The much requested Nu-skin story...

Well, I've had enough requests for the story so here goes... The pics also represent the dog lovin' that was going on yesterday, which while having NOTHING to do with the story, are incredibly entertaining nonetheless. The first bike that I bought and owned myself was a CBR600 F4i, bought July 3rd 2001, and died the end of July, 2002. This is how it all happened...

It was the weekend before I was to head to the final phase of Officer Candidate School, so I was out trying to maximize what fun I could have in preparation for the suck that was to come. OCS essentially is a "pay your dues" school where in addition to a little bit of training, there is a lot of "fun" stuff that is put in for your personal enjoyment of pain and misery. The final phase consisted of two weeks of running around the woods of middle Alabamastan, fighting mock battles, and then roadmarching all over creation, all in 95 degree heat and 3466788% humidity. Swimming pools are drier. Keep all this in mind as the story continues...

I was on my way to meet my girlfriend at the time for lunch, and decided I'd take the bike to maximize that enjoyment I wanted. I put on my usual gear. Helmet, leather jacket, boots, gloves, and a pair of blue jeans and headed out to her place. I decided to take the bypass to get there quicker, as it was usually deserted at this time of day. As I went down the on road I decided to open it up a bit and have a little fun... I gassed the bike hard in 1st and accelerated nicely. Then I did a quick upshift into 2nd and racked the throttle back again. Now while this size bike is no power monster, it does have a sweet spot where a fair amount is available. I was at says "this is a BAD idea"? In my head it is different. It says "this will be the best idea EVER! DO IT!!!"

Well after I let the clutch out after the upshift, the front tire decided that this would be an excellent opportunity to attempt to go into low earth orbit. "No problem" I thought, "I'll just back off the throttle a bit" which at this point was wide open. I loosened my grip on the throttle, yet the bike continued skyward. Still unworried, I lessened my grip a bit more yet the engine continued to rev higher, and the bike continued to pivot about the rear wheel. Finally I hit the point where I was staring directly at the gas cap. Unless one is looking down, this is never good. It was at this point I though "uh oh.... This is bad. Very bad." As I loosened my overall grip on the bike, and fought to not lose my grip on my bowel control, I slowly slid off the back of the bike. This is now ending badly. I distinctly remember looking up at my bike tearing off down the highway without me, hoisted on one wheel and still rocking back and thinking "wow my bike is REALLY tall!" I also heard that tinny voice in my head laughing hysterically at my misfortune. Then I hit the ground. Some of you might notice hitting the ground it a common them in my life...

Well as I hit I landed first on my butt, then back, and finally my head. The bump on the back of the head blacked out my sight for a sec, but I could still here by bike bouncing down the road, and more importantly, my butt bouncing after it. Finally everything came to a stop and I jumped up and sprinted for the grass, afraid I might be about to be run over. After I got to the grass I did my traditional "helmet toss" that signifies the end of yet another harebrained ride, and then remembered my bike. I ran back to the road where I stopped and just stared at my pride and joy, one a gleaming red machine, fury on two wheels, slayer of curvy roads and destroyer of all comers, now vanquished and folded mostly in half in the middle of the road. "Aww crap" I thought, and then ran back to the grass where I laid down face first and sulked.

After a moment, a passerby stopped and came over and asked if I was ok. All I could manage was a tine "nooooo" as I began to notice the odd burning sensation on my rear end. I stood up and made a quick damage assessment, and realized the rear end was the only painful place on my body. I took my hand and patted my backside to make quite the discovery. Apparently, at some point in the crash sequence, some sort of bad fashion police had accosted my obviously unconscious body and dressed me like Prince. I now was sporting a hot set of "assless chaps" of the Purple Rain tour vintage. Oddly I didn't feel very stylish, nor did I have a desire to change my name to "The Artist." As I finished swatting at my rear, someone asked if I wanted them to call anyone. I told them to call my dad, and then stared blankly as they asked what his number was. I repeated again to just call my dad, and still didn't think to give them the actual number... Funny how after the helicopter crash I remembered the number but now I couldn't.

They finally got ahold of my dad and we had the usual "I just wrecked my bike" conversation, and he loaded the truck with the medical kit to come get me. Again. You'd think by now he'd be used to this phone call... He finally showed up and we loaded what was left of the bike into the truck and headed home. One there I hopped in the shower and did the usual debriding process to get the blue jean, underwear, gravel, dirt, and pride out of the wound before putting a bandage on it and calling it a day. The wound was actually superficial and didn't even break low enough to break open blood vessels so it actually looked like more of a horrible blister on each cheek. Picture a large egg sized and shaped raw spot on each buttcheek, and that's was I was sporting. Coolness is not a word that comes to mind. I just hoped since it was so shallow it would heal fast. It didn't.

See when you get an abrasion would that isn't deep enough to bleed, you don't get a scab. You instead get that crusty plasma covering the just reopens every five minutes. Also, it doesn't heal, it just slowly grows out as the skin under it is replaced naturally. this takes a while, and hurts. Badly. It also leaves all your nerve endings open for the world to play with. Needless to say I spent a lot of time on my stomach hoping it would heal faster. Of course it didn't.

Well after a few days I had to go to Nashville to catch the bus to the OCS field phase in Alabama. I stayed the night with my 70+ year old little German grandmother so that I could be there at 5 a.m. the next day for roll call. Well I realized that there was no way I could go through OCS with open butt wounds, I started trying to think of something to put on it to cover it. I came up with a brilliant idea. I would use Nu-skin! I'd used it a lot for minor nicks while in the field, and figured this would be great. For those who've never used Nu-skin, let me describe this to you. Usually it comes in a small bottle and is applied with a little brush just like nail polish. I happened upon a newer version though, This one was in a little aerosol bottle just like spray paint. "Perfect!" I thought, "I can cover the whole area really fast!" Yeah... True... However, here's a little bit more about Nu-skin.

Nu-skin in the spray bottle is designed to be kind of a liquid band-aid. Essentially, it is polyurethane or something rubbery like that dissolved in alcohol, acetone, clove oil and a secret ingredient. The secret ingredient isn't listed but I'm relatively certain it is some form of molten magma that they managed to scrape out of a volcano and can it. How do I know this? Do read on...

I got back to my Oma's house with my purchase, took a shower, and readied myself to be nu-skinned. I looked this way and that, but no matter how I tried I couldn't get the angle needed to correctly apply the Nu-skin. Given the sensitive nature of the area it was going, I didn't want to just spray it all willy nilly. I finally decided that I was gonna have to ask Oma to help and headed into the kitchen to ask.

I asked her if she could spray it on each side and get a good coat on for me. She hesitantly agreed, and I turned around and presented the full moon over Tennessee for my treatment. Well she sprayed one side, and I noticed a mild burning sensation, but nothing too horrid. Then as she started on the other cheek, my brain began to register the full effect of the liquid h*ll that was being applied to my backside. As it sunk in I began to sweat and see stars. Finally instincts overcame me and I did what any mature 25 year old man would do. I dropped the towel and ran in tiny little circle in her kitchen, screaming at the top of my lungs while fanning both of my butt cheeks with my hands. Sitting on the surface of the sun would have been a welcome relief to the pain I was experiencing now. I'm 99% certain on the side of the bottle it says "proudly made by Satan and his minions." To make matters better, Oma is yelling at me in her German accent "Pheeellip, I deedn't get it all, ach you need to let me feeneesh." Torqamada and the spanish inquisition would have been music to my ears over that. Finally I settled down and picked up my towel, which was conveniently lying on the floor right next to my pride, and readied myself for round two.

Well I can honestly say round two went slightly different. As she sprayed, I managed to maintain my composure. I was a rock. I was a statue in need of repair. I was about to pass out from the pain. This time I ran in circles cussing through the whole house, rather than just the kitchen. Yes, towelless. Again. See I told you it went a bit different.

Well the next morning I went on down to where we were getting ready to go to Alabama, and recounted my tales of woe to all my friends there, who could only shake their heads and mutter something about how brave I was. Or maybe it was how stupid. I'm not sure anymore, the details have been lost to time. This is also a good time to reflect on what a true friend is. See nu-skin only stays in place until friction rubs it off, which on ones hind-end isn't very long. So I managed to rope my good buddy Colby into spraying my arse down every day with the Nu-skin. I think he may still be traumatized. But what a friend!

Down in Alabama, the fun continued... I couldn't tell the instructors what the level of my injury was out of fear I would be booted out of the class. The next two weeks were spent with me trying hard to never have to sit down, while simultaneously not giving away the fact that sitting was next to an impossibility for me... On the other hand however, the members of my team knew the deal so any time the whine factor got a little too high I'd have to set them straight with a little "you don't know how much this COULD be sucking for you right now" tiny tale of woe. In the end I managed to finish the course and commission with a minor infection in my rear end, and a new appreciation for how much pain can be bottled up in a tiny canister of Nu-skin. Happily I can also report that was the last time I ever slid down the highway on my rear end. Now if only that had been my last motorcycle crash, too...

Well everybody, I've made it to south Oregon, and tomorrow I start my way through California. I hope to make it about halfway down before I cut over to Las Vegas. I ought to be there this weekend sometime so watch and see. Also RTD has been a little sick today. I'm hoping it's a result of the wormer I gave him yesterday, but I dunno. If he's still sick tomorrow I may end up going to a NoCal vet somewhere, so I'll be sure to update! Until then!

'burban and beer!

Ahhhhh the double entendres abound! Before anyone gets too worried, I'm not writing after spending a night in the slammer for a DUI or anything... I was too tired last night to write anything that anyone would EVER want to read, so I spent the evening sleeping and being ravaged by one single mosquito. Now a quick aside... I realize mosquitoes have brains just slightly larger than Rockstar, but this one musta been the Einstein of the insect world. She managed to bite me not once, not twice, but three times in the one area she was safe to do so. I can touch most anywhere on my body with either my hand or the stump, but there is about a four inch square on the back of left shoulder I cannot reach, ever. The three big lumps all look like a tight shot group all within a circle the size of a soup can lid. Can you guess where they were? I was not amused. I once was terrorized my a mosquito while I was in flight school. Each night for several nights in a row, I would awaken to a HORRIBLE stinging sensation, but could never seem to swat her. A few times I caught a glimpse as the light came on, but never could I lay that final "hand of death" on her. Finally one night I got nailed on my cheek, and I was done. It was two in the morning, and I was prepared to do battle. I closed the door, turned on all the lights, and began the search. I was not going to sleep until one of us was done. I tossed sheets, moved furniture, and more or less destroyed my room. Every so often I'd catch a fleeting shot of her as she barrel rolled into a corner and then split-S'ed back in another direction. Air battles over Berlin were less intense than this. Finally she made the mistake of going high, and silhouetted herself against the white of the ceiling. A fatal mistake, and she paid dearly. Now most people would call it a night and head back to bed, but not me.... nooooo.... I had given blood for this victory, it was time to gloat. I took the small insectile corpse and placed it at the base of my lamp where I could view it triumphantly as I drifted off to sleep, and could again enjoy the fruits of my battle each morning when I woke up. She stayed there for a week until I showed my girlfriend at the time, who proclaimed me to be "weird" and threw it out. Oh well.... little victories, right? Unfortunately this mosquito last night lived to bite another day... Now, on to the 'burban and beer!

I got the opportunity to tour the Janesville GM plant where suburbans are made! Sadly the gas crunch is causing the plant to be closed down in the near future, so there was no joy in Janesville, for the mighty Suburban has been struck out. The plant itself appears to be somewhat small, until you get inside and see the 34 miles of assembly line snaking their way through. The front is a two story brick structure built in the early 1900's as a tractor factory, and was converted to the Chevrolet factory in the 20-30's if I remember right. I actually thought the building looked suspiciously a lot like many public school buildings built during this era. Once inside, I was told no pictures or vid, so those will be sadly lacking... I first noticed the relative "quiet" of the building. The noise level was about that of a cafeteria, and therefore not at all unpleasant. We took a tram around as the guide gave random factiods and I sat transfixed at the automotive process happening before me. Everywhere I looked was some section of the assembly line, seeming snaking along, unordered, somehow resulting in a finished vehicle. While there were quite a few robots, they were mostly involved in the welding/flipping of parts, and everything else was people powered. Throughout the factory workers gave random waves and smiles as the tour passed, and the next vehicle arrived. The only part of the factory that even had the slightest industrial odor was the paint area, and even that was light at best. The factory itself turned out to be HUGE, with two railroad lines running right thru it, delivering parts that were needed just as fast as they were used up. At the back of the factory was the quality control sort of area. There vehicles that rattles or otherwise didn't make the grade were repaired and readied for transport. All in all I'd suggest that anyone who has never been in a factory take one of these tours just to get an idea of how complex a process it is to make something that you use daily with no thought at all as to the intricacies involved in its' build.

I, on the other hand, had worked in a factory once before in my life, and it was a reinforcing experience to say the least. After I got out of the Army, I worked at the MTD factory for a few months making lawnmowers for the world. For roughly 615 times a night I would put on the same washer and cotter pin, then a hanger with nut and lockwasher set up before the mower moved to the next spot in the line. Roughly 614 times a night I would reaffirm to myself that I was going to work reaaaaaaally hard in college so that I would not have to do that again. Between the repetition and carpal tunnel syndrome, I wasted no time in deciding factory work wasn't for me. I found it odd how much the lady who worked across from me loved the work. To me it was repetitious to the point of being mind-numbing. To her though, it was easy and afforded her the opportunity to talk to everyone around her without having to stop to "work" as it was. I must admit that our ongoing dialogue about the truthfulness of the space program was interesting, though. Hard to believe that there are people who truly believed, at least at the time, that the space shuttle was a hoax, and it really just landed in Africa, where it stayed a few weeks before being relaunched back to the USA for "re-entry." Everybody is different, I suppose!

Well after taking a few shots of the factory and the obligatory "old vs. new" shots of the Bean, I loaded up again and headed to my next stop. My plan was to stop in Black River Falls to visit a local microbrewery. Along the way I saw an odd rock formation known as "Castle Rock" just off the highway. Well I jerked the Bean over to the exit, and with tires howling made the turn into the 'park'. If there's one thing I love, it's unique natural formations. Well it turns out that this rock was a remnant of an ancient glacial lake island, now in the middle of the forests of Wisconsin. I had noticed that the way up was almost completely flat with random big hills rising out of fields like the backs of some sort of giant whales in a sea of green. It turns out these are from the glacial ages, too. Well I parked and grabbed RTD and ran up the hill to try to get a good shot of the formation. I finally stopped to evaluate the area, and quickly felt a sting on my leg. I looked down to see no less than thirty blood suckers hovering excitedly around the new Ruby Tuesday's of the Castle Rock area. Dang. I took off running again, but every time I stopped we were set upon by mosquitoes like some sort of biblical plague, so the layover was short.

Back out on the open road, I drove thru the rainy miles until I reached Black River Falls. I looked up the address to the brewery, and headed on over. I arrived at the Sand Creek Brewing Company shortly after four, and headed inside. I was recognized immediately as I walked in, and took a moment to bask in my fame. After they helped me get my head thru the door, introductions were made, and a beer somehow materialized in my hand. I knew I was going to like this place. I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of my microbrewery loving roommate suffering his way through Air Force officer training as I lived the dream. Stuart, that beer was for you... sucka! Now go do push ups. The brew master there, Todd, then took me on a tour of the building, and my fascination of how how such tasty beverages were made was indulged in ad nauseum. The building was originally a brewery built in the 1800's by a family whose four sons all suffered untimely ends. Oddly enough, only one was alcohol related, and that was when his personal whisky still blew up in his basement, taking him with it. After that it became a turkey processing plant, and ultimately BACK to the brewery which it is now (though under a different name etc.) After the tour was over, and more beer had found its' way into my hook (hold beer, never gets cold, so maybe there IS a benefit...) they showed me the bar area where I sampled more tasty beverages. After a bit more people showed up and I switched to Root Beer. Call me a lightweight, but I recognized that I was reaching the point where I was about to "come up with great ideas" and knew I needed to go non-alcoholic for a bit.

As more people came, I asked if I could bring RTD in, and kick it up a notch. I was told I could, so in came Rocky. I made sure to wind his spring all the way up to ensure he was in full RTD form, and he didn't fail to disappoint. Once inside he made a quick bouncy tour of all the people there, and identified Todd the brew master as the one most likely to give him attention, and started trying to fight. I explained RTD'a love of "the fight" and after a few rebuffs, Todd finally indulged and it was game on. Out in the main lobby it was Rocky Smackdown with anyone who cared to play, and it wasn't long before several people were covered in Rockstar Funk. After a bit he ended up outside where the steak was being grilled, which was no surprise to me. A young girl out there was quickly enamored with Rocky, and kept trying to get him to come to her. When she asked how to get his attention, somebody recommended "meat." Well this was easily enough done, and the poor young lady spent the next hour yelling "MEAT!!!" at Rocky, with interestingly little effect. Don't worry, he doesn't listen to me either, but I think maybe she missed the point. Watching Rocket run around in his drool dragging circles with a little girl chasing after him yelling "MEAT MEAT MEAT" was too much, and I headed back into the bar. I've heard there is a Hollywood saying of 'never work with kids or animals, because they'll always steal the limelight.' how true this is because no story I could come up with could compete with the sight of THAT dynamic duo.

Well after a bit, the steak and potatoes were gone, more beer had been consumed, and people had begun to drift off. I have pretty much decided if med school is a bust, brewer might be my next life attempt. Finally everything wound down, and the brewers informed me they had gotten me a room at a local hotel. Figuring a good shower was worth it, I graciously accepted and headed to the room. By the time I got there even RTD had calmed down a little bit, and I decided to wait until today to write up these adventures. I must admit that I was amused at touring a brewery and an automobile plant in the same day. Luckily I didn't tour any local jail cells like so many other people who try to mix cars and drinks in one day. Go responsibility! I stopped back there today as their request, and was loaded up with a few cases of brew to enjoy at the end of each day, so I should be in good spirits until then! I hope tonight to end up in the Dakotas somewhere, where I will try to write a bit more. I met an interesting older man today, so I think I'll give a shot at writing a bit about the people I meet in the next post. Check back tonight to see if I figure out HOW to do it! Until then!

Tomorrow, Bar Harbor!

Good evening everyone! Today was another not so adventurous day spent driving and breaking stuff.... The good news is, I gots new stuff! The bad news is, it isn't all that funny. So in that case, I'm just gonna make stuff up! Well ok, not really. After a lovely night spent sleeping with Sir Snores-alot, I awoke to another cold and overcast day at the campground. I broke camp, which pretty much consists of deflating the air mattress and brushing my teeth, and prepared to hit the road. I no sooner started to leave the camp when I saw a spiffy sight, and decided to take a few pictures. What did I see? Well, I'm glad you asked!



As I drove out, I heard a loud "Gobbledeegobbledeegobble" and caught the stinky end of a wild turkey as it disappeared behind a parked pick-up truck. Now usually when one sees some wild turkey back behind a pick-up truck, one also looks for its' companions, Jack Daniel's, Johnny Walker, and that oh-so-fine Mad Dog 20/20. Also usually present is a passed out redneck, often in the back of said pick-up truck. This time however, the wild turkey was of the non-alcoholic kind, and I was excited. I immediately parked the truck and grabbed the camera, and prepared for the stalk. Now for those of you who've never been on a turkey hunt, lemme tell ya a few things. Turkeys are at the OTHER end of the spectrum from Rockstar. Well, so are most things, but my point is, they're generally pretty smart and crafty. A turkey can see you solely by the whites of your eyes, and are well known for following hunters around all day, w.o the hunter ever seeing them. Kinda like how a woman feels when following her man thru a sporting goods store. This being said, I knew I was going to have to draw on my experiences running black ops into Laos after the Tet Offensive if I was gonna get the drop on this Tom.


I instinctively reached for my camouflage face paint to draw on a picture perfect forest scene that would make Bob Ross proud, and certainly hide me from the turkey. It was then I realized I don't carry that stuff anymore, and the best I could manage was my Camo Quillen College of Medicine hat, which may or may not have been put on to keep my cow-licks down... Well after coming up empty hand (not a grammatical error...) I briefly considered smearing mud all over myself a la Predator, but quickly scrapped the idea when I realized it would require getting dirty. I began a slow stalk towards the truck where the turkey was preparing to make his last stand. I drew upon all of my survival skills I learned in survival school, as well as even a few ninja skillz I learned on the internet. There was no way he ever stood a chance, the element of surprise was to be mine. I slowly crept up on him, and he slowly moved away from where I thought he'd be. Apparently ninjaskillz.com was about to let me down. I finally rounded the side of the truck, camera at the ready, prepared to go straight Rambo with a camera on the Tom, only to be greeted with more tail feathers. apparently this was Yogi the Turkey (smarter than the average turkey.) I wasn't worried though, because thanks to years of education in physics and other hard classes like that, I knew I was smarter than the turkey, and better yet, I knew where the turkey was headed...

So I turn around and go around the other side of the truck, again to see tail feathers. I dismissed the idea that maybe I was seeing the back end of two turkeys, and they were trying to lure me into a trap, but I still stayed at my end of the truck because there was no way I was falling for that. Again. For some reason distant memories of playing "tag" as a child flooded into my brain, and I had a brilliant idea, I would just stay put and wait on ol' Tom. As sure as Rocky will run into a closed plate glass door every time, the Tom doubled back. Unfortunately for him, Homo sapiens was about to win this battle of the species! I raised my camera, salivating over the though of the great picture I was about to bag when it happened. That scourge of the campground. That denizen of the fast lane. That evil that strikes when you are most in a hurry came by; the 40Ft camper with car in tow, driving along at about about 9,000,000,000 RPM in first gear, shiny bald head barely visible over the steering wheel... Well at the site of this lumbering behemoth, the Tom deflated and lit out for the hills. I thought for a moment I might still be able to save the moment when he slowed briefly to decide if he wanted to ride the teeter-totter. Unfortunately, the Tom was alone and a friendless childhood clued me in that riding alone was just no fun, so he continued on, never to be seen again... All that remains are these pictures.

That story told, there was little else worth mentioning today. Tomorrow I hope to wander around Bar Harbor, Maine for a while. After that I'm likely heading out towards maybe Vermont and upstate NY. So if anyone here has an extra filet mignon they need devoured, just drop me a line and the Traveling Menagerie will head your way!! Also, my ever so critical middle manager has pointed out that apparently I seem to think too much stuff is "beautiful" and therefore I need to invest in a thesaurus. Because of this I've tried hard to refrain from using that term in this story, so if you failed to laugh, it's because my vocabulary was STRIPPED of my most beloved and powerful word. Well everyone, until tomorrow, Good Day!

Also for those who are wondering what broke, and placing side bets on what specific part of the Bean it was, here ya go. Today I had to replace my cell phone, a Motorola Q as it decided it just didn't wanna play nice anymore. Luckily Verizon direct exchanged it, so I was thrilled! Also, the auto focus on my camera decided that it no longer felt the need to be gainfully employed, so one quick stop at Best Buy later, viola! New camera! Thanks again all my beloved readers for you care and concern! Sleep well knowing the fuzzy pictures will be no more!

A look through Rockstar's Eyes...

Well everybody, I've successfully made it to DC, and lemme tell ya, the drive is nothing short of beautiful, as I've alluded to in previous posts... I'm staying with a good friend from flight school, so there will be no tales of torment in The Bean. I'm going to try to see my grandfather's burial spot here at Arlington, so expect a possible story about that in the future. I also hope to see some of the historic landmarks, and maybe go ring the doorbell and run over at the White House. I mean, I dunno, it could happen. You may want to monitor CNN for that update though... Anyhow, in lieu of great travel stories, I thought maybe I'd attempt to see the trip from RTD's eyes. While I realize that in real like it would be something like "lalalalalalalaYAYYYTRUCKlalaaaaYAYYYYFOODlalalalaNOOOOPIMPHANDRUNAWAYlalalala" I'll attempt to wizen him up a bit for the story's sake. That being said, for those who are tuning in now, you may want to go back and read the Rocky posts.

Before I start the story though, I feel I should give you a little more insight as to "Who Rocky Is". You know, what he stands for, the kinda dog he "is". Rocky is a night dog. When I have to wake up early, he looks at me like I just suggested parachuteless skydiving. Usually one eye is still closed, and he'll roll over and go back to sleep. Rocky is also defiant. VERY defiant. He doesn't like being told what to do. Ever. He also loves to "fight". This involves him attacking while sounding like he's out for blood, but instead of biting, he rolls his lips over his teeth, and doesn't clamp down. Yes, this does in fact result in being covered in drool. Rocky also "makes his bed". I've given him a few pillows, an old comforter, and a throw rug size afghan on which he sleeps. Every night before bed he'll go over and drag, push, pull and rearrange them until they are PERFECT. He'll even get under the covers to rearrange it before he's satisfied. then and only then will he go to bed. If you reach over and jumble it all up, he'll look at you like you are crazy, and then just leave the room. Later he'll come back to do it all again. yeah, Rocky spends a lot of time looking at me like I'm crazy. Finally, Rockstar LOVES the Bean. He loves it with all his doggy heart. Even when I'm not doing anything with it, he'll go sit in it, and look hopeful. The only other thing that comes close to being that loved is whatever toy is newest. See, Rocky is a toy snob. If you get him two toys, and give him one now, and one a few hours later, the first one will cease to exist to Rocky. Well now that you all have a little better insight into his world, let's look at the last few days through his eyes.

I wonder what's going on now? Usually this one-armed guy isn't home this much. I hope he leaves so I can chew on something. Been eyeing that tasty looking physiology book for a while. Hmmm.... looks like he's... yessss... ohh yeaahhh he's heading to the truck!! yayyyyyyy Guess that book will have to wait until later! I wonder where we're going? I hope it's fun! Maybe I can pee on stuff there.

(Short truck ride later)

OMG! Yes!! We really are here! It's that place where all my friends are! I sure hope Frank is here today, he's got the best bark. Yeah between the two of us we can make sure no one sleeps!! Ever! Hmmm... what's this? A chair it seems... what's dummy doing? Not looking? Sweet! Time to pee! OUCH! Dangit how does he know when I'm working my magic. Loser. I'm so gonna bite him one day.... I'll be he thinks we're only playing when we fight. Doesn't even know I'm scoping out his moves... One day... One day...

Dangit! Guess I'm not going down the Hall of Infinite Possibilities today... Sorry Frank. Wonder what this woman wants? I don't see any food... (poke poke check check) hmm... that's not to bad. HEY! What are you doing back there?! (SQUEEEEEZE) DANGIT! I needed that! Man that's gonna take a week at least to build back up. Guess I won't be able to drop my midnight bombs for a while... : ( Hey look another woman!! Yayyyy.... wonder if she's here to play (shot, shot, shot) oh well, guess not...lalalalala... Whoa what's this? My mouth? No friggin way lady, not gonna happen! Must.... resist.... banana....goodness.... dangit. Yea if there weren't three of them I'd have shown them who's boss! Whaaa? Time to go? Yayyyyyyyy Truck!!!

(the next day...)

Wow this place is a madhouse! No one's paying attention to me! :( I think I'll go roam the neighborhooYANK! Dangit! Stuck on the line again! That's it, that book is toast next time I get back inside... I can HEAR that truck, and I'm not in it. If only I could be in it all the time! Talk about a dream come true.... Only if... only if....

(the day the trip started...)

Man this guy has been acting CAARAAAZZZYYYY. He's running around like I was after I got all that fudge off the table... man that was a good time. I'm not letting this guy outta my sight, something is definitely up... Wait what's that? the truck? Why yes, yes I would like to get in, thank you! Hmmm now THIS is different, my toys are in here, and is that food? Yes, yes it is? Wonder why that is? Oh well, who am I to question! I hope this ride is at least an hour, not like all those short rides. Maybe we'll drive by Fido's house. He always gets sooooo jealous when he sees me hanging out in the back of this thing. (Time passes) Man this trip is long! My prayers are answered! Wait hold on.... I wonder if maybe? No! He'd never ditch me! I didn't MEAN to eat that physiology book, it was an accident. I swear, it just landed in my mouth! Actually I think the ferrets might have been involved, too. Maybe if I sit here and act real good he'll keep me. or at least give me to someone with cats.... mmmmmmmm cats......




Well now THIS is strange. I think maybe my pet human has gone senile. We've been in this truck alllll daaayyyyyyy and now we're done and this isn't home at all! Maybe he forgot where he lives? Wait hold on, is he, yes? Yes? He's sleeping in here? Cool! We can sleep together... there we go I'll just lie down right her...OWWW ok maybe not so much. I didn't really want to sleep there anyhow, stupid air mattress... And what's all these strange noises?? I don't think this guy hears them. I better bark to make sure he does. (BARKBARKBARKOWWWWBARKBARKOWWW) fine then deal with the noises yourself, I'm going to bed. Shame I can't muster up a little eau d'rearend for ya... Maybe next time!

Well everyone, I hope you enjoyed what I think MIGHT be going on in Rockstar's head, at least based on the looks I get from him. Until next time!!

Next time, I hope to have some pics and stories of our nation's capitol, so stay tuned!! Remember, Monday is 98 Rock day!

I've gotta face for radio!

Just a quick line while I have net access. I'm confirmed for Monday morning on 98 Rock in Baltimore, so if you want to listen, I hear there's some good country stations there! Hehe I appreciate them inviting me on though, so hopefully i'm not a disappointment! Anyhow, more posts will follow later, and in a more humorous style. I saw funny things today....

Rocky meets Pimp Hand Strong

<---- Not PimpHand Strong, but a close cousin!

Well ladies and gentlemen, so far my blog seems to be a raging success. I'm getting several repeat viewers, and even a little feedback. At this rate surely there are bound to be people who DON'T personally know me reading, so I'm getting to be a happy guy. While donations aren't pouring in, positive feedback is, and that makes me happy, too! Well today, I received an interesting e-mail containing a donation of sorts. Apparently my tales or Rocky lore have reached some pet owners, and the owner of a local pet foods store wanted to donate food and treats for RTD. Who was I to say no! Anyhow, we exchanged a few e-mails, and I decided to head on up there. Right after Starbuck's.

Well we loaded Rockstar into the Bean, and headed out for today's adventures. As is becoming usual, the Bean ran like a champ, and before we knew it, we were knee deep in coffee goodness. We didn't even leave the characteristic black fog behind us anymore... Ahhhhh life is good. Well after downing some joe, and listening in on a random lady's conversation, I decided that the next stop would be the pet store. This was an easy decision to make, since as usual I didn't have much else going on.

Upon our arrival at the store, I unloaded Rockstar and he immediately set about attacking the leash. Now I have no idea where he picked up this little habit, but it gets old pretty fast... See what he does is to run from side to side, whilst attempting to chomp on the leash. This pretty much results in my stumbling over him about 637 times, and my hand becomes caked in Rocky Drool. Fortunately, it was a short walk across the parking lot, so this didn't last long. Once inside, we were greeted with a menagerie of foods. This was a virtual cornucopia of pet treat goodness. As far as the eye could see, about 45 feet, were all manner of tasty treats for dog and cat alike. Rocky was gonna love this. Rocky wasn't even paying attention.

We walked up to the gentleman at the counter, and asked is Mrs. Valerie was there. He informed us that in fact she was not, and we stood there looking awkwardly at each other. I then asked when she might be back, and he replied "Wednesday". I began to get a little worried. Surely no one would be so mean spirited as to set me up for some prank like this. I quickly listed in my mind possible suspects. It was a long list. So ok, SURELY no one would do this to Rockstar! Longer list. Dang. I then told him I'd been getting e-mails from Valerie inviting me to come let RTD sample the goods, and pick a few choice morsels for the trip. He then told me she was in Ohio. Uh-oh.

Anyhow, he then went in back, and after a few minutes returned with another lady. I was just about to implement escape plan nine-alpha and extricate myself from the building. Unfortunately, nine-alpha is a top level secret squirrel plan, so I can't reveal the plans publicly, but it's safe to say the casualties would have been immense, and it probably would have kept CNN busy for days, weeks if the news was slow. Well with the declaration of a state of emergency averted for now, I decided to see what the lady had to say. Happily, she greeted us by name, and my fears began to disappear like a buffet at fat camp. She explained that Valerie had let her know that we were coming, and that Rockstar was to be well equipped upon our departure. Rocky still wasn't paying attention. At least not to us...

It was at this time that Rocky finally got close enough to his new found friend, Pimp Hand Strong (aka Kitty, but PHS is much more fitting!). See, RTD LOVES small animals. At home I have two ferrets, Sampson and Snatch. Never in the history of ferrets have there been two more conniving and cunning little creatures. In this relationship, Sampson is the Brawn, Snatch is the Brains, and Rocky is the gullible Mark. The moment they get out of their cage, excitement begins. They usually spend the first two or three minutes rounding up all of Rocky's toys and hiding them. Rocky usually realizes this, and tries to save at least one by holding it in his mouth. This never lasts long. Once all the other toys have been cleaned up, they set their sights on His Precious. Generally the plan is for Sampson to harass Rocky until he drops it, at which point Snatch will run out and grab the toy and disappear. I honestly think I can hear the sweet sounds of ferret laughter over the slow sobs of Rockstar. Yes, two pounds of fury will quickly overcome sixty pounds of ignorance. Anyhow, with all the toys safely stowed away, the game changes. This is the part Rocky likes...

See, Rockstar and the ferrets like to play chase. This involves one or the other of the ferrets sneaking up behind Rocky, chomping on his his hind end, and then rapidly running for the nearest cover... Once Rocky realizes the ferrets have just made him their b***h, he will quickly retaliate. This involves him chasing down the offending Mustelid, and slobbering all over him. Once the slobber has been suitably applied, RTD will the turn and run off. The ferrets will then usually give chase. This game lasts for about seven hours in Ferret Time, or about five minutes to the rest of the world. Ahhh the wonders of ADD... Sadly, RTD is often left wanting more tag time, and I am usually left holding two drool covered animals. Amazing how I have but one hand, and now no one who reads this will ever shake it for fear of drool. Probably a wise choice.

Well back to the pet food store... Apparently Rocky made target acquisition and lock the moment we set foot inside, and I as usual failed to notice. Rocky anxiously bided his time, waiting until we were close enough to make acquaintances. Pimp Hand Strong apparently sat there quietly hoping not to be noticed. Anyhow, as soon as Rockstar was in lunging distance, he took his chance to make a new friend. He quickly generated no less than 2.6 gallons of friend-making drool, and prepared to introduce himself. It was at this time the PHS taught Rocky the origin of his name... Rocky leaned in to kiss, and Pimp Hand let loose with the fury of a thousand suns. The action was fast, the noise unreal, and the nose quickly bloodied. Rockstar reeled backwards as Mr. Strong set up for a few more slaps. What Rockstar failed to know was that not EVERY small animal in the world wants to be his friend. Or covered in drool. It didn't take long for Rocky to learn this lesson. By not long, I mean he spent the rest of the trip attempting to get back within drool range of Pimp Hand, who spent the rest of the time counting his benjamins (Benji's?) and giving RTD the evil eye.

Well after this incident, we set about trying to find some food RTD would eat. Sadly, his small mind was too focused on PHS to even consider food, and the kibble was left dry, the ginger snaps untouched, and I'm not even gonna think about the three foot long dried up Bull Penis we saw. Ahhhh the feelings of inadequacy... Well we made several selections for treats, picked up 40 lbs of Canidae, a new squeaky toy, and finally a "My Dog is my Co-pilot" bumper sticker, and prepared to head to the door. While all this was going on, Rocky attempted to befriend several customers, and generally destroy the place. I've never seen a bull in a china shop, but I've seen a retarded boxer in a pet food store, and I can tell you it's NOT PRETTY! Well finally, we took a few pics for them, and headed back home to work on the Bean.

Needless to say, more hilarity ensued.... Since time is short, I'll just give a brief synopsis of the lessons learned:

1. Metal parts of the engine can be hot. Very Hot. After burning my thumb on the hot side of the air conditioner line, I jumped around like a small child on an anthill.
2. Tint and metal hooks will never be friends. Need I say more. While attempting to install my privacy tint on the back window I gouged it up pretty badly. Then I tried to fix it. Even more badly...
3. Beer and mechanics don't go together, but they make it a lot more fun... After my middle manager DoorMatt put the lower radiator hose back on, it now leaks. Badly. Bad DoorMatt! Bad!

Anyhow, I know you were all anxiously awaiting another "Daniel's too stupid to read directions, and he SERIOUSLY wants to be a doctor??!!" post but Pimp Hand stepped/slashed in and changed our lives forever! Maybe that story will go up another day...

I'd also like to extend a special thanks to Natural Pet Supply, and Mrs. Valerie Whaley and the other employees therein. Rocky will now eat the ginger snaps and kibble. Still no word on the Bull Penis.

Stay tuned next time for more tales of forgetfulness by the future of medicine (future title of "Hey Where'd the Retractor Go??")

Indiana Rocky and the Anal Glands of Doom

In honor of the new Indian Jones movie that just came out...

Well ladies and gentlemen, it seems that stories of Rockstar seem to have touched a heartstring with my loyal readership, so in the absence of “real updates” to post, I will attempt once again to amuse you with tales of Rocky lore. Sadly, while it might sound like a lot of artistic license is being taken with these stories, I caution you that so far, they are all true. Yes, this REALLY did happen…

Many people have asked me about my sanity at the idea of being in close quarters with Rocky for weeks on end. Fortunately, given my ADD’ness and general ability to forget most anything relevant, I’ve been thinking that it can’t be THAT bad. Of course, I’m wrong. See, Rockstar has an amazing ability that MOST biologists would tell you reside only in the Mustelid family. For those unsure of just what a Mustelid is, thank your stars that you don’t know. See Mustelidae is a large family of animals that encompasses such cuties and minks and ferrets. It also contains other not so cuties like wolverines, skunks, and apparently the very elusive and rare North American Tiger Striped Retarded Boxer. To learn more, continue on!

Rocky and I had been living here in Johnson City for about four months when I learned of Rocky’s somewhat unique ability. At the time, I was renovating my house pretty much all at once, so I was living in the back bedroom. I had gotten goofball his own little bed to sleep on in the hopes he would stop attempting to use mine anytime he thought I might not notice. This pretty much meant anytime I wasn’t actually IN the bed. No one ever explained the concepts of forensics to Rocky and it probably would have been a moot point anyhow. Besides, I didn’t exactly need world class training at the Body Farm, blacklights, and a back up team from CSI: Miami to identify the thick coat of dog hair and 3.4 gallons of drool spread liberally across my pillow. Somehow, Rocky has yet to figure this out, and this is a struggle that continues to this day. Anyhow I digress… So RTD was asleep in his bed, as I was in mine. Copious amounts of drool were to be found at either place, being it was about 2:30 in the morning. Anyhow, I awoke to the sound of Rocky growling.

Now while Rockstar might be only sixty pounds, he has a growl that’s reminiscent of a crate of bowling balls turned loose in a cement truck. “Menacing” is a word that comes to mind. So is “coward” but that comes later… Well RTD growled, then got up and wandered the house, growling the whole way. I continued to attempt to sleep, and eventually he came back and began making sweet sweet doggy love to his bed again, and all was well with the world. After about fifteen minutes or so, I again woke to the sound of Rocky growling, and this time I was slightly more concerned. By slightly I mean I only cussed at him a little while rolling over and trying to get back to the land of superchargers and clapping (both things I’d like to do…)

Well I have to say now that the neighborhood I live in isn’t exactly crime ridden. The worst I have to personally experience is somebody came by and egged he Pinto Bean once. Of course I found this to be hilarious, and felt kinda bad that youth around here wasted their egg on the bean. The stain is still there today. Outside of a few random eggings, I think about as bad as it gets might be one old man going and peeing on another’s petunias in the interest of sabotaging their “Yard of the Year” award. Luckily for me, I have no petunias, and the weeds and clover I’ve so carefully cultivated here aren’t in the running this season. I tell you all this to make the point that growl or no growl, there ain’t a whole lot here to worry about. That being said, back to the story!

So Rocky again decided to get up and wander the house growling while I contemplated locking him out of the bedroom. Again. While I was busy looking for a coin to flip, I hear him come back down the hall and stop. He then growled once more much louder, and I gave up on the coin and decided to just lock his little arse out there. It was at this time that all hell broke loose! Rocky suddenly went ballistic. I suddenly went concerned. Rocky then started barking, scrambling, and huffing, all while deploying his secret defense mechanisms and going straight to DEFCON 5. North Korea crossing the DMZ would not have elicited THIS much of a response from the Rockstar. Well I immediately flipped on the light while yelling loudly at whatever was going on in the hall. In my minds’ eye I pictured Rocky fighting valiantly against masked intruders while trying hard to keep them from getting to me. I knew that my boy could be counted on to sacrifice himself if it only meant buying me and extra second or two. I also thought about the fact that my sole line of defense right now was my one good arm and the now possibly soiled pair of underoos I had on. Things might be about to go badly. Oh how right I was…

I finally got the lights all on and stepped out to the hall, where I encountered quite the site. Rocky was in full offensive glory, sixty pounds of attacking teeth, muscle and bone. At least this is what I would like to have seen. Instead RTD was sixty pounds of quivering and quaking fear, curled up wide eyed and shaking in the corner farthest from my room. My sole comfort was taken in the fact that HAD there been an intruder, they would likely be laughing so hard at this point, they might be easily overcome by the one armed man. It was at this time that my senses came face to face, so to speak, with Rocky’s last line of defense. There in the middle of the hallway was a neat circle of moisture. As I approached this little fairy ring of funk, my sense of smell was overcome by a powerful odor. This was an odor unlike anything I’d ever experienced. The great poo ponds of Afghanistan couldn’t hold a match to this. For that matter a match held to this might have caused a global catastrophe…

I ambled over to the ring of droplets and did the most regrettable and stupid thing I could think of, I touched one and took a little whiff. After my color vision returned, my nose stopped running, and my overall sense of nausea went away, I realized what I’d encountered. Rocky had forcefully, violently even, expressed his anal glands. If anyone HAD been in the house, they were likely outside burning their clothing by now, and wondering if they’d ever smell again. Rocky was still quaking in the corner, my little hero. Well I then spent the next twenty minutes or so trying to bleach and Lysol this off of the floor, much to no avail… I then went ahead and showered, hoping to at least get the smell off me. Finally, I notified the United States Geological Survey that no, we weren’t the epicenter of a great new quake, nor was the EPA really all that necessary but thanks anyhow, and headed back to bed. I looked around the next day, but never was able to find the source of RTD’s little episode.

Well anyhow, I mention all this because as I’ve learned, this has become a relatively regular Rockstar occurrence. While he no longer chases bogeymen through the house, he does make a point about every other week or so of expressing his glands. Unfortunately, he now does it while lying in bed, usually during my most peaceful nights of sleep. I now will awaken to repeated long, slow sluuuuuuuuuuuuuurping sounds of RTD attempting to either cover up the evidence, or freshen his breath. At that sound I just get up and boot him out of the room, then bury my head deep into a pillow and cry a little. Rocky just goes out in the hall, hops on the couch where he’s not supposed to be and happily goes to sleep, mission accomplished.

Things to come...

Well today was the last day of finals for Quillen College of Medicine, so excitement abounds! I hope to start getting more updates on here, as well as some new stories and of course the road trip! A couple of notes for those who care! In one week I've gotten 1800+ views, and have started getting several return views from people I don't share DNA with, so that's great!! This weekend or early next week, the Johnson City Press is doing an article on this trip, so look for that! Also, I HOPE to be on a radio station up in Baltimore talking about whatever they want to talk abot, so i'll be sure to put notice on here so you don't accidentally switch to that radio station and hear me.... Yeah, I have perfect face for radio, and the voice for sign language... Finally, a celebrity gossip site is going to post an interview with me, for which I will be VERY appreciative! I'm sure at least four of you are thinking "wait what? Celebrity gossip? Dude and we didn't even suspect you were LIKE that! It's ok, I'm not, but they graciously offered to support my cause, and I certainly won't refuse help!

Anyhow... A list of a couple inwritten stories that are rolling around in my tiny head. A short list, because there's not much room up there.... Expect to see these in the next few days!!

Indiana Rocky and the Anal Glands of Doom

How Working on my Truck Taught me I Don't Need to be an Obstetrician

It's all..... About.... The.... Benjamins???

Who else knows!!

Here's a link to an earlier article written about me by the JCP. I must again thank them for agreeing with someone other than me that this harebrained trip is worth reading about!!

http://www.johnsoncitypress.com/Detail.php?Cat=HOMEPAGE&ID=59877

As always, your feedback ad ideas are appreciated!! Good or bad!!

The Rocky Chronicles:

The Rocky Chronicles: A Star is Born... A Special Star... Like, Should be Wearing a Helmet. A Special Helmet

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A Rockstar is born…

Well, quite a few of you, my newfound fans and devoted supporters (ok… both of you, Hi Grandma!), have e-mailed wanting to know more about the four-legged furball that will be occupying the copilot seat for this great tragedy on wheels. Being that I will certainly cave to the whims of my readership all in the name of glory, your collective wishes shall now be granted!

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Name: Rocky Apollyon (The Destroyer, in Greek)

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A.K.A: Rockstar, HEY!, Come here you!!, What in the?!!, Oh I can’t believe this!, or most any noise that seems to be made in his direction…

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Age: Maybe 3?

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Weight: 60 lbs

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IQ: The scale started at 1. He didn’t make it that far.

When I first retired out of the Army, I did what most twenty something males with no life/direction do and promptly moved back in with my parents. While there, it came time for my OTHER dog (Chip) to move on to that great fire hydrant factory in the sky. I decided that in order to make up for the fact that I was another loser living at home, I would quickly seek out another companion to make me look more normal. Sadly I failed miserably and ended up with the Rockstar. If there is ANYTHING in the world that can make a one armed dude appear even less normal, it’s a completely retarded boxer. I went above and beyond.

I first heard of Rocky through my parents, who I think may have mostly been hoping to get me out of the house long enough to change the locks. He belonged to some west Tennessee locals of the reddened neck variety, and nobody was really QUITE sure what the deal with him was. I headed down to the local gas station where his owner was busy selling 40’s just as fast as they could, and inquired within. I l was told that Rocky was supposedly a full-blooded boxer, aged two, and was currently residing in their basement. The translation was “he looks a lot like a boxer and he’s kinda young, and oh yeah, he spends a little time in the basement.” I got directions to the house-o-rocky, and headed on down to see this amazing little dog.

I pulled in and was immediately met by quite possible the meanest boxer I’ve ever encountered. Now for those not familiar with the boxer breed, they tend to be pretty sweet. Anxious and excitable, but sweet. Cerberus, the three-headed hound that guarded the gates of Hell was a lapdog in comparison to the snarling, snapping, mouth foaming ball of joy that was tethered just out of reach of my oh so tasty arse. I was becoming a little suspicious at this point, but against my (or anyone’s) better judgment, I headed for the door. Those who know me well know that this is pretty much par for the course for me. “My God! That sounds like a HORRIBLE idea!! I’m in!”

I knocked at the door and turned back to make sure the hellhound hadn’t gotten lose and waited. After a moment, the door was answered by the mister of the house, and he didn’t seem amused. I let him know I was here to see Rocky, and decide if I wanted him. He returned after a moment with the antithesis of Satan-on-a-string just a few feet away. He explained that Rocky was the spawn of The Beast to my right, yet wasn’t much like him. He calmly explained his attempts to make Rocky a more worthy dog, and the failure that had ensued due to a possible slightly below average intelligence level. He then politely asked if I might like to take Rocky with me then and there. I believe the actual wording was; “This dumass dog is the son o’ that one right thar and I’ll be dammed if he ain’t crap like him. I done put this dog in the basement fer the last two years an’ it ain’t made him mean at all. Matter o’ fact he’s about the dumbest dog I ever seen. You taking him with you now right?” Meanwhile, Rocky was running around in circles at approximately just below the speed of sound while alternately drooling, self asphyxiating, and jumping all over me, the bushes, the car, and things only he could see. I was skeptical, to say the least.

I went home to explain to my Dad that Rocky was a bust, and ask for a new key because mine didn’t seem to be working now for some reason. Dad and I then had a long talk about “potential” and “latent ability” and a lot of other key words I don’t remember anymore, and it was decided that I would bring Rocky there for a few days before I moved, as a test run. There may have been a little more discussion about my planning to move. The words “expedite”, “soon”, “before sun-up” might have been mentioned too, but my memory is foggy in my old age. Anyhow, long story short, I went back to the shanty the held my newfound little buddy, braved Cerberus again, and loaded Rocky into the car. Twenty-five minutes and six gallons of drool later, we were home. The Rockstar was mine. Damn.

Anyhow, it was only a matter of days before I loaded up my u-haul and headed east. It was decided Rocky would ride in the truck with dad, mostly b/c he was the only one with the patience to NOT strangle him. To give you an idea of the “New Rocky”, picture a four year old kid, hopped up on chocolate, Pepsi, and oh maybe a little crystal meth. Now double that, and attach never ending spittle cannon to one end, and spin it in circles. For eight hours. I think that gets the point across.

Well we made it to Johnson City in mostly one piece, and no matter how hard I tried to leave Rocky at truck stops along the way, someone always got him back in the truck. Well once here, Rocky and I had a few growing pains, to say the least. First, we had to establish WHO was in charge. After living for two years in a basement, Rocky was a little slow on the uptake on “how things work”. We quickly settled on an understanding that as long as he quit peeing all over everything, I’d remove my foot from his hind end. By quickly, I mean about a month. In Rockyspeed, that’s pretty danged fast. Things progressed well for the summer whilst I worked on the house, and Rocky came to realize a few things such as which one of us sleeps on the floor, insulation, while being tasty goodness, is not for digging, and most importantly, the poles downstairs were NOT trees even if they are covered in wood.

The trouble, and the last name, came about when medical school started. Surprisingly, the school expects their future doctors to spend a lot of time there doing such things as “learning”. It took me a bit to adapt to this, but I did. Rocky on the other hand was now left at home to his own devices for hours on end. It was at this time that his breeding as the Spawn of Satandog took hold, and he rose to his full glory. Rocky developed what the vet termed “separation anxiety.” The only separation I was concerned with was my foot from his rear. Rocky would systematically destroy all the fit into his drool filled mouth. He was meticulous in his work to destroy everything. Nothing was safe, not even the toilet plunger. The vet recommended Xanax. I think she meant for me. I however was undeterred because I knew which one of us was smarter. I went out and bought “Time Out”. For those unfamiliar with this witches brew of evil, you spray it on stuff, and it stops animals from chewing it. In theory. Anyhow, the stuff tastes a lot like pure evil mixed with unholy goodness. A mere drop will ruin your palate for about three hours. Two drops will have you retching, and drinking jalapeno juice just to taste something better. Don’t ask me how I know. Remember I’m the smart one here!

I returned home with what was to be the Bane of Rocky in my bag and went about preparing the house. I was excited. Never again was I to return to a house that looked like the Tasmanian devil got into a fight with a pack of cracked out badgers again! With a smug look and a pat on the head, I left Rockstar and headed off to school, giggling at the unholy goodness that awaited my little canine buddy’s mouth. All day I daydreamed of Rocky licking the floor just to get the taste out of his mouth. I pictured him dry heaving around the house in pure misery. Mostly, I smiled. Classmates thought maybe I’d won the lottery, but no, I’d done better. I’d conquered the beast!

At the end of the day I drove home as fast as I could hoping to be able to still see the lasting effects of Curious Rocky’s encounter with the one-armed man. I threw open the door ready to see my living room in undamaged glory, my dog with his tail tucked, and maybe even happy fairies. Instead I was met with destruction. Utter chaos. My eyes finally came to rest on the ultimate insult. There, alone in the middle of the room, lay the bottle of “Time Out”. The top was chewed off, the contents spilled onto the floor where they were eagerly lapped up. Yes, due to some unknown genetic flaw, chromosomal rearrangement, or just plain retardation, Rockstar thought this stuff to be Doggy A-1 Sauce. A single tear of defeat rolled down my cheek. Actually I think it was drool slung onto me by little Mr. Sunshine. That day, I went out and bought a 100’ dog run. This was also the day I learned the two trees in my backyard were precisely 100’ 8’’ apart, but that’s another story.

Finally, Rocky has settled down a little, and spends a lot of time on his dog run. The stories of his complete lack of intelligence are astounding, but not to all be told at once. Most people who meet him agree that a special helmet is in order, or at the very least, so Xanax. For us.

Next time: The Day Rocky ate Four Pounds of Fudge. Either that or The Day Rocky ate Two Pounds of Trail Mix, which might be retitled as “The Technicolor Poo and the Big Red Lawnmower.”