Back From Vacation

Mitch: Well, that was restful. I needed a break.

Rosie: A break?  You took more than two years off from writing the Dog Blog!

Mitch: I needed to get my head together.

Rosie: (spits her scotch)

Mitch: Is that my good scotch?

Rosie: (wiping her chin) I’m just saying, it will take more than two years for you to (makes ‘air quotes’)  ‘get your head together.’

Mitch: Are you suggesting I need therapy?

Rosie: No, I’m shouting it from the rooftop.

Mitch: Give me a break! I’ve been through a lot of changes in the last two years. So have you!

Rosie: Right. Let’s enumerate.

Mitch: (thinking) Enumerate?

Rosie: Number one, you turned 60.

Mitch: Which has caused a profound shift in my thinking ab–

Rosie: Shut up!

Mitch: Sorry, go on.

Rosie: Number two- you got married.

Mitch: Yes I did. Nice lady. Grew up in Montague, moved away. I lured her back.

Rosie: Your new wife’s name is Lori. Am I missing something? Wasn’t that the name of your first–

Mitch: Shut up!

Rosie: Sorry.

Mitch: Go on.

Rosie: Number two–you brought in a new dog–Sally.

Mitch: Right. Lori’s dog. She’s old, sweet, kind of saggy, sleeps a lot.

Rosie: I’ve heard you described the same way.

Mitch: I’m conserving my energy. Go on.

Rosie: Number three–you expanded the house.

Mitch: Right. Added a bedroom, remodeled the kitchen. It’s nice.

Rosie: Brand new space–I had to pee in every corner.

Mitch: Excuse me?

Rosie: Metaphorically speaking. I’m a female. Marking’s not my thing. Number four–your best friend of 40 years, Jim, moved here from New York.

Mitch: Right! Moved to Whitehall. Nice having your friends close. And that has effected a change in your life as well.

Rosie: Yes. Jim’s dog Burton. He loves me, but he’s not my type.

Mitch: Poor Burton. So what is your type?

Rosie: Wild, dangerous, untamed.

Mitch: NOW you’re describing me.

Rosie: In 1978.  May I continue?

Mitch: You didn’t mention your weight. I think you’ve put on a few since–

Rosie: (low rumble)

Mitch: C’mon! You must weigh 50 pounds!

Rosie: That’s only seven in ‘dog pounds!’

Mitch: That only works with age!

Rosie: Are we done, here?

Mitch: I think we’re done, here.

Rosie: It’s good to be back on the blog.

Mitch: Good to have you back. More to come…

Snowden Comes Home

This is Part II of the Snowden saga. To Recap, my dog Rosie has brought Edward Snowden home from an airport transit lounge in Moscow and he’s hiding in our basement (just go with it).

Mitch: Edward, you’ve been very bad.

Edward: (hangs his head)

Rosie: He’s a whistleblower! He’s a hero!

Mitch: He’s a turncoat! He exposed a secret program that gathers  information from potential terrorists!

Snowden: In the government’s eyes, that’s everybody in the country.

Rosie: Snap!

Mitch: Both of you stop! Edward, what did you hope to accomplish by this?

Snowden. Uh…I dunno.

Mitch: Did you think you’d be greeted as a her0?

Snowden: Uh…I dunno.

Mitch: Your thoughtless actions have caused a lot of pain to a lot of people.

Rosie: Who? Dick Cheney and the Joint Chiefs? Gimme a break!

Mitch: Edward, I think you need to write a letter of apology–

Rosie: Write a  letter? Seriously?

Mitch: …a blog post of apology–

Edward: (rolls his eyes)

Mitch: I saw that, young man! Now this is serious business!

Rosie: Mitch, c’mon, a blog post? It’s 2013, if you’re keeping track.

Mitch: Okay, a…Twitter…of apology?

Rosie and Edward: (snicker)

Mitch: What?

Rosie: How about if you just pick up the phone and have Sarah put you through to Sheriff Taylor’s office?

Mitch: So I’m a little behind on technology.

Rosie: Look, we’ll just hide him out here, until this whole contretemps blows over.

Mitch: This is no contretemps!  It’s the story of the year! He’s marked for death!

Rosie: Do you have to say that right in front of him?

Snowden: (hangs his head)

Rosie: (pats Snowden) This is a good boy.

Snowden: I’m really sorry Mr. Coleman.

Rosie: There! Problem solved!

Mitch: It’s not solved!

Rosie: Oh yeah, we’ve still got that whole drone thing. I’m stumped.

Mitch: Wait! I’ve got an idea!

(One week later…)

Rosie: Wow, the old ‘one week later’ trick, eh?

Mitch: It gets me out of a lot of tight spots.

Rosie: One problem.

Mitch: What?

Rosie: We’re all still standing here! You can’t just say ‘One week later’ and make a week go by!

Edward: Actually, at the NSA–

Rosie: You shut up!

Edward: Yes ma’am.

Mitch: Let’s try this again…

(One week later…)

Rosie: I think it worked that time.

Mitch: Where’s Snowden?

Rosie: Who cares? That whole story is so ‘one week ago.’

Mitch: They won’t kill him, will they?

Rosie: Ya think?

Mitch: I’ve got to Tweet about this.

Rosie: You have a Twitter account?!?!

Mitch: (clears his throat, and calls out) Tweet! Tweet! Edward Snowden was in our house, but now he’s gone! Tweet! Tweet!

Rosie: (covers her face with her paws) Where’s a drone when you need one?

Rosie and the World’s Most Wanted Man

The phone rings. Mitch answers.

Mitch: This is Mitch.

Rosie: (over the phone) Shut up, and don’t let anyone know you’re talking to me.

Mitch: Rosie?!

Rosie: You idiot! What did I just say?

Mitch: Where are you? You’ve been gone for like, three days!

Rosie: Keep this to yourself…I’ve been in an airport transit lounge in Russia.

Mitch: In Russia?

Rosie: @#$%! What did I just say?

Mitch: Okay, okay. So…airportay, ansitray, oungelay, in ussiaray?

Rosie: (sigh)

Mitch: That’s just in case the NSA is listening.

Rosie: How do you even feed and dress yourself?

Mitch: I’ve been worried about you. You just disappeared.

Rosie: I’m coming back, but listen, I’m going to have a very special ‘guest’ with me.

Mitch: Wait a minute…airport lounge in Russia…special guest…oh my God–

Rosie: He followed me home. Can I keep him?

Mitch: Edward Snowden can not stay at our house!

Rosie: He’s a good kid! He’s just in a bit of a fix, right now.

Mitch: A bit of a fix?!  He’s being stalked by drones!

Rosie: That’s not so bad. Two years ago, I tangled with this cat that had–

Mitch: I don’t care what he had! You are not to bring Edward Snowden into this house!

Rosie: I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.

Mitch: Well I am saying that! Now you come home right this minute!

Rosie: I AM home.

Mitch: What? What do you mean?

Rosie: I’m calling from down in the basement. We got in an hour ago.

Mitch: An hour…Edward Snowden is in our basement?! Are you f#%king kidding me?

Rosie: Stop calling him ‘Edward Snowden.’ He prefers to be called ‘The Snowman.’

Mitch:  (Holds his face in his hands)

Rosie: I’m bringing him upstairs.

Mitch: (sigh) Sure…what the hell…

(to be continued)

Dear Rosie

Rosie: I’m going to write an advice column, and I need your opinion.

Mitch: (opening a beer) An advice column? Advice for who?

Rosie: Lovelorn dogs, unhappy dogs, etc. Here, I’ll read you some letters, and my responses, and you give me your thoughts.

Mitch: You’ve already gotten letters? You haven’t even started the column yet!

Rosie: And what do we do in cases like this?

Mitch: (sigh) We just go with it.

Rosie: That’s correct. Here’s the first letter. ‘Dear Rosie: I am a standard poodle, living in substandard conditions. My master makes me sleep on a dog bed on the floor, instead of letting me sleep on his bed. I’ve got this funky haircut,  and I have to wear a pink ribbon in my hair. What can I do?  Signed, Pathetic.’

Mitch: That doesn’t move the dial for me.

Rosie: What are you saying?

Mitch: I’m saying, that dog’s got it pretty good, all things considered.

Rosie: Here’s my response: ‘Dear Pathetic, who are you calling ‘My Master?’ Listen sister, you are the master of that household, and don’t let him forget it. The only reason I let Mitch share my home, is because he can turn a doorknob. In fact, when I think ‘Mitch,’ I think, ‘doorknob.’

Mitch: That’s…real nice.

Rosie: ‘Good luck, and thanks for writing.’

Mitch: When you think ‘Mitch,’ do you really–

Rosie: Here’s another letter. ‘Dear Rosie,  When I was two, I learned that the dogs who share my home, are not my real parents. Now, I’m on a mission to find my family. Do you think my life would make a good reality TV series? Signed, Searching.’

Mitch: What the hell kind of question is that?

Rosie: ‘Dear Searching,’ Absolutely! I’d make my life with Mitch into a reality show, but I’m afraid Mitch’s lifestyle might be too low-brow for reality show fans.

Mitch: (chokes on his beer, blows it out his nose)

Rosie: Thank you for making my point.

Mitch: (wipes his shirt)  Can’t wait to see this in print.

Rosie: ‘Good luck, and thanks for writing.’

Mitch: How about this one? ‘Dear Rosie, I’m a very patient man, with a very demanding dog. She never misses an opportunity to make me look like an idiot, and she insists on having her way in every conceivable situation. What should I do? Signed, Mitch.’

Rosie: Well, that proves he’s an idiot–he signed his own name.

Mitch: (sigh) Are we done, here?

Rosie: Almost. ‘Good luck, and thanks for writing.’ Now we’re done.

Rosie’s Voicemail.

VM: You have…eight…unheard messages. First message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at nine-oh-four am.

(Beep!) Rosie! It’s ‘Max the Beagle.’ Remember me? We sniffed each other’s butts over at Gunner’s house? Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to hang–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at ten-fifteen a.m.

(Beep!)  Hi, Rosie, it’s Bruno–the dog at Whitehall Pet Practice? You’re on our books for a nail trim and exfoliation on Tuesday. I see that, once again, you’re bringing your friend Madam Rosa with you.  Just a reminder that we do not serve alcoholic beverages, and we do not allow alcoholic beverages in the clinic. Call me if you need further clarification of that polic–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at eleven-seventeen am.

(Beep!) Hi, Rosie, this is Lilly, Paul and Susan’s chihuahua? Listen, this is very important! I’ve got a message for Mitch, and it’s a matter of life and–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at twelve-oh-one pm.

(Beep!) Heeeey, girl! It’s me. Dante. The long, cool, labradoodle who sniffed your badonkadonk on the beach yesterday. Wasup, dawg? You said I was, “One smooth criminal.” I love that! Girl, you is absolutely off da chain, na mean? How ’bout we go taggin’ tonight? Just you and me. You know my numba. Just holla. (Beep!)

VM: To delete this message, press seven. To save it, press nine. (Beep!) Message will be saved for…14…days. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at six thirty-six pm.

(Beep!) Rosie, it’s Max again. I left a message earlier, and I was afraid maybe you didn’t– (Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at six-fifty-one pm.

(Beep!) Rosie, it’s Mitch. Listen, I was expecting a very important call–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at nine-twenty-seven pm.

(Beep!) This call is from Verizon Wireless. You have exceeded your allotted minutes on this account. If you want to continue making calls–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent today, at seven-fifty-three am.

(Beep!) Rosie! It’s Max–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. End of messages. To hear your saved messages, press one.

(Beep!) Heeeey, girl! It’s me. Dante. The long, cool, labradoodle who sniffed your badonkadonk on the beach yesterday. Wasup, dawg? You said I was, “One smooth criminal.” I love that! Girl, you is absolutely off da chain, na mean? How ’bout we go taggin’ tonight? Just you and me. You know my numba. Just holla. (Beep)

VM: Re-saved. Main menu. To listen to your saved messages, press one.

(Beep!) Heeeey, girl! It’s me. Dante…

Rosie Gets ‘Catfished’

Mitch: Tell me again why I’m taking your picture?

Rosie: It’s for my passport. Just shoot.

Mitch: Got it. What do you think?

Rosie: Sheesh, it looks like a mug shot.

Mitch: I’ve seen your mug shot. This is better. Why do you need a passport, anyway?

Rosie: Take another one. If you must know, I’ve met someone over the Internet, and he wants me to come and visit him.

Mitch: Where?

Rosie: In Sweden.  Take another picture.

Mitch: What’s the name of this Swedish hound?

Rosie: Bjorn Bjorgenbjorn.

Mitch: Bjorn…Borgen…?

Rosie: Bjorn Bjorgenbjorn!  He says it’s the most popular dog name in Sweden.

Mitch: I’m sure. Aw, hell. We can’t use this picture.

Rosie: Why not?

Mitch: I shot while you were talking. You’ve got your mouth open. Not that it isn’t an accurate representation of–

Rosie: Stop yourself! Shoot another one.

Mitch: What does this dog do?

Rosie: He’s a watchdog at the Vatican.

Mitch: Say again?

Rosie: I said, he’s a watchdog at the Vatican! He’s the ‘Premier Papal Pooch.’ He protects the Pope.

Mitch: You’re spitting all over me.

Rosie: And, he’s responsible for the ‘Papal Pooper Scooper.’

Mitch: Okay, hold on a second…

Rosie: It’s a very important responsibility, wouldn’t you agree?

Mitch: I know the Pope is old, but I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a ‘Papal Pooper Scooper.’

Rosie: Yes there is! Bjorn told me all about it!

Mitch: Have you ever talked to this dog over the phone, or is it all–

Rosie: He sent me a picture. See?

Mitch: Wow, that’s…that’s…too good to be true. But have you talked to him?

Rosie: E-mail and text. He can’t give me his phone number–it’s a State secret.

Mitch: Aw, jeez.

Rosie: The Vatican would have his hide if he gave out his number.

Mitch: Sweetheart, I love you, but…

Rosie: But what?

Mitch: I think you’re being played for a fool.

Rosie: No way. I’ve got my eyes wide open. Bjorn and I are–

Mitch: Really? Bjorn Bjorgenbjorn? I’m not sure that’s even Swedish! And I just Googled the most popular dog names in Sweden, and the top three are Molly, Wilma, and Ludde.

Rosie: ‘Ludde?’ are you sh**ting me?

Mitch: I think you’re corresponding with a ‘catfish.’ Do you know what that is?

Rosie: Somebody who poses as somebody else, just to mess with people?

Mitch: That’s right. I’m sorry, sweetie. Hey, now. C’mon…

Rosie: Oh my God…this explains so much…

Mitch: C’mon now…there’s plenty of…dogs in the…sea…or something.

Rosie: I’ve even been studying Swedish!

Mitch: Let me hear it.

Rosie: (through tears) Så vacker du är.

Mitch: That’s a lovely sentiment.

Rosie: You don’t even know what it means!

Mitch: I don’t need a translation. If you said that to me, it would melt my heart.

Rosie: It’s probably some cat!

Mitch: Here, have a Jerky Treat.

Rosie: They’re probably laughing at me right now.

Mitch: No one’s laughing at you. ‘With you’ maybe…

Rosie: Damn Internet.

Mitch: It sucks to be you.

Rosie: (Sigh) Damn cats…

Unu Bieron, Mi Petas

Mitch: Rosie! Wake up!

Rosie: (starts) What!? Have they come for our guns?!

Mitch: No one is coming for our guns.

Rosie: Yet.

Mitch: Would you please stop reading World Net Daily?

Rosie: That’s unvarnished truth, my friend.

Mitch: This is important. I’ve been working on my Esperanto, and I want–

Rosie: Wait! Stop! You’ve been doing what?

Mitch: I’m studying Esperanto. Since I conduct wedding services as a sideline, I thought some couple, some day, might want to have their service in Esperanto.

Rosie: When Lesbians marry on the town square in Selma, I’ll believe that someone, somewhere, will want their wedding service in Esperanto.

Mitch: See? There could be an opening for me.

Rosie: For your great-great grandchild, maybe. But really, Esperanto?

Mitch: Listen, according to Wikipedia–

Rosie: (sigh)

Mitch: Esperanto is “the working language of several non-profit international organizations, such as Sennacieca Asocio Tutmonda, a left-wing cultural association–

Rosie: Left-wing? No kidding.

Mitch: And the World Esperanto Association has “an official consultative relationship with the United Nations and UNESCO.”

Rosie: Wow, that’s a shocker. Imagine, a left-wing language association having links to the UN.

Mitch: Well anyway, I’m working on my conversational Esperanto. Here’s how you order a beer.

Rosie: Of course that’s the first thing you’d learn.

Mitch: Unu bieron, mi petas.

Rosie:(thinking) ‘ Unu moron,’ is more like it.

Mitch: Mia nomo estas Mitcho. That means, ‘My name–

Rosie: I know what it means!

Mitch: You do? Oh, no…don’t tell me–

Rosie: Yes.

Mitch: Since when?

Rosie: Since 2003. My previous owner was a left-leaning college professor–if you’ll pardon the redundancy.

Mitch: And he taught you–

Rosie: SHE taught me, you sexist oaf. I’m fluent in Esperanto, as well as 14 other languages, including one, from the Amazon Basin, that consists entirely of clicks, grunts and glottal stops.

Mitch: That’s…that’s just great. I’m happy for you.

Rosie: Ne dankinde.

Mitch: I need a bieron.

Rosie: Click, click!

##

Holiday Pounds

(Rosie’s friend Felipe’ is over for a play date)

Rosie: I can’t believe how much weight I’ve gained over the Holidays.

Felipe’: Girl, I hear you. I ate some cat poop yesterday, and it went right to my hips!

Rosie: Yesterday, I just rolled on a dead squirrel, and I gained half a pound!

Felipe’: I’m so fat, that when the vet trimmed my nails, I had to take her word for it.

Rosie: Mitch says they’ll have to weigh me, using a Richter Scale.

Felipe’: Light bends around me.

Rosie: If I disappeared, they’d have to use all four sides of the milk carton for my picture.

Felipe’: I have to put on my collar using a boomerang.

Rosie: My shadow weighs 50 pounds.

Felipe’: When I talk to myself, it’s a long-distance call.

Rosie: The last time we went to the zoo, the elephant threw me a peanut!

Felipe’: Have we made our point?

Rosie: I think we’re done, here.

Felipe’: What about ‘Mr. Skinny?’

Rosie: Mitch? It’s affecting him, too. He’s gained 10 pounds since he came back from Thailand. He’s afraid he’ll outgrow his clothes.

Felipe’: With his wardrobe, that could be a net plus.

Rosie: I think I need to get on a program.

Felipe’: Wasn’t Mitch on some kind of home fitness program?

Rosie: He was doing P90X. He called it his ‘testosterone booster shot.’

Felipe’: How’d that work out for him?

Rosie: He’s now on the testosterone transplant waiting list.

Felipe’: People are so messed up.

Rosie: I think I just need to chase a cat, or something.

Felipe’: Or something.

Rosie: Need to build my strength for that, I think.

Felipe”: Agreed. Let’s eat first.

Rosie: I’m right there with you.

Felipe’: Happy New Year, sweetie.

Rosie: And a Happy New Year, to all.

You Mean It Wasn’t a Dream?

(Mitch and Rosie are at home, in Montague, after an adventure that saw Mitch spend time in an Arizona jail for pot smuggling–see previous two posts)

Mitch: (awakens, bolts upright) Where am I?

Rosie: (from the foot of the bed) Chill out, Robert Stroud. You’re safe in bed.

Mitch: Jeez, did that really happen?

Rosie: What do you think?

Mitch: I think I was in jail! In solitary! They must have thought I was dangerous.

Rosie: It was for your own protection. Apparently, there aren’t many middle-aged white guys in Arizona jails. They were a little flummoxed.

Mitch: The other inmates gave me a ‘handle.’

Rosie: What was it?

Mitch: ‘Carne.’ I think it’s short for ‘Carnage.’

Rosie: It’s Spanish for ‘meat’, you dumbass.

Mitch: Maybe I misunderstood.

Rosie: Oh, I don’t think so.

Mitch: Still, I did hard time!

Rosie: All 24 hours of it. I’ll bet you didn’t even ‘pack the rabbit.’

Mitch: Pack the rabbit?

Rosie: ‘Take it to the hoop.’ ‘Put it in the safe.’

Mitch: What are you talking about?

Rosie: Hiding contraband in your backside!

Mitch: I didn’t even hide it in my pockets!

Rosie: (derisive snort)

Mitch: Look, I know you were in the ‘Puppies for Prisoners’ program at Alcatraz–

Rosie: Folsom.

Mitch: Whatever. But this was my first time, and I think I deserve some props for not ‘tattling.’

Rosie: (starts) Tattling!? In prison? Tattling? Tell me you didn’t say that to anyone!

Mitch: I kept my nose clean.

Rosie: (puts her face in her paws) Tattling…

Mitch: Okay, so I’m not fluent in prison argot.

Rosie: Fluent! You had to Google ‘argot!’

Mitch: Busted.

Rosie: Pray to God that you never go back to the joint.

Mitch: I think it’s unlikely…unless I’m arrested again for felony escape, kidnapping, interstate flight to avoid prosecution–

Rosie: Forget all that. It’s just a blog post.

Mitch: Oh, right. It ain’t real.

Rosie: It ain’t real.

Mitch: But here’s something that is real.

(he jumps up, puts on Wayfarer sunglasses)

Mitch: I learned this during my time in solitary.

(Cue music: Psy’s ‘Gangnam Style.’

Rosie: (jumps up) Now you’re talkin’!

(Mitch and Rosie begin ‘Horsey dancing’)

Mitch and Rosie Together: Heeeeey sexy lady!

On The Lam

(This is the second in a series. As we open, Mitch is sitting in an Arizona jail cell, awaiting trial on marijuana smuggling charges. To pass the time, he’s learning the choreography to Psy’s ‘Gangnam Style’ video.)

Mitch: (dancing ‘horsey style’)  Heeeeey, sexy lady!

Guard: Coleman! Package for you!

Mitch: (takes the package through the bars) Thanks.

Guard: Lookin’ good (does a little ‘horsey’ himself).

Mitch: You’re not doing it right.

Guard: @&*# you. (he leaves)

Mitch: (opens the package to find a single cupcake. He bites into it, and hits a piece of folded paper. Unfolding it, he reads)

Stay strong. A guard will come. He’ll have a key. Follow his instructions. See you on the outside. Rosie

Mitch: Oh, my God. My dog is planning a jailbreak? (slaps his forehead)

Guard 2: (approaches and whispers) Señor!

Mitch: (muttering) Now what?

Guard 2: Señor Coleman. Señorita Rosie sent me. I have a key. We must leave now (unlocks the door). Come quickly!

Mitch: I’m not leaving. I really need to work on this dance.

Guard 2: But you must! Señorita Rosie, she has everything arranged!

Mitch: How do you know this? How do you communicate with her?

Guard 2: I speak Chihuahua. We make it work.

Mitch: Of course.

Guard 2: You must come. We dare not incur the ‘Wrath of Rosie.’

(they exit the cell block in late evening darkness and walk together along a high, stone wall, to a heavily-barred door. The guard unlocks the door, and opens it onto a quiet city street. A 1978 Buick LaSabre sits idling at the curb. Rosie stares out the front passenger window)

Guard 2: (opens the car’s rear door) Quickly!

(Mitch jumps in. The guard jumps in after him, and the car roars off)

Rosie:  Stay calm. Remember, we’re just an ordinary family, out for an evening drive with their dog.

Mitch: (eyeing the driver) A young African-American woman, a uniformed, Hispanic prison guard, and a middle-aged white guy. That’s an ordinary family?

Rosie: It’s 2012. Just go with it.

Mitch: And wasn’t Sheriff Joe Arpaio supposed to be in this post, somewhere?

Rosie: It’s okay. We’ve got him in the trunk.

Mitch: (slaps his forehead)

(the car drives through the night, picks up Interstate 40, and heads east).

(to be continued)