Klync's Blog

1 Labrador + 1 Dead Squirrel = Gross

klync — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 16:11:12 +0000

So it’s Thanksgiving Day and I’m running around the kitchen desperately trying to calculate the completion time for my green bean casserole, sweet potato dish and a fairly large pan of yeast rolls. My dogs are SUPPOSED to be in the back yard, but judging by the high-pitched barks filtering through the windows that’s not the case. Buddy is apparently pissed because Max has decided once again to jump the fence and roam the neighborhood. Buddy retaliates by furiously digging a hole of mammoth proportions with which he will make his escape. I tried to ignore the screeching, but finally walked out on the front porch and called for Max. Here he comes, bounding across the yard, ears flopping and a grin from ear to ear. WTF? He’s got something in his mouth – something large, dark and hairy. Large enough that it’s hanging from either side of his jaw and whatever it is, he’s been carrying it around a while. He bounces up the steps and I get my first good look at his latest toy.

It’s a dead squirrel. Not only that, it’s a headless dead squirrel.

I start screaming, “Drop it! Drop it!” Max stands there, completely befuddled as to why I’m not pleased with his chew toy. He reluctantly drops the mangled piece of fur on the porch and stares at my as if to say, ” Well? What now?” I take him around to the yard and put him back inside knowing full well that if I’m lucky he’ll be caged for at least ten minutes. Buddy has successfully fled the yard so while I tried to locate him, my husband disposed of the hairy corpse on the porch. Thank God.

Thanksgiving dinner comes and goes; we’re all settled in the living room watching football and watching our waistlines increase by increments. The dogs are napping in front of the fireplace and all is calm… until Buddy walks through and nonchalantly drops a squirrel head on the living room floor.

Thanks, Bud.

Food (or something similar) from the vending machine

klync — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 21:36:46 +0000

I did not plan to post again today, but while standing in front of the soda machine I couldn’t help but ponder the vending machine menu. 1) Chef Boyardee (not a good choice) – simply because anything produced by Chef Boyardee will last forever which can’t be good for your colon. The reason I know their food would survive a nuclear blast is because I used to serve it my daughter (she of the concrete dessert disaster) and any time it got on her clothes they were permanently stained. No amount of Clorox could remove the orangey splotches from her clothes. Still, I had no qualms about nuking a bowl of ravioli and calling it a healthy meal. 2) Boxes of tuna “salad.” Okay, it’s not salad at all. It’s two miniature-sized cans of tuna in a box. What makes it a salad? The picture of lettuce on the box? Uh, no.

For some reason, this reminded me of my mom’s idea of dessert when I was growing up. She called it “fruit salad” when in reality it was a pear slice sitting atop a piece of lettuce. Oh, she added a healthy dollop of mayonnaise (gag!), sprinkled it with cheese and put it on a pretty saucer. What the hell? Dessert is a fudge brownie. Dessert is a bowl of ice cream. Dessert is NOT a piece of fermented-looking fruit swimming in mayonnaise. That’s just wrong on so many levels. Which brings me back around to tomorrow’s dessert menu: three different kinds of pie and a New York-style cheesecake. Now that’s dessert! (Lettuce not included).

Twas the day before Thanksgiving…

klync — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 14:24:02 +0000

and all through my house everyone was sleeping except for me because I have to work today. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and believe me, I’ve had crappy jobs where just showing up was a monumental feat on my part. BUT, there’s something oh so wrong with waking up at friggin’ 4:30 in the morning and knowing that even my dogs will get to sleep in today. Actually, that’s not totally true. After hitting the snooze twice, nudging Buddy (my Jack Russell) awake and stepping over Max (my huge Lab and resident senior citizen), I stumble to the coffee pot for my first cup of coffee. While waiting for my favorite beverage to reach a temperature that doesn’t boil my tongue, I let the dogs out for their morning constitution. Business finished, we troop back into the house so I can attempt to wake up with a shower while they (what else?) go back to bed. Jeez. If I actually believed in reincarnation, I would want to come back as my own dog as their life appears to be much more laid back than my own.

So after work is done today it’s off the grocery store for the items I forgot to purchase this weekend. My daughter is in charge of desserts this year. Overall, she’s a pretty good cook if we ignore last year’s orange concrete pie aka pumpkin pie. Swear to god, it was the consistency of wet cement and weighed about 4 pounds. This is what happens when she used condensed milk instead of evaporated milk. Out of morbid curiosity I took a bite and my back teeth hurt from the overwhelming sweet flavor. Gak. I pitched it straight into the garbage can, ran back to the store and she started all over with better results. Fingers crossed for this year and I’ve loaded up on Maalox just in case.