Gone 'Round the Bend

Well of course I'm insane. It's never been any big secret. That I actually believe in the Golden Rule and don't believe in any war in which people are killed or wounded, along with the inescapable truth that I love and play golf, all bear witness to my insanity. That I'm not a danger to myself or others has kept me from padded cells and rubber rooms so far, but incarceration is only a naked romp through downtown away. My latest walk on the whack-o side gives further credence to my dementia, but before you all rush to there he goes again judgment, I ask only that you look at the photos that accompany today's blog. How could I, given the scrambled eggs that are my heart and brains, possibly NOT have yielded to this latest and greatest mad impulse? It simply could not be done. Well, not by me anyway.

His name is Finnegan, probably Finny for short. Raffy, Matty, Finny has a certain flow to it and closeness of sound that when calling one I'm likely to get all. That works for me as I'm reminded that Woowoo Charly still calls our daughters Laurakiradara when signaling for one of them just to make sure the right name is in there somewhere. Finnegan is an eight week old Golden Retriever and of course the "Golden" is a part of the rule I mentioned earlier. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you and if you get an opportunity to get a Golden Retriever jump on it." It's in the Bible. You can look it up. It's the reason it's called the "Golden" rule.

Anyway, we bought him at Melo the same store where we found Raffi and Matti. We were there, in fact, to get those pups their latest series of shots. Finnegan was in his Melo cage putting the eyes on me as we walked by. He was telepathy-ing like a pro that he sure would like to be part of our pack. He said the Cockers looked like fun dogs and I seemed like a nice guy even if I was somewhat..."touched" is how he put it. Turns out touched is something dogs look for in a pack leader. I thought "are you sure?" and he thought back, "you bet" so about an hour later he was riding home on Woowoo Chuck's lap with the other mutts while I drove and RTGFKAR made us promise there would be no more dogs. I wondered then if Melo ever carried pygmy goats.

So I'm up at ten minutes to four, pajama clad, standing in the rain watching a fur ball sniff about for a likely spot to pee while I whisper encouragement. It's not really crazy you know. It's just, well...okay it's crazy. I love it though. And that's the craziest part.

Addendum: Woowoo Charly say she knew I was a goner the minute I saw the dog, but then she's been around the lunacy for a long long time. And, of course, it is catching.