Archive for July, 2009

No Post Today?


July 27th, 2009 Posted 10:28 am

No post today. Why? Because Bernie says these are the dog days. What does that mean? How are they different from any other days? I’m a bit confused.


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Another Post I Wish I Could Remember (Thanks, B. Stover)

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July 26th, 2009 Posted 9:34 am



Way deep in the cave, the sounds of the rat scurrying away in the darkness, and then – what was that? A very strange feeling, like I wasn’t  moving but the earth under me was. I hate feelings like that – being on an elevator, for example, or even worse, an escalator. The escalator thing happened only once, perhaps a story for another time. Because right now the earth was moving under my feet, and then came this quiet boom.

“Chet! Run!” I turned, saw Bernie’s form framed in the opening of the cave. A rock fell from above, glanced off my tail. “Come on, Chet! Run!” I’m a good runner. I ran toward Bernie. Then came another boom, this one huge, and the next thing I knew we were rolling on the ground outside the cave, me and Bernie, dust boiling all around us.

We got up, looked back. The cliff was still there but the hole was gone. There were just rocks, piles and piles of them. Then I noticed one other thing. That big flat metal can, shaped like a Frisbee? I seemed to have it in my mouth.

Elvis gospel: Have a good Sunday, everybody! (Next Sunday – Spencer Quinn at the Martha’s Vineyard Book Festival.)


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Go, Oscar!

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July 25th, 2009 Posted 7:51 am

“Here’s a story,” Bernie says, gazing at the computer screen. There’s been a bit too much of that lately, just my opinion. “This Saint Bernard, somewhere near Boston, I think, got abandoned and lived off the land for a while. When the police found him he’d forgotten lots of dog things.”


“For example,” Bernie says, “he seemed to be unfamiliar with dog toys – if you threw a ball he just stood there.”

So? I’ve done that once or twice – kind of a trick of my own that I sometimes play on humans. Never Bernie, of course.

“Now he’s living with a nice family west of Boston,” Bernie says. “They call him Oscar. Good name! Here’s to happy endings.”

And why not happy starts, too? And also happy in-betweens.


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If Only I Could Remember The Post About The Skull


July 24th, 2009 Posted 7:36 am



Wait, Chet,” Bernie said. This was yesterday. We were outside this cave, or abandoned mine or whatever it was, somewhere in Death Valley. “There are no supports. Don’t go in there.” But I had to. I smelled a rat, one of those big desert rats. I don’t like them, not one little bit, don’t like their smell, either, which is kind of like mice except more sour, like they’re always eating something rotten.

The next thing I knew, I was deep in the shaft, smelling the rat, and hearing him, too, scurrying on ahead of me. “Chet! Chet!” Bernie shone the light inside. I saw my own shadow, stretched out way ahead. And what was that? Uh-oh. A skull. A human skull, sitting straight up on the hard-packed ground. And beside it lay a can, a big flat kind of metal can, pretty much the shape of a Frisbee.

“Chet? What’s going on?”


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