Gerret Swirled

There are people out there who actually believe that dogs have psychic abilities. That we can talk to each other without moving our lips. That we can predict the weather. That we can diagnose tumors and recognize evil humans as they approach. That we can tell when Stump's coming home before his airplane has even landed and that we know when you've put a pill in our food no matter how deeply you bury it in some fancy meat product.

Okay. Okay. Some of that is slight-of-paw, some is misdirection, much is careful observation. (If you spent 24/7 observing me the way I spend 24/7 observing you, you'd have a much better understanding of why I hate playing "fetch my stinky slippers." Argh.)

Yes, there's a rare few, like your humble author The Gerret, who truly have some psychic abilities. For instance, I know that at this very moment you are reading my blog.

Now you're thinking, "that's a stupid joke."

Now you're thinking "how did he know what I was doing and thinking?"

Psychic powers!

But let's go back to the "talking without moving our lips" thing.

Because people anthropomorphize dogs, they expect them to talk with their mouths. But mainly we talk with our tails. You probably wouldn't know about that since you don't have tails, just booty. In fact, some folks think dog tails are superfluous and they cut them off. Sheesh. Try cutting out your tongue and going to a cocktail party. You get the picture.

Dog tails are like billboards, and GPS systems, and cell phone towers and dog podcasts all rolled into one. To wit, my newest movie:

Just read that the label "free range" doesn't mean what you might think. Whatever. Around here it means chickens go where they want when they want and there are certain restrictions on dogs following them at high speeds. The Gerret considers this unnecessary regulation. I'm arguing that we replace "free range" with "affordable range" just as a way to reduce the deficit around here.

But I ramble.

In case you weren't aware (I'm talking to you, Maggie), there's a universe out there bigger than Frog Pond Farm. It's called Alamance County. It's HUGE! And they have something called a humane society, which sounds like it's about humans, but it's really about animals and the people they care for.

Around here we rely on the Humane Society of Alamance County to keep track of the passage of time, and in order to meet that responsibility they issue a calendar every year. And that calendar features 12 of the hottest adopted/rescued animals in all of Alamance County. Why 12? I dunno. Ask them.

Anyway, this year we entered yours truly, The Gerret, in the contest to appear in the 2011 HSAC calendar. And then, as an afterthought and in order to avoid lots of jealousy and bitterness, we also entered Maggie, Slippers and Sophie. Personally, I look at me, I look at them, I look at me, I look at them, I look at me... and well let's just say I was pretty confident.

But this probably wouldn't be worth writing about if it just turned out that The Gerret got what he deserved.

When the announcement arrived we learned that the HSAC had selected Sophie - SOPHIE - (heck we call her "Soapie") to appear in their la-de-da calendar. I'm stunned.

I can't believe that Sophie would be the choice in a popular election. And so I turn to you, the citizens of the world. Please vote on which of the four of us you would have included in the calendar. To cast your vote, write the name of your first choice [in order below: THE GERRET, Maggie, Slippers, sophie] on a dollar bill and mail it to P.O. Box 68, 27340. Don't worry. I'll get it. And I can count.

Hi y'all! It's ME! Maggie! The hardest working tongue in two counties!

How am I? Awesome! How are you? Awesome! Isn't that just totally awesome! Been just soooo totally busy lately, what with all the eating and sleeping! Woof!

Had to take a moment from my busy schedule to belately introduce some new members of the pack or flock or what-ev-ah! It's our newest chickens Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato! They are the three young thangs appearing in the above photo in eggs-actly that order! From left to right! They are... you guessed it... TOTALLY AWESOME! Around here we just call them "The Sandwich!" Ha-ha-ha! I make myself laugh! Oh well! Gotta go! Food to eat and naps to take! CUL8R!

Chigger -- my first, best and only mentor -- passed away yesterday. 15 years old. This is her last picture. Notice who she's hanging out with? The Gerret! I'm proud of that. Not bad considering she used to cuss me out on a regular basis. I wasn't too tolerable in the early days. (I wrote about those rough times here, here and here.)

Chigger wasn't a loud dog, but it seems awfully quiet around here today all the same. She used to tell me stories about things I can't even imagine. Like the 20th century, telephones with leashes and a time when dogs didn't have blogs. She was a pioneer in that regard. Of course back then the squirrels were always faster, the holes were always deeper, unwelcome visitors were always scared-er and the garden never lost one single solitary strawberry to a deer on Chigger's watch. I think she might have been the first dog.

But mainly she was a proud working dog and her increasing infirmities embarrassed her. As she used to tell me, "People think we dogs do what we do because we want to. But that's wrong. Dogs do what we do because it's what people want us to do, as best as we can figure out from their poor communications skills. We're here to protect and serve. That's the fun part."

The Gerret's got some big paws to fill.

So this dour young lady is Snowball, one of our resident turtles. Snowball generally hangs out 24/7 in the frog pond so this is a rare land sighting, even for one as eagle-eyed as yours truly The Gerret. Tweet suggested that Snowball must be headed somewhere to lay her eggs 'cause that's about the only thing that would get her to leave the pond, but I know better. Snowball's clearing out for a few weeks because she knows that it's almost time for the annual Frogapalooza at Frog Pond Farm. That scowl is her way of saying "get me outta here."

And what, you ask, is Frogapalooza? I'm glad you asked. When Stump and Tweet first moved here there was a pond, and it had a lot of frogs in it, so they named the place "Frog Pond Farm." Personally, The Gerret would have preferred "Dogpatch" but I wasn't around back then to make my case.

Anyway, Frog Pond Farm eventually got listed in all those little froggie tourist guide books, and featured on the froggie Internet and even had several hundred thousand froggie fans on Frogbook. And out of that grew Frogapalooza. Happens every year. First week in June. Every frog from here to Calaveras County comes to the Frog Pond, or at least it seems like it. You got your tree frogs, and your bullfrogs, and your green frogs and cricket frogs and barking frogs and peepers and chorus frogs and every whichever kind of frog. They all show up at the pond looking for a little bit of that froggie love.

It'll be pretty quiet during the day cause they're all sleeping it off, but once the sun goes down, those frogs start hollerin' and humpin' and they don't care who's listening or who's watching and they don't stop until the sun comes up in the morning. They're so loud you can't hear a cat fart from six inches away.

So this here is my sound and pictures documentary of Frogapalooza, just so you know what I'm talking about. If you're brave you'll plug your computer into your sound system and crank the volume up to like 12, because that's makin' it real.

Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! This is just sooooooooooo cuUUute!!!!

Maggie here!!!! Look what Slippers brought home last night!!! OMG! I guess because it was just rainy and stuff and he was feeling nice and stuff and he brought this dude inside and stuff sorta! Awesome!! Where does the warm and fuzzy stop!!! The little dude was just totally squeaking a lot at first, but once Tweet took control things settled down! Anyway, I named her Spot! Isn't that perfect!! Tweet wanted to name her Thumper, but I'm all like "Thumper? Thumper? That's soooo lame!"

FWIW Tweet is the same person who wanted to name Scoobie Sinatra "Bambi" LOL!!! Where does she get this stuff?!!!

Anyway, once she dried off and the rain stopped Tweet took Spot back out and turned her loose and she ran off into the woods. Probly gonna hit the mall!!! Then go hang with Scoobie!!! LOL girlfriends!!!!

And so anyway The Gerret has got his collar all in a bunch over something he calls the supreme cord decision allowing videos that show violence toward animals. Gag me with a chicken bone!!! You want to see just total violence and degradation perpetrated towards dogs? Huh? Huh? Check this out!!! GaGa is right!!! Or maybe GagGag!!! Hahahahahaha!!

Gotta go!!! CUL8R!!!

IRIS you were here!!! Bwahhahahahaha!!!! Sometimes I crack myself up!! Wicked funny!!

Maggie here JICYHAFTO!!!!

The weather is here, Iris you were beautiful!!! Hahahaha!!! That's twice I made me laugh!!!

So you gotta look at this video! I mean it's like almost totally awesome!!! Technically, that's not The Gerret in this video, but I'm betting him and this hot dog prolly both came from the same sausage factory!! ROTFLMTO!!! Dog park, ball park, parallel park... don't matter to these dogs, it's all just poop-poop-pa-dooooo!!!! O-M-G gross!!!

Check it out!! Gotta go!!! CUL8R!!!

Have you ever tried to stare at a television screen for 87 straight minutes? EIGHTY SEVEN MINUTES? Sheesh. No sane mammal would ever do that. That's more than TEN HOURS in dog time.

Oh well, there's probably no moral high ground here.

My good friends at some Hollywood-type marketing agency sent me another DVD to review. Specifically, "The Fantastic Mr. Fox." That's cool. As The Gerret has said more than once: will perform for treats.

The subtext here is that I'm late. They're pissed. I'm crankin' it out.

But really. 87 straight minutes? That's asking a lot from a dog.

So here's The Gerret's review of The Fantastic Mr. Fox.

But hey! Stop the presses. Before the movie even starts, there's trailers, and one of those trailers is for... drum roll... "Marley & Me: The Terrible 2's." I repeat: "Marley & Me: The Terrible 2's." Get it? A sequel to "Marley & Me."

Now I don't mean to get too all full of myself, but if you're one of the half-dozen readers who read my review of the original "Marley & Me," you'll know that (***Spoiler Alert***) MARLEY DIED. (***End of Spoiler Alert***). Make of that what you will.

But I'm here to talk about "The Fantastic Mr. Fox," which I guess they sent to me because foxes are sort of like dogs. So they figured I'd like this for the same reasons humans like "Bedtime for Bonzo." Right? You do like "Bedtime for Bonzo", right? Because Bonzo is sorta like... well, you know where I'm going with that.

Enough complaining.

"The Fantastic Mr. Fox" star George Clooney and Meryl Streep in the most amazing roles of their careers. The both lost a ton of weight, got a bunch of plastic surgery and glued hair all over their bodies. Robert DeNiro eat your heart out. I kid you not when I say Streep is a fox in this movie.

Anyway, I don't want to spoil the ending, so I'm not going to tell you anything about the movie. Just let me say that if you've ever been dissed by a rich farmer, or had a possum for a friend, or enjoyed Bill Murray in "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" you'll love this movie.

So what's the verdict? The Gerret, as always, easily impressed, just has to give "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" four Gerrets.

The Fantastic Mr. Fox:

Spring has sproinged around here and The Gerret is out relaxing, getting a bit of the old sunshine and experiencing the changes afoot. Birds are making a lot of noise, peepers are peeping, moles are moling, daffodils are daffying.

Then there's Slippers the cat. From a distance you might assume that he is also relaxing in the sun.

But appearances, like cats in general, are deceiving. Let's zoom in on that face. Without doubt The Gerret declares that this cat is harboring evil thoughts. I don't know exactly what, but if you're small and kind of rodent-y like, I'd stay alert.

Rufus and his mallard harem are doing quite fine. They've managed to fend off a number of uninvited mallard couples that have visited the pond during migration season. He's not much for sharing.

Stump found a hibernating bat in his workshop. Luckily it was right about the time his alarm was scheduled to go off anyway, so he's be fine, if a bit groggy.

Chigger's slowing down. Seems to be checking everything out one more time.

The other day was ol' Chigger's 15th birthday. (The Gerret has been instructed not to mention how much that is in dog years. We just say "15" and leave it at that.) Here's Maggie and me with the Chigster in our official portrait from the occasion, all formal and stuff since Chigger doesn't have a lot of patience for monkey business or horse play and the like. I had this really cool idea that involved new tricks, but, well, let's just say that dog don't hunt. And neither does Chigger. But I'll give her this, she may be old, but she sure does smell. With her nose I mean. She doesn't see so good so she gets around by smelling and stuff. That's what I meant. Really.

Anyway, to honor her I thought I'd drag out one of her old blog posts from back in July of aught-three, way before my time. It featured her Master's Thesis on "The Semiotics of French Dog Signs." Apparently it was real popular at the Sore-bones or something. Click the picture for the real goods.