My dog is sweet, handsome, and responds well to jerky. You might think I knew this, and I did - but it’s always nice to be reminded. Especially by someone who called up and prefaced the compliments with the phrase “did you lose a dog?”

No, I didn't lose the dog. I am part of a family that has a poor grasp of perimeter security sometimes.

I was driving to work when I got the call, and pulled off the highway to take down the particulars. Daughter was out looking for the dog, because I had pulled her from school to canvas the area. I had sent a series of texts in the morning that said A) you forgot to latch the gate, B) the dog got out, C) I have a meeting, and D) you’re going to leave school and walk everywhere with a box of Milk Bones and a leash until you find him.

No response on the texts. Finally she calls, laughing, and says her biology class went down to the creek and she’s going to stop home for wet socks. They were at the creek because their tests are done and there’s no homework, but since the school has a significant percentage of low-achieving students it has to be open for two additional weeks. So they went to the creek for “research,” and had caught a small crawfish. She was still laughing when I said DIDN’T YOU READ THE TEXTS and laid forward the matter with severity.

She said I was catastrophizing, and Scout would come home as always, and I resisted the temptation to say “if he’s hit by a car it will be your fault,” because you can’t say that. So she came home and I drove off, and that’s when I got the call.

He is a handsome dog, and he does have a great disposition. He has his peculiar moments, as they do - last night I let him out to sit in his chair at the midnight hour while I work, and even though I check on him frequently - I write standing, I pace, I refill my beverage, I move, and hence can see him - he vanished around 12:05 after a growl and a deep BOOF. Got out the big flashlight; he was by the fence, which means I had to make sure he didn’t dig out to chase a raccoon. I checked again, and he was sitting in the grass, curled up. Good for the night, if he’d been in the wild.

I went back to watching Twin Peaks, and now and then I would go outside and rake the yard with the flashlight to see if the coiled dog was still in the tall grass. He was. And then he wasn’t. I looked around and saw him back at the far end of the yard by the light that illuminates the water that comes out of the fountain. His eyes shone and then the light clicked off.

Everything is a David Lynch movie for about 16 hours after I watch an ep of Twin Peaks. But that’s next Tuesday’s tiresome entry.


Got home from work, and Scout was by the back door, ears back, looking abashed. Tail thumped. He couldn't be feeling bad about running away; that was fun, and besides, it was forgotten. I let him out. He went to the grass and started hocking up something. Big throaty blarghs.

I went inside and found dog barf in five spots. So he ate something while he was on his little jaunt this morning. Maybe a piece of something that stuck its head up when the mowers went over. Tuesdays are the worst for everyone, but small burrowing creatures would have an entire culture built around the regular appearance of the Great Beast that scours the world - and, in a sense, seems to renew it.

But of course they don't have such a culture, any more than dogs feel guilt for running away. If they did, they wouldn't . . . well, they wouldn't stay away so long.

Note: all the time they're lost, it's too long.


Not everything in the magazine was WAR WAR WAR.

Burdens not ours to bear. There's a relief. Let's see what people are talking about at the late hour of 8:30 PM:

Don't you wonder what that mean action was.

BTW, whenever I see "Truth Will Out" or "Murder Will Out," I feel as if it's missing a word.




Almost done. Man. What a slog.

Remember last week? How the Black Whip Who Isn't Zorro was played by a woman, then by guy? Then a woman again? She got popped and stabbed by a pitchfork and we saw her boots twitch with the impact.



Quick thinking. Then stuff happens and the rustlers and the outlaws and the guys who don't want statehood because it'll crimp the rustlin' and outlawin' - well, they trap the Black Whip in Girl Form and the Gummint Agent, who was the Black Whip but isn't the Black Whip now.

I have to admit, the Coal Oil Death Barrel looks pretty good:


All that remains now is to bring the Bad Guy to justice, and then everyone stands around and laughs.

I haven't seen it, but I think that's a reasonable assumption. We'll see next week.

That'll do; see you around.



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