Bad Habits

Those bastard geese know to stay far far away from me! I would not hesitate to take one in my jaws, by the neck. Muhahaha!

Just kidding.

Brad is always telling me, "Be nice Howard."

Be nice Howard...I am nice! I Howard am one nice pooch. I only have one or two bad habits. Okay, maybe three. Make that four.

Bad Habit #1: I bite the vacuum cleaner. Mostly when Brad uses it. I mean, what the??? Men aren't supposed to vacuum. I'm an old-fashioned, male chauvinist. What can I say?

Bad Habit #2: I like to fight through the fence, and I have had two ear surgeries to prove it.

Bad Habit #3: I like to get into the garbage can. Julie thought she could get a lid, but she underestimates me time after time after time.

Bad Habit #4: Kitties...need I say more. Those damn fluffy effers make me blind with white hot rage, and lately they have been flaunting themselves ALL OVER MY BACKYARD.

Bad Habit #5: Each time I come in the house from the backyard, I demand an ice cube. I DEMAND it. They call it my chill pill.

Bad Habit #6: The couch. Hell, I know Julie doesn't want me on the couch, but my old bones demand something cushier than the cold hard floor. Plus I can watch TV better from the couch. What she does not know will not hurt her I figure, but somehow she finds me out every. blasted. time.

Okay, so maybe I have 6 bad habits. That isn't bad for an old man like me.

I Love to Go Bye Bye

Dreaming of going bye bye

I can't help it if "going bye bye" doesn't sound tough enough. It is all I know to call that exhiliration of being on the open road, ears flapping, nose sniffing air at 80 mph.

There are some things I miss quite a bit. When I was a wee little pup, Brad would drive from Lake Havasu to Santa Barbara every single week and sometimes he would bring me with him. It was a fun trip, of course, because I was on the road nose to the wind. The only problem was he would drive his truck which does not have a ton of space for me to lie down. I, Howard, need my naps. Even as a puppy I needed a daily nap or five.

I used to dream that he would buy a Chevrolet Silverado that would have had a lot more space for me. I used to picture myself hanging out the huge side window, barking at the passers by and laughing under my breath like Mutley when the jumped. Never happened though. Instead I was stuck in the little truck bracing myself for every slam on the brakes. One time we were cruising along at 70, and all of a sudden he slamed on the brakes and I end up on the floor. Not fun for me at all, and after that the truck needed a brake job.

I needed a craniotomy.

Brad was always good at putting her up on two wheels as well. You have NO IDEA the suffering I endured all for the thrill of a joy ride. I would even drive from California to Texas to Dallas Auto Repair. That is how hardcore I am.