Fe-lying Terrorists Disable Communications

Proof they're workin' paw in litter with all those other shadowy terrorists.

"Nicosia (Reuters) - Dozens of stray cats and their fleas put Cyprus state radio off the air Tuesday as fumigation experts were called in."

Fleas! Why did it have to be FLEAS?!!!

"Cyprus Broadcasting Corporation (CyBC) Radio 3 program said only songs and news bulletins would be broadcast for the next 24 hours on all three of the CyBC's radio channels due to "an immediate need for spraying."

They might wanna' think about spaying while they're at it.

"The problem with the cats is causing a terrible situation, there hundreds of them and they are running into the studios and over the roof," said one reporter who declined to be named. "At one point, one cat fell through the roof and landed on someone's head," he said.

Flea-ridden fe-lyings fallin' on one's head trumps dead pigeons every time. Not to mention rats, squirrels, and giant ants.

"They have made a mess and broken everything in my office."

Wanton, mindless destruction--it's what fe-lyings are all about.

"Staff said they were told there was a possibility the three CyBC stations could stay off the air for as long as three days."

Call in the K-9 Corps to send those fe-lying terrorists to the big kitty litter pan in the sky.

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The Big Dog Doesn't Have To Bark

It is really gettin' tough navigatin' through all the dirty kitty litter flyin' around over these Swift Vet guys and, damn, that stuff stings when it nails you in the schnozz--right Mr. Kerry?

The Demo-cats are out there hissin' 'n spittin' 'n howlin' to the FEC that the Vets are really workin' for the President and should be sued or fined or arrested or burned or somethin' just so they STOP advertisin' their objections. Then there are all the pundits-in-the-know (who probably know the same amount as I do, but since they're humans other humans actually listen to them--big mistake, of course, but, hey--go figure). Well they're all tsk-tskin' about how GWB shouldn't have signed that campaign finance reform bill 'cause now it's comin' back to bite him on the ass.

Well, maybe, maybe not. A few days ago, a reader over at that puppy blender's place made a good point (scroll down):

"For almost a year there have been attack ads against Bush. Bush displayed much more character by not demanding that the books and movies and ads that have been attacking him be banned the way Kerry is trying to do. Bush stood up for the rights of even those who opposed him and lied about him.

"Kerry tries to silence any opposition, in much the same way as portrayed in Fahrenheit 451 (the original book). That is frightening! And to make matters worse, the mainstream media is in collusion with him."

I've written before about bein' in show biz and havin' to get along with lots and lots of major egos and listen to all sorts of crap. We canines manage. But once and a while we'd get a cathole who just couldn't hold it together when facin' the big guns.

Now there was this one jerk who always seemed to have a burr up his butt. Whined about every little thing--really was givin' we Aussies a bad rep. (We pride ourselves on being dignified representatives of the terrier nation.) Every time I was in the class ring with him he'd climb down off that friggin' table and launch himself at me, draggin' at his lead, snarlin' and snappin' and yappin' insults for no other reason than I was the top dog to beat. He hated that! AHM and me would just stand there, smilin' and waitin' for his handler to haul him back in line. Sure I was on alert in case the human fe-lying at the other end of the lead let go (which, considerin' the human, could have happened) but I never did a thing. I was the big dog. I didn't have to bark. All I had to do was stand back and let everyone see the other guy actin' like a fool.

Worked every time.

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Herdin' The Bull

This John Kerry quagmire 'bout his Vietnam memories versus the Swift Vets' evidence (something Beldar calls the Tar Baby strategy and fisks the new LA Times piece) is remindin' me more 'n more of how you herd a bull. A lot of bull in this case. And believe me, I know a thing or three about herdin' bulls.

Yeah, yeah, I know--I look like I'm just a little guy and I'm supposed to herd sheep (who can be real pissants when they wanna' be) not bulls. But what are ya' gonna' do when you're a half-grown pup on a CA ranch and the next-door-ranch bull gets loose to wander all over the landscape?

There he was--lost and horny in the middle of our yard, lasciviously eyeing the cows in the next rancher's field. AHM could have tried calling the owner (which you should know from previous readin' she wasn't likely to do) but the bull would be in the field (and the cows) by the time he arrived. What to do, what to do…

Send in the cavalry.

Dad and me were sittin' on the porch watchin' it all and layin' bets on how long it would take the bull to find a way into the field with the cows who (being dumb, not-even-rich cows) were sashayin' their butts all over the place and makin' "come hither" cow noises. (I could probably do a Jessica Cutler riff here, but 1) it's already been done and 2) AHM doesn't want me goin' all "wonkie.") Anyhow, AHM barged out of the house, opened the porch gate, and said "Get the bull." Then she marched over to the gate leading to a small field away from the cows and pointed. "In here, fellas."

Get the bull? Who the shit was she kiddin'? We'd never herded anything except other dogs in the show ring (and they mostly followed us anyway). But that didn't seem to bother Dad at all. He went off like a shot, straight for the bull's nose. Well, damn, what was I supposed to do except follow him? I figured I'd take the end without the horns, though.

That bull didn't know what hit him. Maybe he thought the mosquitoes-from-hell were on steroids or somethin'. He lowered his head to eyeball Dad and got a nip that made him snort crap into Dad's face. While he wasn't lookin' I took a shot at the nearest heel. That made him move forward, but he swung his head around to see what the hell had teeth in the general vicinity of his balls. Dad was right at him again, makin' him turn back to the open gate, so I gave him another reminder on his other heel. He charged forward and Dad leaped up and sideways a few feet closer to the open gate. I took another swipe. Nose. Heel. Nose. Heel. Nip, nip, nip, nip. We were getting' the hang of this herdin' thing.

By now the bull is bellowing and the cows are wailing. Damn, they could wail! Don't buy in to that "cattle are lowing" business, by the way, 'cause there's nothin' "low" about the sound of a bunch of cows in heat being deprived of a potential group lay. Of course just for good measure, we're tellin' that stupid bull to get the hell out of our yard at the top of our lungs. With all the racket we were makin' you'd think someone would have showed up to find out what the hell was going on.

Well, no one showed to help, so it was up to Dad and me. Between the three of us, we left quite a churned up track in the grass, trampled the ground myrtle, uprooted some impatiens, knocked a branch or two off the dogwood tree and pretty much flattened a Rose of Sharon bush. But the final score was terriers=2, bull=0.

Let's see a fe-lying do that!

The Swift Vets seem to be doin' the same thing to Kerry. Nip, nip, nip, nip.

PS. We got rib bones for dinner. And this time they had lots of meat on 'em.

PPS. Beldar links dug up at Instapundit.

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Glad To Be An Australian-American Terrier

Especially when I read things like this.

"A huge ant colony measuring 100 kilometres (62 miles) across has been found under the southern Australian city of Melbourne, scientists said. Monash University researcher Elissa Suhr said the supercolony of Argentine ants was threatening native biodiversity in Australia's second largest city. "

Would that be human or animal biodiversity? I gotta' say there are a few humans in Australia these days I could do without!

"[Suhr] said Argentine ants were ranked among the world's 100 worst animal invaders and had found an ideal habitat in the Mediterranean-type eco-systems of south-eastern Australia."

For some reason this story reminds me of Meryl Yourish…

"Within a short amount of time, more ants appeared in the now-clean space, which was what I was afraid of. I know they lay a scent trail, and I try desperately to kill all the ants so they don't bring back the smell or whatever they do to lead their buddies to food. So I killed those ants, and kept checking. More ants appear. Kill ants. More ants appear. Kill ants. Still more ants appear. Kill ants. I had this imaginary scene in my head, over at Ant HQ:

"Numbers 1304 to 1382, report to grid 71 for forage."
"Numbers 1383 to 1403, forage party hasn't returned; go to grid 71 and see what's happened."
"Numbers 1404 to 1411, go to grid 71 to see what's happened to rescue party."
"Numbers 1412 to 1417, report to grid 71 and bring back news of the last rescue party."
"Numbers 1418 to 1422, grid 71, and stop grumbling or you'll be on larvae duty for the next three cycles."

Yep. That sounds pretty much like what's happenin' in Melbourne all right. They better read up on how to handle the problem.

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Monkey Was Livin' High on the Hog

Had a feeling the story this guy told was a bunch of used kitty litter. Never believed he was keepin' the monkey to cook and clean--in fact, the only monkey I ever knew was less than useless. Had to wear diapers 'cause he wasn't smart enough to be housebroken--just let fly whenever the spirit moved him. A real Monkey Moore.

"August 9, 2004 -- The "disabled" Brooklyn man whose monkey has bitten two kids says he needs his attack macaque to help him cook, open drawers and comb his hair — but here's the ex-con doing construction and even shoveling snow without any help whatsoever.

"The Post has obtained damning photographs showing that Steve Seidler, who spent nine years in federal prison for dealing cocaine, may not need Darla the macaque after all — and that he might have been making a monkey of taxpayers for years.

"Pictures taken over the winter and last summer show Seidler doing yardwork, digging his car out and even building a wheelchair ramp—leading his Mill Basin neighbors to believe his monkey act was simply a dog-and-pony show."

I resent the "dog" part of that expression. My shows were always classy. No jumpin' on a pony's back wearin' a tutu (although I have been known to wear a red tie at Christmas) and wavin' to the crowd. (Hem does the tricks, the little suck-up.)

"Seidler retired on disability from the NYPD in 1984 and has since been collecting three-quarters of his salary for a hand injury — meaning he has been getting $2,200 a month tax-free for the past 20 years. That's a total of more than $500,000 of taxpayers' money."

This is somethin' I know about. Up close and personal. These kind of people need to be caught and cut off. The way humans can figure out ways to steal money from other humans amazes me. And they don't seem to feel at all guilty about it. Hell, even I feel guilty when I screw up.

Ya' know, from what I've seen I've decided humans are either takers (mostly liberal-type people) or givers. Silly Human Female is of those humans who's got what AHM calls "an entitlement mentality." Guess that means she's a "taker." 'Course she always pretended to be a "giver," but, like AHM said once, don't ever ask SHF to "drop by sometime" 'cause she will--and forget to leave. Hmmmm--better wait to write about that or I'll never get to the rest of this story.

"Ever since Darla bit 2-year-old Tommy Romano at a Brooklyn Key Food, Seidler has only been seen leaving his house in a motorized wheelchair, for which he has a metal ramp going up to his house.

"But neighbors—who wished to remain anonymous—said they had hardly ever seen him use the chair before and that he often pushed it up the ramp himself.

"Seidler told reporters last week that he suffers from emphysema, asthma, and poor circulation, which is why he needed the monkey."

When my dad was real sick with a bad heart, he used to have problems getting' his breath. Couldn't jump up on his favorite chair and sure couldn't take walks any more. Ya' don't muck about in the garden and dig your car out of a snowdrift in that condition. Hell, Dad could barely go up and down the outside steps much less build a ramp! (Okay, so he couldn't build a ramp on his best days, but you get my meanin'.)

"Dennis Trott, the lawyer who successfully defended Seidler last year against a health-code violation, said the photos, which he hadn't seen, did not necessarily prove anything. "He could get up and walk for a while, but he would experience fatigue, shortness of breath, and maybe his legs would give out," Trott said. Trott also claimed that some neighbors had personal vendettas against Seidler."

That Trott is a John Edwards wanna-be for sure. Wonder how many taxpayer dollars he got for defendin' that piece of clumpin' kitty litter?

We got a Seidler type livin' in our neighborhood. Really creeps us out, the ugly son of a cat. And yeah, most of the neighbors have personal vendettas against him. Aside from resentin' the dollars they're shellin' out to keep the jerk in booze and cigarettes, the cathole walks around all day harassing women and peekin' in neighborhood windows. Wife says his brain is messed up and he doesn't know what he's doin'. Right--like a fe-lying doesn't know. The cops know what he's doin'. He's got a rap sheet a half-mile long.

And he sure as hell can use his brain well enough to avoid AHM and her handy-dandy stun gun.

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Fe-lyings Fail Again

Well, I finally bit the Dentabone® and visited the ultimate catblogger. The "catcam" doesn't lie. There they were, fe-lyings taking their ease as if our nation weren't under attack from all sides. My God--you could almost say they were Demo-cats!

"Out at the Central Contra Costa Sanitary District's Pacheco plant they've got pigeons. Pigeons for days. Pigeons on the roof, in the I-beams, in the gutters and all over the machinery.

"And where there are pigeons, there is pigeon poop. Tons of it. They know poop out at the sewage treatment plant, and everyone agrees there is way too much of the pigeon type. It streaks the equipment, pollutes the treated water and generally ruins everyone's day."

Somehow I never thought of poop being a problem at a sewage treatment plant.

"So [Chuck Batts, plant general manager] reached what might seem a logical solution -- pigeon-cide. Most of us would agree that it has a certain blunt logic. And so workers, following what is considered by animal control officers and pest control companies to be an acceptable practice, were sent with pellet rifles about six or eight months ago to thin the ranks, Batts said.

"It was not a pretty sight.

"There were dead birds falling from the sky, wounded birds flopping on the ground and blood everywhere. The workers complained."

No shit Sherlock! The mind boggles at the image of a dead pigeon or three landing on one's head.

"Still, no one wanted a daily shootout at the sewage plant. Batts says the pigeon hunters switched to "catch cages,'' which raised a whole new set of problems.

"It's pretty easy to trap pigeons. Then comes the question of what to do with them," says Bill Quarles, executive director of Biointegral Resource Center, a nonprofit pest management program. "At that point, it either gets messy or not, depending.'' Unfortunately, the sewage workers went with messy."

Well, they are sewage workers, ya' know.

"So now what?

"Some communities use hawks…Galan, a trained Harris hawk, is one of the birds that patrols New York's Central Park. Unfortunately, there have been some problems with the raptors. Last year, one of the New York hawks mistook a Chihuahua for lunch. The dog's owner, not expecting the pet to be attacked from above by a flesh-eating bird of prey--even if it was a city employee--was not happy. That's the problem, says [Bill Quarles, executive director of Biointegral Resource Center].

"You're sitting at a bench, eating your lunch and Whap!" he says. "Blood and feathers everywhere.''

"Besides, killing pigeons is no way to solve the problem. They might not be the brightest birds on the branch, but they have reproduction down to a science…

"But Quarles says the best approach is to find the pigeons' food source and eliminate it. Take away their food and water and the pigeons will move on to become someone else's problem. And they are going to be someone else's problem. For some reason, this has been a banner year for pigeons. No one knows why.

"Maybe,'' Quarles suggests, "we don't have enough cats.'' There is a pause. "That was a joke,'' he says."

A sad joke. Maybe what we really have is a bunch of fat fe-lyings lounging on recliners instead of pulling their not-inconsiderable weight.

Of course there is an upside to that--they're creating jobs for humans.

"In January, Key West officials agreed to pay Armando Parra Sr. $20 for each nuisance chicken he caught until Sept. 30. His limit was 900 birds. Parra, a barber and self-taught bird catcher, had rounded up 542 chickens, a quarter of the estimated population roaming about in the city. But, on July 23, Parra turned in his city-issued traps and said he was going freelance.

"I just thought it was a better idea if I went out on my own," he said.

Damn! Why was I never told there were jobs like that out there?

"Parra said the city issued "chicken lists" telling him which poultry to capture. He said the birds' wanderings made his job impossible. "You either catch them or you don't," Parra said. "This thing about getting designated chickens in designated areas, that's impossible."
[…]
"The fowl flap drew national attention, which may have backfired on those who wanted the birds off the streets. "They have become like a mascot. They are a symbol of Key West now," said Katha Sheehan, owner of The Chicken Store, which sells fowl-related paraphernalia."

So we have pigeon poop in San Francisco and chicken shit in Key West (not to mention the rats in Portland). You might wanna' take that information into account when you plan your next vacation jaunt.

And put those lazy fe-lyings to work already!

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Squirrels Protest Golf

Can Augusta National Golf Club be far behind?

Since Cosmo appears to have graduated to handling the deer terrorism issue, I guess we'll have to find someone else to take care of the squirrels. I can see this problem proliferating as more golf courses spring up across the globe.

"Golfers often have to deal with the frustration of watching their golf balls swallowed up by sand traps or water hazards. But at Riverside Golf Course in Edmonton, players have another type of obstacle to watch for – squirrels.

"The furry critters regularly sprint from the bush, scoop golf balls from the green, and run off with them, particularly around the 10th and 18th holes.

As a side note, I was very glad to read the Goldberg family avoided Tennessee during their cross-country trip.

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Garden Day

Well, we had more company last weekend and of course AHM had to do yard work. Maury is a Jack Russell who visits off and on. At least he says he's a Jack Russell, but I think his dog mom messed around with a not-so-handsome stranger when no one was lookin'. Ya' gotta' feel sorry for Maury--he's got a new (human) little brother and both his parents work, so he doesn't get too much attention at home. It shows. (For all of you thinkin' about adopting a Russell, you better be home a lot. They are major high maintenance in the "I-need-attention" department.)

Anyway. I promised weeding and mulching advice this time, but AHM did some bush trimming as well, so I'll toss that in free of charge.

Notes on flowers versus weeds. To us green is green--or gray-green--okay? We don't see yellow and red and blue and white or any other "color," and a flowering weed smells pretty much the same as a flowering flower. So the sooner you humans understand our idea of "weeding" is to thoroughly flatten most everything within reach, the better off you'll be. Now the oldsters will sit on 'em indiscriminately. (Will move for food, though.) The youngsters, on the other paw, prefer a rolling attack. Hem has a particularly unique style, throwing in a few half-gainers and lots of snorting, barking commentary. My advice for any dog who wants to help his/her alpha with weeding? Don't. Or if you insist, at least make sure the water is not on with the hose nearby when you roll into the petunias.

Another thing humans might want to remember is, just because you put a dinky little decorative fence around certain parts of the yard does not mean we will stay out of those areas when a fe-lying stupidly decides to wander onto our sidewalk. If you're grubbing around in one of those places when it happens, get the hell out of the way 'cause we're comin' through.

Side note to pups: Honeysuckle is a vine. If you mistakenly throw yourself into the honeysuckle patch during a cat chase, it will take AHM five minutes with the clippers to get you out. It will take fifteen minutes if you thrash about like a beached whale.

For everyone (except me, 'cause I already know): It's mulching--with an "L"--not munching with an "N." That's very important to remember, kiddies, because AHM gets real pissed if you take a mouthful of that leafy stuff in the pots (even if they are outside) and start chewing. She's not awfully crazy about you chowin' down on the dirt either but at least that doesn't induce shrieking at ulta-sonic frequencies.

For Maury: "Mulch" is the stuff that smells like tree bark. In fact, it is tree bark. Not gum tree bark, either, so you will not be able to blow bubbles after you've chewed it for twenty-seven minutes. (We'll leave any discussion of what happens after you've swallowed it and try to poop afterwards 'til later.)

When the holly bush is being trimmed, do not get within a country mile of it. In fact, just forget that part of the garden entirely 'cause there are always leaves hidden in the ground cover and even the dead ones have the half-life of depleted uranium 238. If you do wander in by mistake, do not--I repeat DO NOT--sit down in the shade unless you have no desire to have pups of your own. (For future reference--biting AHM's hand when she's removin' those spiky leaves stuck all over your balls is not wise.)

And what would Garden Day be without some input from Little Girl? Yes, LG, crickets can jump up your nose if you disturb them. If you shove your front half under the yew bush, you will disturb them. Remove yourself from beneath said bush before leaping up to chase them.

Now admit it--you won't get this kind of practical advice from Martha Stewart.

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