look", he said. "Tell me when it's over".

Fortunately the scene shifted to calmer and more peaceful activity. I checked to see if he was okay... he says the next Zone bar needs to be rolled into a ball, and he gets first crack!

"I Had a Dream... No Kidding"!

The dream I had last night is strange but true. But then again, isn't that what most dreams are? I can't tell you how many times I went to elementary school in my pajamas. I told Ozzy about it, and he insisted I share this with you.

This dream started in the usual weird sort of way, in that I was in a strange situation. Somehow I managed to find myself in a theological discussion with an unusual individual. First, his attire was similar to the old "Black Robe" missionaries of history past. He was young, laid-back, and wore a well-groomed redish colored beard. However, he sported a large, strange black hat with a little black ball on top, sort of like those on the ski caps we wear in cold weather.

During our discussion I made it clear I stood firm on the scriptural claims concerning Jesus Christ, and my position is unwavering. Then my counterpart presented his theological position. In short, he did not believe in the Deity of Christ, that the Bible is the Word of God, nor the crucifixion of Jesus. On top of that he flatly denied Jesus Christ was resurrected from the grave.

When I shared my dream with Ozzy, he just shook his little brown head. After a brief moment of thought, Ozzy said that if this guy actually believed this, then why was he wearing that stupid hat?

Good Old Ozzy... Never a dull moment!

"Old School Personal Hygiene"!

One of man's greatest inventions has to be toilet paper. Next to a dog like Ozzy it can be man's best friend. A reliable fixture in every modern home... until somebody forgets to replace the empty roll. Taking for granted that it will be there when that ultimate moment arrives can result in a feeling of being standed on a desolate island desperately crying out for help.

The distress call came at approximately 3:05 pm. The telephone was beyond reach, so dialing 911 was not an option. Without immediate intervention all would be lost. The party in question should have checked beforehand, but in a mother nature induced panic rushed into the fray without first assuring he had everything in order. Unfortuantely the toilet paper roll was empty, thus the cries for help from the back bathroom.

It was at this point my dog Ozzy had heard enough. "What's wrong with you people", he yelled. "Why don't you do like the rest of us... just go outside, find a spot on the lawn, grab a seat, and start dragging?"

I get what Ozzy was saying... I just wonder what he meant by "You People".

"The Bavarian Effect"!

I'm not sure how it happened. Perhaps my marriage to a "Harmon" (German surname) is to blame, but one day I looked around and realized all of our dogs are German breeds. This is not a bad thing, unless you allow them to get into your head.

Two nights ago walked into my home and found myself in an old Bavarian style inn surrounded by every German breed of dog I could imagine. Dauchshunds, Rotwielers, Dobermans, Min-Pins, and the like. They were all drinking German Ale, singing German songs, and playing loud German tunes that reminded me of an evening in Helen, Georgia. Add to this the fact that all these dogs were driving BMWs, Mercedes, Porsches, and VW's, and were speaking like those three little pigs in the "Shreck" stories.

Ozzy was swinging from a light fixture dressed in one of those little alpine outfits you see in the old movies, and before I realized it I was caught up in the whole affair. I soon found myself on the floor with dogs dancing around and around, laughing and saying "Yah! Yah!". Then the cuckoo clocks started to sound off... dozens of them, hundreds of them, louder and louder... stupid little yellow birds were everywhere. Just when I felt my eardrums couldn't take any more abuse, the ruckus was interupted by the thunderous roar of a saw cutting wood in a mill... and it wouldn't stop. It kept on and on... and then my living room began to fade into view. A living room... with a saw mill?

As my mind cleared, lo and behold, there was Ozzy, lying next to me on his back, snoring as loud as I have ever heard anyone do so. It was a dream, a stupid dream; or better yet, a NIGHTMARE! The dogs have finally gotten to me. Irritated, I pushed a sleepy Ozzy off the chair. "What did I do?", he asked. "Nuthin'", I said abruptly. Just make sure you sleep in another room from now on!

I need a poodle! Uh,oh, wait a minute...Poodles aren't from
Germany, are they?

"The Better to Hear You With, My Dear!"

The commercial for the personal "sonic" hearing enhancement device was tempting. Years of military Bradley Fighting Vehicle and M-1 Abrams Tank ranges had taken their toll. Subtle hearing loss coupled with a nagging ring in my ears... this thing might help. I mean, who wouldn't want to improve thier hearing?

My dog Ozzy was chilled on the couch, and could tell I was considering picking up the phone to make a purchase. His questionalbe expression said it all. "Hey, I know you're thinking this is a dumb idea. Hearing enhancement would prevent me from saying 'Huh?' all the time". Besides, I liked the idea that I might hear what folks are saying when I walk past them (compliments like handsome, intelligent, smooth, graceful, etc.).
Ozzy looked at me and shook his head. "You may not be able to listen to people's comments from a distance, but you forget I'm a dog! I KNOW what they are saying about you...I hear everything". When I asked him what he heard, his reply was "You don't want to know". After several attempts I finally slipped him a dollar bill as a bribe (after all, he's a dog; he doesn't know the difference). The pay-off worked... he relented.

"Okay, just don't shoot the messenger", he said. "Do you remember the walks we took in the park last summer? I could hear folks say things such as "That guy looks like an idiot... he probably thinks he's cool... uncoordinated oaf, big goofy ears, old man, and bald-headed geek".

I was stunned. I asked Ozzy if he was certain that's what he heard. "Hey, you get what you pay for", he said.

Perhaps I don't need those hearing aids after all.

"Tour de Ozzy"!

My wife and son travelling to Tifton this afternoon was no reason for Ozzy to decide it was the perfect time for a guy trip, but try telling him that. Since he has never been to Atlanta, he nagged until I relented. After all, what harm could come from a quick trip on I-20 West to the Big City? Wrong question to ask.

Since it was his idea, Ozzy "planned" our little trek, chosing to take the back-roads instead of the interstate. He wanted to drive, believing his dog tag license was for him to operate a vehicle. I didn't believe he would actually push the issue, but as I stood in the kitchen I could hear him chanting "Road Trip! Road Trip!" from the driver's seat of the truck. "Okay, Big Boy!", I said. "Give it a shot". He cranked up the vehicle, and in a lame attempt to move the gear lever to reverse, he managed to engage the wash mode on the wind shield wipers. Well, at least we'll have a clear view of the highway. That said, Ozzy switched to the passenger seat, and we were on our way.

Unable to drive, Ozzy volunteered to take charge and issue directions using a large map of the Peach State. Ten minutes later we arrived in Thomson, and when my little canine co-pilot saw the "Dairy Queen" sign, he screamed for ice cream. I should have known better. Ozzy got a huge soft-serve chocolate ice cream cone, two "Snickers" bars and a "Monster" energy drink. When we finally got on the road, it didn't take long for our excursion to unravel.

Ozzy insisted that no real road trip is conducted with the windows up. The wind gusts inside the cab were exagerated by the wind gusts outside. 10 miles out of town we ran into a swarm of bees, half of which rode with us the rest of the way. Added to this was aroma of the fresh road-kill skunk I ran over while trying to avoid getting stung. The wind was making it difficult for Ozzy to hold the map steady, and by now the ice cream was melting. It became crystal clear we needed four lanes if we were going to survive to make it home.

Just outside of Warrenton Ozzy's tasty treat dropped onto the now ragged road map. Unfazed, Ozzy licked the map and tried to give directions at the same time. Things had deteriorated quickly, and we stopped at the first gas station. Truck doors flew open, and freaked-out bees went everywhere. Regrouping at the hood of the truck, we spread out our road map. Between the bugs, hurricane force winds, and Ozzy's ice cream, the city of Atlanta was missing. The entire state of Georgia looked as though General Sherman had come through again. Patrons walked by our truck holding their noses and staring at Ozzy, thanks to the dead skunk parts steaming from the exhaust.

We planned to visit Atlanta... we made it as far as Warren County. Ozzy says the we wouldn't be in the mess were in if I hadn't gotten the bright idea to take a road trip in the first place. By the way, does anyone have any need for a few dozen shell-shocked, skunk-scented, ice cream covered bumble bees?