<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583</id><updated>2011-11-27T17:52:03.384-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Postcards From Clancy</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>18</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-736447227658588212</id><published>2009-08-24T15:39:00.015-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T18:22:21.759-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If Your Dog is Fat, You Aren't Getting Enough Exercise -</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;                        &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;If your dog is fat, you aren't getting enough exercise.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Some pretty smart human named Anonymous said that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not fat, but I have put on a pound or two this summer.  While we were living at Chica's house-without-wheels, Sage or Skooba or Lone Duck took me for nice long walks.  Then we came home and, although Dad takes me for walks a couple of times every day, he still isn't ready for very long ones yet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt; Besides it's really boring around here, and there's no place to go where there isn't traffic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt; do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;esn't walk very well  because her eyes don't work too good, so she doesn't go very often.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt; She and Chica pretend they are throwing things at the TeeVee and wiggle a lot on something called a Wii and say they are exercising.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://rinconinstitute.org/content/view/54/63/"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 169px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMZp-GooCI/AAAAAAAAAEc/sbWTW-KRN24/s400/FarmersMarket.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373666989219291170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;BUT last week we went to that place they call the Farmers Market.  I usually enjoy that place because there's lots of people and even kids there. They all pet me and give me treats and drinks from their hands.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;The &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMamq5XRTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Yy9DOWWQHC8/s1600-h/farmers_market2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMamq5XRTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Yy9DOWWQHC8/s200/farmers_market2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373668032035374386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;people who sell things let me sit under their tables in the shade and they all call me by my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;real&lt;/span&gt; names. You know...Sweetie, Precious, Adorable, Cutie,and Awwwwwe, those names.  I wonder how they know my real names!?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Well anyway, I was really excited when we got to the Farmers' Market 'cause I knew we'd have a good time.  Mom went off toward the barn and Dad took me down to the fence. We saw a table with some people  and a lot of other dogs. There was a big Mastiff and a spaniel pup. A beagle I met once before named Roxie was sitting there, and I thought we were going to have a party.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Uh... I was wrong! Dad picked me up and put me on the table and the next thing I knew...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMff36eZ8I/AAAAAAAAAE0/P6MTz5pgEOE/s1600-h/rabiesshot.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 144px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMff36eZ8I/AAAAAAAAAE0/P6MTz5pgEOE/s320/rabiesshot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373673412828751810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                                                                               &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" &gt;Ouch!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;I was just about to tell them they should have warned me when they did it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;again &lt;/span&gt;in my other shoulder!  What did they think I was - a pincushion? Why did Dad let them do that to me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Who did they think I was?  At least Snoopy had a scarf when the Baron was shooting him!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMgG6w6BpI/AAAAAAAAAE8/vk4GREauAp0/s1600-h/snoopy-red-baron-stress1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMgG6w6BpI/AAAAAAAAAE8/vk4GREauAp0/s320/snoopy-red-baron-stress1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373674083608823442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Okay, maybe it wasn't quite that bad.  Once they stopped shooting me with those pointy things, Dad and I went to find Mom. A little while later, they sat down to have a rest and a drink and they gave me one too under the table.   I guess they forgot I was there because I heard them talking about a secret plan.  They said that now that I had my current vaccines that sometime this week they would take me to the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" href="http://users.psln.com/sharing/Michael/originaldogpaintings.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;DOG PARK &lt;/span&gt;!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Oh boy, do I love &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-style: italic;"&gt;DOG PARKS!&lt;/span&gt;  I always get to meet new friends and run around naked! No leash!   They let me stay as long as I want if it's not too hot or cold.  Sometimes, Dad walks around with me or throws the frisbee but usually I just like to explore every single inch of the place.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;You never know what you'll find at a &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;DOG PARK&lt;/span&gt;.  When Makita and I went to the park in Bellingham, Washington it was my very first one.  At first I was a little shy, but then I figured out that I wasn't going to get in trouble for running as far and as fast as I could go.  I wasn't used to that because every time I'd slipped my collar and done it before, I'd gotten in a lot of trouble and had to "Get on my Bed"-never a good thing.  So at first I just stayed right there by Dad and Skooba; but then Makita showed me how it was supposed to work and I had a really good time.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;All the humans started laughing when I got the big dogs all together and got them to go where I wanted.  They told me afterward that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt; I could heard them like that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt; because I was a cattle dog.  I was having so much fun I didn't want to tell them that sheperds and labs and retrievers, and especially Makita, were not cattle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;We've been to a few &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;DOG PARKS&lt;/span&gt; since then, and I've liked them all, even though a couple of times I was the only one there. That wasn't as much fun as having races, but Dad and I played ball so we had a good time anyway.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMjrja643I/AAAAAAAAAFE/PVq-U430gB0/s1600-h/DogPark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMjrja643I/AAAAAAAAAFE/PVq-U430gB0/s320/DogPark.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373678011532632946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;We went to a really neat &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;DOG PARK&lt;/span&gt; in Seward, Nebraska one time and there were lots of other dogs.  We had a great time but for some reason our humans all got ready to leave about the same time.  One after another, from the other side of the park, we heard whistles and calls. (Do you know that humans are a lot like birds? They all whistle differently. In fact, Dad can't even whistle so Mom has to do it for him.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Anyway, we had discovered something on the far side of the park and as each of us was called, we ran through a wonderful oozy muddy spot and then rolled in the dead squirrel on the other side.  The humans weren't too happy, but it was the perfect ending to a perfect day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Well, this was the longest D-log I've written, I think.  But I have a secret plan too. Maybe if I write all about &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-style: italic;"&gt;DOG PARKS&lt;/span&gt; and how much I like them, they will get the hint.  After all, it's been a whole week since they stuck me with those needles!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Woof at you later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-736447227658588212?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/736447227658588212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=736447227658588212' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/736447227658588212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/736447227658588212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/08/if-your-dog-is-fat-you-arent-getting.html' title='If Your Dog is Fat, You Aren&apos;t Getting Enough Exercise -'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SpMZp-GooCI/AAAAAAAAAEc/sbWTW-KRN24/s72-c/FarmersMarket.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-4498859286603438287</id><published>2009-07-23T09:23:00.008-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T11:38:10.427-07:00</updated><title type='text'>News From the  Back Yard</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad Returns From the Vet's!&lt;br /&gt;Woof ! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;That's my woof limit since ordinarily I'm not supposed to bark  but this is the best thing that's happened to me in weeks.  Dad's not as fast as he was before he went to the vet's but he says we'll get back to normal soon.  Yesterday, Mom finally let us go for a walk by ourselves without a bodyguard!  It's pretty strange though; we are still living at Sage's house. Dad has a funny bed that moves up and down and is really high (but I can jump really high too so I get to take naps with him-lots of naps).  They said we will stay here until Dad can drive the Jeep in two more weeks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span&gt;Skooba Returns to Washington&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Skooba had to go home to his own dog Mikita right after Dad came home. I really miss him. He was fun to go for walks with because he went different places so we could explore (and nobody has set up a drippy water bowl for me since he left).  I'll bet Mikita and Pearlie like playing with Skooba too and they must have missed him.  I know Mom and Dad and Sage and Chica miss him too but we are all glad he came to visit us.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;Lone Duck Came and Went&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;The night before Skooba went to Washington he opened the door and brought me a really big surprise.  Lone Duck came to see me all the way from New York.  I used to know LD in California and he's a lot of fun to play with.  We played in the back yard and went for walks, really slow ones, with Dad almost everyday for a week.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt; Sometimes we went by ourselves but that wasn't always a good idea.  All the houses without wheels look alike out here in Tucson and my DPS unit still doesn't work. As for Lone Duck, he doesn't do well in the desert. He was even mentioned on CNN one time for getting lost in a different desert in someplace called Iraq.  But this time it only took Chica to find us, not the whole US Army.  He had to go home, too the other day. Back to Hilly and Bubba (I understand leaving me for Hilly, but that dumb cat? C'mon!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span&gt;Chica and Sage Words Given Honorary Pet Status.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;As you know, I adopted Mom and Dad when I was at a shelter in New Mexico four years ago. A bunch of us were staying there waiting to pick out just the right humans to be our companions for the  rest of our days.  They came in one day and I liked them right off the bat. So I agreed to go home with them and let them take me to all kinds of neat backyards all over America. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;This past month we have been staying at Sage and Rosemary (Chica) Words back yard and their house without wheels.  They have been really nice to me.  They bring me bones from the restaurant, let me wash almost all of the dishes, take me for nice long walks at night when the hard dirt isn't too hot for my poor aching paws. Sage lets me climb on him when he lays on the floor because I know Dad is still too sore for that.  Chica calls me Miss Clancy and talks that sweet kind of talk to me that's fun to hear. She says all the words that I know mean me. Sweet, precious, cute, awe ...well you know the ones. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Last night Sage even bought me my very own package of ice cream! It's called Frosty Paws and he said it was all for me. Mom laughed a lot about that but I ate every bit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;So I decided they can be my Pet Humans too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SmioFL_uOoI/AAAAAAAAAEE/4n6z41u4_bI/s1600-h/why+don%27t+you+check.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SmioFL_uOoI/AAAAAAAAAEE/4n6z41u4_bI/s320/why+don%27t+you+check.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361720163457448578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;This is a picture of me, helping Dad and Sage fix Mom's laptop.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Woof at ya later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-4498859286603438287?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/4498859286603438287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=4498859286603438287' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/4498859286603438287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/4498859286603438287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/07/news-from-back-yard.html' title='News From the  Back Yard'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SmioFL_uOoI/AAAAAAAAAEE/4n6z41u4_bI/s72-c/why+don%27t+you+check.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-8727964515679011019</id><published>2009-06-23T10:25:00.007-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T12:59:03.531-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where the Heck is Dad?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;There are some really weird things going on in my life right now.  It all started last Monday.  We were sitting there on our little patio next to the house (that's what Mom and Dad call our Winnebago).  Dad was looking a bit like a sad dog who had just fallen into a creek.  He was petting me but sort of like he wasn't really there to feel it. Lately, we hadn't been taking very interesting walks because he got a little tired. Mostly, we just did the business then hung out on the patio or watched TeeVee.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Sage Words, the 3rd of their litter, came and sat with them for a few minutes.  Then he helped Dad go get in his car and came back to put me in the house.  Mom turned on the light even though the sun was shining and I figured they weren't coming back for awhile. Darn, I wanted to go with them, Dad just wasn't his usual self and I wanted to keep my chin on his knee.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;I was pretty surprised later when Chica came and got me and took me to her house in her car.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; That's never happened before.  Then Sage came home and told me I was going to have a sleep over. He even slept on the couch with me but I had to wear my purple leash so I couldn't go upstairs and play chase with the cats.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Now, it really gets strange.  I have been here at their house all week.  Mom came one day and took me to our house and I got pretty excited because I thought Dad would be there but he wasn't.  My friend Joe came and scratched my back but that's all that happened. Then we went back to Sage's house.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Skooba came and he's staying at Sage's house too.  He's the runt of Mom and Dad's litter and I really like him.  I remember he played with me last year when everyone was getting ready for his wed-ding. He pretends he's gruff and mean but he's really a softy. He even made me a special watering jug that drips fresh water into my bowl all day so my bowl doesn't get hot out side.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;  Then Sage bought this gate sort of thing and put it on the stairs.  I don't have to wear my purple leash in the house anymore but I can't figure out how to get over it to go play chase with George and Gizmo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;I decided on Saturday that since no one else was bringing Dad here and they seemed to be staying away for long times, I was going to have to do something about the situation.  I worked all afternoon to dig an escape tunnel under the fence in the back yard. Boy the ground is hard and hot here in the desert. I kept wishing it would rain to soften up the dirt.  It didn't.  But I finally squeezed through and started off down the street.  I was determined to go find Dad so we could go home. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;I think something must have been wrong with my DPU. No matter which way I looked, all the big houses looked like Sage and Chica's.  None of them were normal houses with wheels under them and steps up to the door.  I wandered around for a little while before I figured my Dog Positioning Unit wasn't going to be much help.  Then a nice lady named Danielle called me over.  I sat with her for a few minutes and tried to tell her all about how they had taken Dad away but they forgot to bring him back. I told her  how I had to find him because they keep forgetting him and they seem pretty nervous. She listened and petted me and even called me Clancy.  Then she said,  "I think we'll call the number on your little necklace."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;So she did and pretty soon Skooba and Sage and Mom, but not Dad, came to Danielle's house and took me in the car back to Sage's house.  The one really good thing that happened was that Mom stayed there and slept on the couch with me instead of Sage.  And she did last night too.  I was so glad she was there I didn't even try to get over that gate on the stairs to go up to play chase.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;This morning, Mom told me that Dad is in something called a hospital and that another human, a doctor, that's a vet for humans, was making his heart feel better.   She said that after a little longer Dad will come to Sage's house and we can stay here for a couple more weeks. Then we'll go home to our house.  She said that when Dad is all better, we'll be able to go for even better and longer walks when we take the house somewhere new. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SkEvTznVooI/AAAAAAAAAD8/gehCkRfagJI/s1600-h/oldmanndog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SkEvTznVooI/AAAAAAAAAD8/gehCkRfagJI/s200/oldmanndog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350609849612083842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Well, that's good I guess.  But I wonder why Dad doesn't just lick it where it hurts so it can get better, that usually works for me.  Of course, sometimes I do need some help, like getting star thistles and burrs out of my feet. That's when Dad helps me. Maybe that's what the vet is doing for him. When he comes to Sage's house I'll find out where his hurts are and lick them for him.  Then he'll be all better.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Somebody sent this to Mom and she showed it to me. I thought you would like it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 224);font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 224);font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;                   &lt;p  style="border: medium none ; padding: 0in; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-left: 18.75pt; margin-right: 115.5pt; color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;Adam                    and Eve said, 'Lord, when we were in the garden, you walked                    with us every day. Now we do not see you any more. We are                    lonesome here, and it is difficult for us to remember how much                    you love us.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;And                    God said, I will create a companion for you that will be with                    you and who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that                    you will love me even when you cannot see me. Regardless of                    how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be, this new                    companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I                    do, in spite of                    yourselves.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;And                    God created a new animal to be a companion for Adam and                    Eve.&lt;br /&gt;And it was a good animal&lt;br /&gt;And God was                    pleased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;And                    the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and Eve and he                    wagged his tail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;And                    Adam said, 'Lord, I have already named all the animals in the                    Kingdom and I cannot think of a name for this new                    animal.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;And                    God said, 'I have created this new animal to be a reflection                    of my love for you, his name will be a reflection of my own                    name, and you will call him DOG.'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="border: medium none ; padding: 0in; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-left: 18.75pt; margin-right: 115.5pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&amp;amp;ik=0c0f117cac&amp;amp;view=att&amp;amp;th=1220c89c138a9c76&amp;amp;attid=0.1.1&amp;amp;disp=emb&amp;amp;zw" border="0" width="440" height="252" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;And                    Dog lived with Adam and Eve and was a companion to them and                    loved them. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;And                    they were comforted&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;font-family:Verdana;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And                    God was pleased.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;font-family:Verdana;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-family:Verdana;" &gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;And                    Dog was content and wagged his                    tail.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;font-family:Verdana;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;color:black;"   &gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; font-style: italic;font-family:Verdana;font-size:13;color:black;"   &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&amp;amp;ik=0c0f117cac&amp;amp;view=att&amp;amp;th=1220c89c138a9c76&amp;amp;attid=0.1.2&amp;amp;disp=emb&amp;amp;zw" border="0" width="56" height="76" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:blue;"   &gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; font-style: italic;font-family:Verdana;font-size:10;color:blue;"   &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;font-family:Verdana;font-size:13;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;Woof at you later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-8727964515679011019?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/8727964515679011019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=8727964515679011019' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/8727964515679011019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/8727964515679011019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/06/where-heck-is-dad.html' title='Where the Heck is Dad?'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SkEvTznVooI/AAAAAAAAAD8/gehCkRfagJI/s72-c/oldmanndog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-5450517143908704680</id><published>2009-04-29T22:43:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T23:49:31.266-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Problems with the Neighbors</title><content type='html'>I've been spending more time on my bed lately, and not because I've been tired. It all started a few days ago when I met a couple of new neighbors. One is gray and white, and the other is all black...and they're both - Cats. Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No offense to Bubba Zee, my fellow blogger, (who incidentally underwent a rather traumatic day at the hands of his humans, which you can read all about &lt;a href="http://bubbazee.blogspot.com/2009/04/sneaky-humans.html#comments"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;) but cats really are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mean&lt;/span&gt;. On&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; purpose&lt;/span&gt;. And I think they actually &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;enjoy&lt;/span&gt; it. I really do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, cats really don't have facial expressions. They just have funny-shaped snouts that make them &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;look&lt;/span&gt; like they're all superior and everything...but I think I've caught &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;these&lt;/span&gt; two smiling (actually it was more like &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;smirking&lt;/span&gt;) as they watch me get...well...a little upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gray and white one started it the other day. He (or maybe it's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;she&lt;/span&gt;, I can't get close enough to tell) came strutting up and plopped right down &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;under my house&lt;/span&gt;. Imagine that? Right under my&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; house&lt;/span&gt;. Which I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;guard&lt;/span&gt; when I'm outside. So naturally I gave chase, and he (or she) took off running. So far so good. But then, the cat turned around and noticed I was at the end of my hook. (Dad and Mom keep me attached to the hook so I don't run away and chase the heard on the wide black trail out front)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That cat came strolling back &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;toward&lt;/span&gt; me, just as snooty-casual as you please, and sat down&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; just past the farthest I could reach.&lt;/span&gt; And started licking his (her) paws. AAAAHHHHHH!!! What could I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt;? I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;had&lt;/span&gt; to bark. I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;had&lt;/span&gt; to, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;right?&lt;/span&gt; Wouldn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you?&lt;/span&gt; Of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;course&lt;/span&gt; you would.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that was the first time I got brought inside for barking. I mean, I didn't even &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hear&lt;/span&gt; dad say "no barking". I was in the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;zone&lt;/span&gt;, ya know?&lt;br /&gt;Well, anyway, the gray and white remembered right where my hook ended...and now, his (her) favorite trick is to stroll right up to that spot, and sit down. And smirk. Very funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That would be bad enough, but it didn't end there. No. He (she) went and told his (her) friend, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;black &lt;/span&gt;cat, about it. And &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;black&lt;/span&gt; cat found the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;other&lt;/span&gt; spot where my hook ends. The one &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;right across from the front door&lt;/span&gt; of the house. Talk about humiliating!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that's why I bark. Dad says I have to be a "patient doggie" (whatever &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; means) and not bark. I don't get &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; at all. I mean, dogs &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;bark at cats&lt;/span&gt;. Right? That's what we &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt;. Maybe I can learn to use the online dictionary some time and look up "patient" and "doggie", and figure out what Dad's talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, I guess I'll just be putting in more time in the ole sack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woof at ya later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-5450517143908704680?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/5450517143908704680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=5450517143908704680' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5450517143908704680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5450517143908704680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/problems-with-neighbors.html' title='Problems with the Neighbors'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-8223204815447093425</id><published>2009-04-26T19:47:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T21:22:04.672-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Attack of the Hissin Cousins</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;I heard Dad and Mom talking about an old movie one time. It was called&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;The Curse of the Cat People&lt;/span&gt;. Besides being an absurd idea - cats, while they may be a curse, are not people no matter what they say - it was apparently a pretty awful movie.  &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SfUfsB3caHI/AAAAAAAAADs/ZT7pHJN7UQo/s1600-h/cursecatpeoplelobby.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 154px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SfUfsB3caHI/AAAAAAAAADs/ZT7pHJN7UQo/s200/cursecatpeoplelobby.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329200575338539122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;There were lots of female humans mewling all the time in that screechy noise they and cats make.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But today I found out about something that some of my friends might think of as a horror movie come to life.   To make matters worse, it forces me to reveal the skeleton in my closet, something I never planned on having you all know. To my utter embarrassment, I have feline cousins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;There are really a lot of them too.  In New Yor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;k there are Bubba, Arial, and Tia.  In Arizona there are Gizmo, George, and the mythical Queenie. I know there are a couple in Washington  too but they don't talk to me at all so I can't remember their names.  I don't think there are any in California but you never know, they multiply like - cats!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Well, I could have spent my whole life happily ignoring these Hissin Cousins but no!  Today I found out that Bubba had the auda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;city to think he can write a blog, only he decided to be oh so clever and call it a C-LOG! *&amp;amp;^%&amp;amp;#$@! And he couldn't even do it without being catty about it. Wait 'til you hear what he called it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Okay I need to calm down, he's a cat, what does he know?  Cats are the original hacks (as in hair balls heh heh) this won't last long. I'll be be magnanimous,  I'll even tell my buds and their humans about Bubba's C-LOG (these days humans need to laugh).&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;So  here goes... Friends, my cousin Bubba has begun to put down his thoughts. (Don't worry they don't take lo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;ng, he's a cat after all)  . If you want a good laugh go read it and maybe even follow it. It's called&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" href="http://bubbazee.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;In Answer to a Loud Dogg.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;There, I did it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Now do I get a treat?&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SfUvm41VA8I/AAAAAAAAAD0/g2agCyYKF8c/s1600-h/-cat.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 185px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SfUvm41VA8I/AAAAAAAAAD0/g2agCyYKF8c/s200/-cat.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329218079200445378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;Woof at you later,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(dumb feline can't even spell dog!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-8223204815447093425?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/8223204815447093425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=8223204815447093425' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/8223204815447093425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/8223204815447093425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/attack-of-hissin-cousins.html' title='Attack of the Hissin Cousins'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SfUfsB3caHI/AAAAAAAAADs/ZT7pHJN7UQo/s72-c/cursecatpeoplelobby.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-5595075922408432848</id><published>2009-04-20T22:48:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T23:42:35.201-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank Heaven for Little Girls</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;I have another new friend besides Penny; one of my favorite kinds of friends.  Her name is &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Katie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;and I think she's about seven years old (that's 7 in human years).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;Katie's dad is fixing the place where the people go to get rained on inside with their clothes off.  She comes to play with me after school.  She's lots of fun to kiss because she has long long fur that tickles my face when she bends over me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;Her Dad, Joe, always comes with her and sometimes  he plays with me too. Sometimes Katie even goes for walks with me and my dad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;I think,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; after&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt; Mom and Dad, and Sage and Chica, and Hilly and LD, and Jugglesorcerer and Buttercup, and Skooba and Pearlie, and Grandfather and Lady B, and the lady in Arkansas who could laugh like the Wicked Witch of the West, and who always had treats in her pocket for me, Katie is my best friend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;There's not a lot of things to see in this place where we are in Tucson and mom said I can't go shopping with them much more because it's too hot in the car and they don't let me in the stores.  So it sure is nice to have new friends like Penny and Katie to play with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;Woof at you later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-5595075922408432848?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/5595075922408432848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=5595075922408432848' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5595075922408432848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5595075922408432848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/thank-heaven-for-little-girls.html' title='Thank Heaven for Little Girls'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-6644778362046355555</id><published>2009-04-17T19:58:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T20:27:59.590-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MemoriesThat Haunt Me</title><content type='html'>Ghost stories are getting really popular among humans these days. Mom and Dad are watching one right now on that flickery box with pictures in it. I don't pay much attention to the stories on the flicker box, but while they're watching it, I remember the ghosts &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I've&lt;/span&gt; come across.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was the haunted arena in a place called "Tulsa", where we stopped for a long time and some men worked on the house. Dad and I would walk through it, and I got to smell the bulls, and cows and horses, and a few other animals I didn't recognize. They'd had what they called a "Livestock Show" there before we arrived, and all the cows and bulls were sold. After they left, their ghosts stayed in the stalls, and I got to sniff 'em out most mornings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These days I only get to sniff the occasional ghost, and it's usually another dog or a cat that I find on the sidewalk or in the gutter when we go for a walk. Not as many as before...but this is a different kind of place. Sometimes I miss Tulsa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, we're here for a while, so I'll make the best of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If those dumb &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;cats&lt;/span&gt; keep coming around to tease me under the house, I might just make a couple  ghosts of my own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Woof at ya later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-6644778362046355555?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/6644778362046355555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=6644778362046355555' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/6644778362046355555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/6644778362046355555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/memoriesthat-haunt-me.html' title='MemoriesThat Haunt Me'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-4279897534450084181</id><published>2009-04-11T20:53:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T21:05:15.739-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Got in Trouble</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm not allowed to write my Blog about Easter Bunnies today. It was going to be a really good one about How I've always wanted to chase him around town as he drops those colored eggs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;But I was a bad girl today.  And I'm only allowed to ask you to forgive the lack of my entertaining story.  I don't think there's any way I could have been as bad as this guy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SeFmRbSOINI/AAAAAAAAADk/vbGyjI_WDR0/s1600-h/dog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 258px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SeFmRbSOINI/AAAAAAAAADk/vbGyjI_WDR0/s320/dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323648684096626898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; but Mom says I'll probably grow horns too if I ever ever ever eat her sandwich again!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Woof at you later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-4279897534450084181?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/4279897534450084181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=4279897534450084181' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/4279897534450084181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/4279897534450084181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-got-in-trouble.html' title='I Got in Trouble'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SeFmRbSOINI/AAAAAAAAADk/vbGyjI_WDR0/s72-c/dog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-218708040377132862</id><published>2009-04-10T19:49:00.006-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T20:36:58.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Here's What Happened Today</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;So this afternoon we went for a ride.  it was one of those rides where we drive for a little while and then stop. Mom gets out at somebody's house and Dad and I wait while she looks at stuff in the garage or drive way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SeAG_8XOXOI/AAAAAAAAADU/YyUD2DLNP8c/s1600-h/garageSaleSmall.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 311px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SeAG_8XOXOI/AAAAAAAAADU/YyUD2DLNP8c/s320/garageSaleSmall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323262455156989154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Today she bought a bunch of flower pots. Those nice big ones that people have by their front doors. She put them all in the back of the Jeep  but she didn't get any plants so now we have five empty pots.  They look kind of silly just sitting there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;She also got a blue rug to put near the door to keep the dirt out. I like rugs,I have some of my very own rugs.  I have one in our RV, up in the window so I can look out and watch people wave at me( I don't wave back, I just look at them).  I have two outside that I can pull around and put  wherever I want. I even have one at Sage Word's house.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;While we were going for a ride, Dad stopped at a place where they have tables outside and they serve people treats.  I really like people treats, especially that really cold stuff that comes in a funny cup you can eat.  Sometimes it comes on a stick but you can't eat eat the stick. But today they just got water, at least that's all they gave me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;When we got home I wanted to sit out side for awhile but it got really windy.  The awning was flapping up and down a lot and making a lot of noise. and the big rug that's supposed to be under my little rugs was blowing all over and was even on top of mine. Dad went and got some big rocks and put them on the corners.   I really don't like wind at all so I went inside with Mom. I'll try out the rocks tomorrow; they look pretty easy to get tangled around so they have to come out and say "poor thing" and give me a treat after they get me unwound.  After that, Dad decided to go to the store and get some deflappers. Honest, that's what he called them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SeAMBsRvKmI/AAAAAAAAADc/HA7pmzS6M18/s1600-h/176.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SeAMBsRvKmI/AAAAAAAAADc/HA7pmzS6M18/s320/176.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323267982756883042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;He did.  In fact, he got a whole bunch of them.  And now the awning is unflappable.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Yeah Dad!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;Woof at ya later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-218708040377132862?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/218708040377132862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=218708040377132862' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/218708040377132862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/218708040377132862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/heres-what-happened-today.html' title='Here&apos;s What Happened Today'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SeAG_8XOXOI/AAAAAAAAADU/YyUD2DLNP8c/s72-c/garageSaleSmall.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-6454145247948236285</id><published>2009-04-09T15:27:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T18:45:02.104-07:00</updated><title type='text'>There Are More of Us Than You Know</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;I have just woofled away most of my computer time pawing through the Internet.  I don't get a chance to do that very often because it's usually late in the evening and Mom and Dad are telling me to hurry up because they need to get their blogs posted.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Right now, however, it's daytime and Dad is taking a nap. I'm not sure how he can do it while he's sitting in a chair with a book in his lap but he's pretty good at it.  In fact, he doesn't even have to turn around three times or nose the chair cover out of the way so he can get under it or anything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Mom said she is too busy procrastinating to write a blog this afternoon so for once I got to check things out.  And I came up with an amazing discovery.  I am not one of only two Dogs with a Blog! (I am of course the only one smart enough to have a Dlog, however.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;It all started because I wanted to find out what my pal Buttons was up to.  So I went and read his blog (see &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;Treats for Humans&lt;/span&gt; over there on the right).  Then I wondered if any of my other friends around the country had one.  So I Googled "dogs with blogs" and I found a whole pack of 'em!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/Sd6d7MQyaiI/AAAAAAAAADE/lnddxm9Pio8/s1600-h/-dog-park.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 149px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/Sd6d7MQyaiI/AAAAAAAAADE/lnddxm9Pio8/s320/-dog-park.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322865449827985954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Right here at&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.dogswithblogs.com.au/index.htm"&gt; Dogs with Blogs&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;.    A nice bunch of friends,huh? They looked like they were having fun so I sort of paw-crastinated a bit myself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Then I spent all afternoon reading about their adventures and leaving them comments.  I sure hope some of them come to visit me too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;By the time I finished reading (for today, there are way too many to read them all at once), I was feeling that I totally belonged to the superior species.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;But then just to prove I was right I checked;  AHWHOOOOO!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Now, I know why they call them &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;copycats&lt;/span&gt;! Can you believe the nerve of those felines?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.catswithblogs.org/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cats With Blogs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;  no less, they couldn't even come up with an original name.  I'd have called it Cat-terwalling!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;But for those of you who insist on having cats, I should warn you, they have very tiny brains. Using them too much could be detrimental to their health.  In fact, it could even become &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/Sd6eP9d8LnI/AAAAAAAAADM/dvun6UvoROk/s1600-h/cat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 250px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/Sd6eP9d8LnI/AAAAAAAAADM/dvun6UvoROk/s320/cat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322865806633873010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;CATASTROPHIC !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;(heh,heh,heh)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Woof at you later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-6454145247948236285?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/6454145247948236285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=6454145247948236285' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/6454145247948236285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/6454145247948236285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/there-are-more-of-us-than-you-know.html' title='There Are More of Us Than You Know'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/Sd6d7MQyaiI/AAAAAAAAADE/lnddxm9Pio8/s72-c/-dog-park.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-3430946248379517202</id><published>2009-04-08T22:15:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T22:35:15.230-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Make a New Friend</title><content type='html'>I made a new friend this week. Her name is Penny, and she like to chase the food ball with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom and dad seem to think its funny that I like the food ball so much; I'm not sure why that is. It's a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;magic&lt;/span&gt; ball, and it really works.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every once in a while, mom or dad will put some regular food inside the ball, and after I roll it around for a while, the food changes. When it spills out through the hole in the middle of the ball, it tastes &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Really&lt;/span&gt; good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Penny thinks so too, and today she and I chased the ball around together, and really had fun. Of course, I had to keep the situation from getting out of hand, so I kept the ball close to the underside of our house. She might be a guest, but there's no reason she should get more of the magic food than me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, she'll be back to visit again...maybe I'll introduce her to sock next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not much else going on this week. Dad and mom were talking  about something called a "computer crash", and there was some extra water in the house for a while, but I didn't see any big deal about it. I didn't hear anything crash, either...I think they made that up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Woof at ya later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-3430946248379517202?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/3430946248379517202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=3430946248379517202' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/3430946248379517202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/3430946248379517202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-make-new-friend.html' title='I Make a New Friend'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-5073157942280856896</id><published>2009-04-04T12:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-04T22:16:40.086-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leash Laws</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dad and Mom are really the best humans in the world.  They love me and take really good care of me and best of all they take me to places all over the country. But my favorite thing in the world is to hear is "go for a walk".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;I really don't care where we go as long as we go.  I like going with &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" href="http://ramblings-yarntangler.blogspot.com/"&gt;Yarntangler&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;.  Mom makes me walk with her on the short purple leash. That's okay, but she doesn't like to explore muddy places and all those wonderful spots that stink so enticingly.  And she never lets me play with dead things. She's good for a long slow walk when I'm in the mood to mind my manners.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;One neat thing about going with Mom is that she likes to talk to other humans-a lot.  Sometimes they are walking their pets too and we get to sniff, convers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;e.  Sometimes it turns out that those humans are attached to some&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; pretty strange companions,let me tell&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; you. Here are a few we've seen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgaibV0c0I/AAAAAAAAABs/CjgquVpF0JI/s1600-h/black+pig.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgaibV0c0I/AAAAAAAAABs/CjgquVpF0JI/s200/black+pig.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321032138495390530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;That little black guy was really pretty cute; talked kind of funny though.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgZUx9rQ0I/AAAAAAAAABM/iINboqmpBwA/s1600-h/babypig.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgZUx9rQ0I/AAAAAAAAABM/iINboqmpBwA/s200/babypig.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321030804538344258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;I'm not too sure wh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;at this one was.  I don't think he knew either to be honest. But h&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;e&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; never made a sound at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgeFS5wYWI/AAAAAAAAACE/tauqyT5RJQk/s1600-h/Bird_Leash.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgeFS5wYWI/AAAAAAAAACE/tauqyT5RJQk/s200/Bird_Leash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321036036060504418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;I tried to catch a bird once&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; but it ran right up into the sky. It would have been easier if it had bee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;n on a leash.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgfQkCBALI/AAAAAAAAACM/0dBgRDBy5y4/s1600-h/aguiniepig.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgfQkCBALI/AAAAAAAAACM/0dBgRDBy5y4/s200/aguiniepig.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321037329148739762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;At first I thought Flopsy was a bunny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;But she said she was a Guinea Pig.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Walking with &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" href="http://geezerguy-rollinghome.blogspot.com/"&gt;Geezerguy &lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;is a whole different experience. He puts me on one of those leashes that can be long or short.  As long as I don't run into the road or pull him down an emban&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;kment into a creek, he usually lets me tak&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;e the lead and stretch out the leash as far as I can.  We go some pretty wil&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;d pla&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;ces and I've seen some unbelievable things when I walk with Dad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgrkljAzGI/AAAAAAAAACs/gkWWIo1jiDE/s1600-h/dragononleash.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgrkljAzGI/AAAAAAAAACs/gkWWIo1jiDE/s320/dragononleash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321050867292490850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgrkljAzGI/AAAAAAAAACs/gkWWIo1jiDE/s1600-h/dragononleash.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                                                            &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;  These two&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt; w&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;ere just weird!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgtgCgXavI/AAAAAAAAAC8/PnqoA5Y_mDc/s1600-h/babiesleash.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgtgCgXavI/AAAAAAAAAC8/PnqoA5Y_mDc/s200/babiesleash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321052988189928178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;This was completely unexpected.  And none of them sniffed my butt either, probably a good thing, I would have had to sniff theirs and one of them did not smell too good!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other cool thing about going with Dad is that sometimes we take reall&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;y long walks.  That's okay with me, I'm never really ready to go back and Dad's stamina is pretty good for an old human.    But I admit I got kind of jealous when we were in South Dakota last summer.  We saw this guy walking his pet near Interstate 90 at 1880 Town where we worked for the summer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgikKz6RdI/AAAAAAAAACc/_sF2rV22agg/s1600-h/clarence.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgikKz6RdI/AAAAAAAAACc/_sF2rV22agg/s320/clarence.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321040964510959058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Now this man knows how to go for a walk!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Oh well, maybe Geezerguy can work his way up to a walk like that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sometimes I wish I could go for a walk without the leash. Trouble is, I get so excited I run all over and forget to come back for a long time and they get mad.  I've learned to live with it and sometimes they take me to Dog Parks where I can run around with a bunch of other friends.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;And then every once in awhile I spot something that makes me realize life can really be fair.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgluWAXNeI/AAAAAAAAACk/PU8N_3cftH0/s1600-h/cat_harness_leash.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 202px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgluWAXNeI/AAAAAAAAACk/PU8N_3cftH0/s320/cat_harness_leash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321044437849552354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;HA!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Woof at you later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgZUx9rQ0I/AAAAAAAAABM/iINboqmpBwA/s1600-h/babypig.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-5073157942280856896?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/5073157942280856896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=5073157942280856896' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5073157942280856896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5073157942280856896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/leash-laws.html' title='Leash Laws'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SdgaibV0c0I/AAAAAAAAABs/CjgquVpF0JI/s72-c/black+pig.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-4478920166682476173</id><published>2009-04-03T23:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-04T00:49:37.394-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Experiences</title><content type='html'>We're "in town" now, and so I have to be on a short leash, and can't dig or bark as much as I could out in the country. But the "in town" animals can be pretty weird. There are some other dogs around...I know because I'm not allowed to bark at them; and there are a few cats I'm not allowed to chase. But the "in town" animals are a new experience entirely:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the middle of the night, usually several times, there's one that runs really fast along the street, making a "whoop-whoop" kind of sound that hurts my ears. There are strange red lights that must come out of its head and spin around...they shine in the window and make me kind of nervous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another animal makes a loud, grinding sound and eats all the trash really early in the morning. It makes a funny "beep-beep-beep" sound when it moves backwards.&lt;br /&gt;Then there's the one that licks up all the dirt from the street. It comes around about the same time as the trash-eater, and makes a  kind of shuffling, snuffling sound out in the gutter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went for a ride the other day, and I saw a heard of town animals that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; made me look twice:&lt;br /&gt;Most of them were yellow, and they were mostly pretty big. I think they're called "double fines" because dad said we were driving through a "double fine zone" when we saw them, and slowed way down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were in a corral made of little red-striped fences, and most of them were grazing. Some were eating the asphalt, and some were eating the dirt. A lot of the smaller ones were resting. I think the yellow ones were related to the trash-eaters, because they made the same sound when they moved backward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've learned that there are lots of other animals in the world that I never even knew existed. I can't wait to move spmeplace else and see some more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really like RV'ing. It really helps a dog broaden her horizons.&lt;br /&gt;-Woof at ya later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-4478920166682476173?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/4478920166682476173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=4478920166682476173' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/4478920166682476173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/4478920166682476173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/new-experiences.html' title='New Experiences'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-5371095396759757345</id><published>2009-04-02T23:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T23:58:44.543-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hrumph!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Want to hear a good April Fool's Joke?   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;My humans arbitrarily chose April 1st to be my birthday when they adopted me four years ago.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;So yesterday was my birthday and they forgot!  I didn't even get a new chew stick!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Whine...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Woof at you later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-5371095396759757345?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/5371095396759757345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=5371095396759757345' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5371095396759757345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5371095396759757345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/hrumph.html' title='Hrumph!'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-8074227268687376051</id><published>2009-04-01T17:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T17:43:24.458-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We're in a Contest</title><content type='html'>The humans have decided to write lots of computer things this month, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm included!&lt;/span&gt; This is going to be fun. Even without fingers, I'm looking forward to talking on the internet. It has something to do with baby steps, I think. That's what's on Daddy's blog...so I went on-line and found my own set of baby steps:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.gooddeals.citymax.com/i/Small%20Ramps/tn__indoor_puppy_step_ramptiny_dog_steps_1011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 200px;" src="http://www.gooddeals.citymax.com/i/Small%20Ramps/tn__indoor_puppy_step_ramptiny_dog_steps_1011.JPG" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Here we go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Woof&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-8074227268687376051?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/8074227268687376051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=8074227268687376051' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/8074227268687376051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/8074227268687376051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/04/were-in-contest.html' title='We&apos;re in a Contest'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-4638796677128076167</id><published>2009-01-30T17:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T18:30:40.906-07:00</updated><title type='text'>BLURP!</title><content type='html'>So how was I supposed to know?  It was right there under the porch.  It smelled good, looked good, and the box was open.    So I dragged it out from under the porch and sampled a few. Then I had a few more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not bad...not bad...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I heard Mom say,"What has Clancy got?" Dad came running over and took the box away from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not good!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom freaked out!  Dad freaked out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I knew we were in the car and mom was awfully tense.  We drove to a nice place with a nice patch of grass out side. The interesting thing about the grass was that I could tell lots of other dogs had been here before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But they wouldn't let me check it out.  We went inside.  Yeah! A people place where they let me go in.  This was getting more intriguing by the moment. There was a Pekingese sitting with a lady on one side and a couple of my favorite creatures-kids- sitting with two baby labs on the other side.  Hmmm, seems I've been in a place like this before...nah...they wouldn't do &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; to me again ...would they?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then a guy I didn't know came and picked me up and put me on a scale. 18.9 lbs.  that's not bad at all.  I've only gained 2 lbs since I was a year old. I'm almost 5 years old now  but I don't show it.   Humans all think I'm still a "sweet little puppy".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to tell Mom I wasn't overweight and found Grandfather had come to the place too and he was looking kinda worried.  Before I could tell them my good news another guy came and took me into a room with a big cold table.  Dad came with me but then they told him to go wait with Mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I was was beginning to get a bit worried myself but they were really nice.  They put some drops in my eyes which made me a little sleepy and just as I started to relax my tummy went &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;BLURP&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it went &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;BLURP&lt;/span&gt; again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it went &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;BLURP&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And while I was busy &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;L&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 0);"&gt;U&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;R&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"&gt;N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;G&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;out green stuff they stuck me in the butt with a needle!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally they took me into another room with another table and they let Mom and Dad and Grandfather come in too.  They talked awhile but I didn't pay much attention because I was still &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;BLURPING&lt;/span&gt; a little bit.    Then they gave Mom some pills for me (Dad thinks he's fooling me every morning when he asks me if I want a treat- but I know they are pills- they don't taste too bad so I let him think he's got me hornswaggled).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nice man-they called him The Vet -told Mom to get something called peroxide in case I ever ate any of those green things again.  Then she is supposed to give me 15 CCs  (is that for Clancy Cumberland?). Then they will have to take me to a vet again to make me &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;BLURP&lt;/span&gt; some more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well it was an interesting day but the &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;BLURPING&lt;/span&gt; wasn't much fun.  So I thought I'd warn all my friends out there. Mystik and Annie and Barny and Pinky and Maxie and Makita and all the rest of you,  and I guess even the cats,  that if you ever find a box like this&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SYOnCS25-HI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Pj2LVhZrGdo/s1600-h/a+poison.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SYOnCS25-HI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Pj2LVhZrGdo/s320/a+poison.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297261244581542002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Don't eat the green things!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Woof at ya later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Clancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-4638796677128076167?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/4638796677128076167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=4638796677128076167' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/4638796677128076167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/4638796677128076167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/01/blurp.html' title='BLURP!'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SYOnCS25-HI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Pj2LVhZrGdo/s72-c/a+poison.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-5638678792349914318</id><published>2009-01-06T20:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T20:49:59.345-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Strange Day in Tulsa</title><content type='html'>People are hard to understand.  I like Mom and Dad, but sometimes they’re just weird. Like today for instance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I took a lot of left over supper wrappings out of the bag they call the "trash", and chewed them up because they smelled really good. (I still don’t know why they go to all the trouble of putting stuff like that into a bag for me if they don’t want me to have it.) Anyway, for my punishment, as usual, I had to go to my bed and lie down. I put on the usual hang-dog “I’m sorry” look, and that seemed to satisfy them. Actually I was kind of tired anyway, so I just closed my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I figured I’d still be in trouble today, because they were keeping a close watch on me, and using words like “bored” and “antsy”, which usually means they’re talking about me. So you can imagine my surprise when they decided we were going “for a ride”. In the “Jeep”. Those two sounds almost always mean we’re going to get into the small house and take really short trips, and I get to sit guard while they go inside strange buildings and come back out with bags of things. Well, what the heck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while, and a couple of good guarding jobs (I always know when I’ve done a good job, because Dad is very surprised that nobody stole the “car”…that’s his pet name for the little house) I was out of trouble and back in the “Good Girl” category. Then they went to one more place, and when they came out they had a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;present&lt;/span&gt; for me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, here’s the weird thing…they were all happy and petting me and real excited for me, and said I was getting it&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; for being such a Good Girl&lt;/span&gt;. You know what it was? Are you ready for this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a new bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That’s right. I was such a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;good girl&lt;/span&gt; they got me something new to go lay down on when I’m bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People. What are you going to do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, it’s pretty comfy, so maybe it won’t be so bad getting into trouble next time.&lt;br /&gt;-Woof.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-5638678792349914318?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/5638678792349914318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=5638678792349914318' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5638678792349914318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/5638678792349914318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/01/strange-day-in-tulsa.html' title='A Strange Day in Tulsa'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2078898360245876583.post-2499287291656575426</id><published>2009-01-01T20:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T20:34:25.982-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Dlog</title><content type='html'>I didn’t get &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ANYTHING&lt;/span&gt; for Christmas!   Not even one little treat.  I didn’t believe them when they said I wouldn’t. After all, everyone who knows me tells me I’m cute, and adorable, and sweet, and well behaved, and no trouble at all.   Usually, I am just that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But lately they have been so wrapped up writing blogs and books, they haven’t had time for as many long walks.  He keeps going to work without me. She keeps letting it rain or snow or get really cold so I don’t want to go out even with that stupid sweater on. Then they go shopping and say it’s too cold in the Jeep for me so I have to stay home alone.  Most of the time they let me watch TV but honestly, how long do I have to watch the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Weather Channel&lt;/span&gt;? At least they could get &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Animal Planet&lt;/span&gt; or something.  Heck! Sometimes they forget to even leave the light on and I have to sit here in the dark all by myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What’s a dog to do?  I was bored. It was hanging there all month just looking  so tempting.  I resisted for a really long time.  How was I to know it was the worst thing to do?  I’m a dog.  There was no way I could have known what a terrible thing I was thinking about doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time I sat on the couch it was there and finally, while they were at the store…again…&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I ate Santa’s hat...on the afternoon of  Christmas Eve! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chewed the silly white ball at the end of the pointy part off and just pulled it to shreds.  Hey! It was fun!  I got to take out all my frustrations.  It felt so good snarling and barking at it when they weren’t home to hear me and say “no barking”. But they got really upset. How did I know Dad was supposed to use it that night?   Now that I think about it, I should have eaten this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SV2HfNop1vI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X_xr0Hnir6w/s1600-h/Clancy+Santahat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 276px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SV2HfNop1vI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X_xr0Hnir6w/s320/Clancy+Santahat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286530507908699890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They made me wear it even longer this year than last year just so she could take a picture.  After they picked up the white stuff from the couch and the floor and the chair and the rug and the blanket, they told me Santa wasn’t going to bring me &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt; for Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then they said they were going to have to do &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;something &lt;/span&gt;about me. They said I’m a smart dog and that I had only 52 weeks to make up for what I had done to Santa.  They said I had to think about how to be a better dog in 2009.    They said if I’m so bored I should do something constructive instead of destructive. They said I was going to have to make some New Years Resolutions. And then they made the first one for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I, Clancy, the Gourmet Wiener Dog, do hereby resolve:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; This Dlog is #1.  No I did not misspell it. D(og)+ log(record of my days) =DLOG.  I resolve to post one dlog a week for the entire year of 2009 in hopes that Santa Claus will understand that I’m not really a naughty dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This isn’t the first time I’ve posted on Blogger. I posted  once on Mom’s blog back on November 10,2008. That’s the first time most people got a chance to know me. You should check it out   &lt;a href="http://ramblings-yarntangler.blogspot.com"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;   .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now here are the ones I thought up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2)  I  am going to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;try&lt;/span&gt; to stop whining to go out when Dad is really busy.  ( I didn’t say promise; I said try.) I know that when Dad does take me out it will be fun and we’ll enjoy exploring together.  I’ll even try to remember that I don’t have to always wait for Dad to be with me in order to poop.  Mom can use the little pink and blue bags almost as well as he can. I can’t promise not to try to chase the squirrels, rabbits, prairie dogs and armadillos, however, I’ll remember that Mom doesn’t run as fast as Dad does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3)  I won’t promise to stop shedding all over the place. I will, however, try to avoid dropping all my white fur on their black pants and my black fur on the white shirts.  But if I forget, I won’t stress out about it.  I know it helps Mom relax when we go outside with the Furminator and as for me…ahhhh.  So if I shed a little it’s just a reminder for her to get it out of the drawer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) I’m going to be on the lookout for more exciting things to tell them about even when they say ‘no barking”.  After all they can’t be expected to see every cat, fly, snake, and tumbleweed that passes in front of the RV.  that's my job.  That’s why I sit in the front window all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) I’ll find more wonderful smells to follow, water to splash in, and lovely icky things to roll in.  After all, I’m almost five years old now.  I can’t expect them to provide for my every need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) Most of all, I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep.  I’m only canine after all.  Dogs do make mistakes from time to time.  We don’t very often learn much from them, like humans say they do, but at least we have fun while getting into trouble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you’ll come visit me each week and see where I've been and see who I've met. Maybe you'll be able to see what kind of scrapes I’ve gotten myself out of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and Santa, next year you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;will&lt;/span&gt; see a dog worthy of a whole stocking full of treats-honest!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woof!&lt;br /&gt;Clancy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2078898360245876583-2499287291656575426?l=clancy-postcards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/feeds/2499287291656575426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2078898360245876583&amp;postID=2499287291656575426' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/2499287291656575426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2078898360245876583/posts/default/2499287291656575426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://clancy-postcards.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-dlog.html' title='My Dlog'/><author><name>Clancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14652461580177639096</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DS0Lp4iNakM/SV2HfNop1vI/AAAAAAAAAAM/X_xr0Hnir6w/s72-c/Clancy+Santahat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
