Archive for the ‘Pets’ Category

Check out Luhu the Sad Cat, man. He’s sad.


Can’t tell you how much I love this photo. I’ve looked at several times. So may great faces here.

Big cow guy here. Everyone knows that.  Something about the way a cow looks at you amuses me. Once I was riding my bike on a country road and stopped for a rest and drink of water. I heard a noise over my shoulder, turned, and saw something akin to this:

Adorable, man. We had a nice chat and I was on my way. I think she mooed as I peddled off. Anyway, I’m edging closer to being a vegetarian every damn day. Again, something about a cow. Enjoy, and click to peruse.

Did I mention this is a badass pug?

Totes adorbs.

Dogs, man.

PS- Honestly, I can hear the fear in that guy’s voice. He’s pretty sure Storm is trying to save that deer, but a small part of him thinks Storm might just be hungry for a little venison. Good stuff.

About Sparky

Posted: June 27, 2017 in Animals, Pets, Things I Love

Sparky, also known as “Sparky the Wonder Dog” or “The Avian Avenger,” joined Shoe on June 27th, 2012 after living for about 4-years in Kentucky. Sparky was asked to leave the Commonwealth after being implicated in a chicken massacre in which he has steadfastly denied involvement.

Since his arrival in Ohio, Sparky has proven himself to be a fun, intelligent, loyal, and non-bloodthirsty companion. He has made several friends and is now considered a resident of Ohio in good standing.

Sparky likes chasing balls, rabbits, small running children, and anything with wings. He also enjoys eating cheese balls, french fries, cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets. His dislikes include anything that runs, anything with feathers, and hobos.

Sparky’s many talents include catching those cheese balls from incredible distances and having a vertical leap of approximately 9.5 feet. He also catches houseflies by mouth on a consistent basis and once leaped from a moving car in an effort to catch and kill a squirrel.

His dream is to someday catch a bird in flight, hopefully a seagull, or make solid contact with a beggar’s throat through the car window as we roll by on the street.

Sparky insists that any connection between his hatred of winged creatures, love of chicken nuggets, and the accusations in Kentucky are purely coincidental.

So I’m down at my parent’s house yesterday and my mother accidentally let her little poodle Jack out the back door. Jack immediately makes a run for it across the yard, the fields, and into the snake, bobcat and coyote inhabited woods behind their place. OK, maybe I’m exaggerating a little but believe me when I tell you that Jack would not fare well in the wilderness. Little bro has been raised by my 90-year old parents and would probably be overtaken and eaten by a colony of rabbits or something. Anywho, Jack had vamoosed. Scrammed. Hightailed it for parts unknown. He was gone.

At the time I was standing by the door talking to Mom and The Spark was out in the Jeep, where I’d left him earlier. Mom was a little panic-stricken, so I ran to the Jeep, let Spark out, and yelled, “Spark! Go get Jack!”

Honestly, I have no idea why I did it other than it seemed a good option at the time. I’ve seen Sparky do too many amazing things to doubt him.

At that point The Spark springs out of the Jeep, ears up, and makes a quick inventory of his surroundings. Then he bolts, nose to the ground, zig-zagging across their backyard as I gave chase.

Even with my impressive foot speed I couldn’t keep up, and the last thing I saw was Spark go halfway across the bridge over their lake, make a u-turn, and sprint towards the back part of their property and to the woods beyond.

All I could do was walk briskly towards where Sparky had gone, and for a couple minutes all was quiet. Finally I stopped and listened, but I heard nothing.

And then . . .

In the distance, bursting through the bush, here they came. Jack, with Spark close behind, headed my way. I swear to you that Sparky was herding Jack like a cow or sheep or something. Every time Jack tried to veer off or turn back, Sparky would give him a body bump or an occasional nip to keep him headed in the right direction.

Sparky continued this until Jack was basically corralled directly into my awaiting arms, at which point my flabbergasted mother met me with a leash so she could take Jack back inside.

Of course, my buddy proceeded to receive a ton of attention from both my parents, with ear rubs and plenty of “good boys” all-around. Spark, of course, acted like it was just another day at the office, even though he’d never rescued a poodle in his life.

Sparky, man. He never ceases to amaze me.

Yep. hat’s a happy dog, man.

Listen, everyone knows I’m a big animal guy, and I love dogs in particular. Hey, who couldn’t be a dog lover with this guy by my side? Anyway, although I like cats I don’t feel like you can count on them, ya know? I mean, I can’t imagine a cat chasing off an intruder or warning me about an oncoming 18-wheeler like The Spark has done. And although some cats can be all cuddly and whatnot, others are more standoffish, indifferent and aloof. In addition, a percentage of cats are downright evil, and here’s proof. What you are about to lay your eyes upon are images of pure evil, images that will chill you to the bone, images that shall prove that some cats are demons with eyes that are the Gateway to Hell. View at your own risk.

Ernie will never forget the day a portal from hell opened, right there in his mom’s kitchen.

What the . . . RUN!

10 to 1 odds this demon just walked on across the ceiling after the photo was taken.

Supposedly this monster got into some flour, or perhaps he just murdered the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

Sleep well, human. Sleep well.

Here kitty kit . . . HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!

Santiago Catzalez as he plots his ultimate world domination.

The precise moment Kimberly knew that her beloved Toby had turned on her.

PS- Over the past few years I’ve pissed off clowns, midgets, bowlers, nazis, and LeBron James, among others. I’m sure I’ve just added cat lovers to my list.

Check out Digby, man. Just struttin’ out on that fake grass like a boss. Too bad it was fake grass or there would have been a mallard massacre. Instead we had some loss of dignity for Digby, but being a dog he shook it off and got on with his life. Dogs, man. Nothing gets them down for long. Not even fake grass.

PS- I’d be willing to bet a cat put that fake grass on that pond. Cats are diabolical. 



Stop it.

TAMPA, FL (WFLA) – Three people were injured during a dog attack Friday afternoon, according to Tampa Police. Police said a pit bull mix named Scarface attacked its owner and continue to attack other family members who tried to stop the attack.

Brenda Guerrero went outside to put a sweater on the dog when it began attacking her. Her husband, Ismal Guerrero, attempted to pull the dog off his wife when it began attacking him.

Animal Control and Tampa Police responded, and Animal Control shot the dog with a tranquilizer.

The Guerreros were taken to the hospital to be treated for their injuries.

Listen, my stance on this important issue is well documented, because if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a million times – don’t put clothes on a dog. I know you think it looks all cute and whatnot, but think of the dog, man. He’s embarrassed. Plus, he already has a coat. It’s called fur. Because of this I’m 100% behind Scarface on this one. So hear ye all, and let this be a warning from all dogs to all dog owners: Attempt to clothe me and you shall be attacked viciously, repeatedly, and without remorse. Thank you and good day, sir.

Aww . . .

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Somehow, I’d never read this quote from Napoleon Bonaparte. Napoleon found a dog beside the body of his dead master, licking his face and howling, on a moonlit field after a battle. He was haunted by this scene until his own death. Here’s the quote:

“This soldier, I realized, must have had friends at home and in his regiment; yet he lay there deserted by all except his dog. I looked on, unmoved, at battles which decided the future of nations. Tearless, I had given orders which brought death to thousands. Yet here I was stirred, profoundly stirred, stirred to tears. And by what? By the grief of one dog.”






Love it.




Hey, anybody in there?


I can relate.


It’s not the size of the dog in the . . . well, you know.


Wonder if he fetches?


“I dropped a tear in the ocean. The day it is found is the day I’ll stop missing you.”

Nine years ago, on September 8th, I lost the best little friend I’d ever had.

I first laid eyes on Delaney in early December of 2000. She was a 4-year old rescue and my wife and I had to go pick her up from the Dayton Scottish Terrier Club of America. She was unrecognizable as a Scottie. Her hair was long and unkempt, totally full of knots. When we reached down to pet her she would immediately hit the floor, going flat on her stomach. She just assumed she was going to be hit.

Del had been terribly abused by her owners. She trusted nobody, and would growl and shy away from anyone who tried to touch her. It would be over a year before she would even lick your hand. She had no idea how to love or show compassion. When we brought her home to meet her new brother Poe, she growled and nipped at him, generally making his life miserable for several months.

Over time, Del learned that we weren’t going to hurt her. She slowly and gradually warmed up to us, but it seemed to take forever. When she finally opened up to us, her incredible personality was revealed. She was a feisty, tough, animated, energetic little girl, albeit one with a giant chip on her shoulder. She had the most amazing eyes and expressions that just spoke to you. When she wanted something, she never hesitated to let you know with a yelp and a nudge of her nose. In fact, she came quite proficient at using that nose as a battering ram. If a door was left even slightly ajar, you could soon expect Del to come barging in to see what you were up to. To make matters worse, she taught her brother the same trick.

Del was a fighter. She didn’t back down from anything, whether it be a bigger delsleep11dog or a terrible disease. Ten years ago we took her in for a vet appointment and found that she had an abdominal mass inside of her. We’d had no idea. She’d been at the beach all summer and hadn’t shown a bit of discomfort. Her spleen had to be taken out, but she was as good as new in a month or so.

Then, in the fall of ’07 Del fell ill again. This time it was cancer, and she had to have a 9-pound tumor removed from her little 25-pound body. After surgery, pancreatitis set in and it was really bad. She was at MedVet for several days, and at one point the doctor told us that we shouldn’t hold out much hope, that Del didn’t have much of a chance, probably wouldn’t make it through the night. She could barely hold her little head up, and we basically said our goodbyes.

But as I was leaving a young vet called me aside and whispered this:

“Don’t give up. She’s a hundred times stronger than you or me. I can tell.”

And he was right.

The next morning we called expecting the worst, but incredibly we were told she was sitting up. Stunned, we went to see her and were thrilled to see she was much better. The doctors were shocked and Del was quite the little celebrity among the vets and staff at MedVet. Everyone was just amazed that she’d fought through it and came out alive. Del was a little miracle dog. She came home a few days later and just kept recovering until she seemed as good as new.

Unfortunately, the cancer came back and this time it had spread to her bladder. In January 2008 we were told that Delaney had 4-months to live. You would never had known it as she was as perky and vibrant as ever, hopping around, standing on her back legs asking for treats, just generally being Del. The 4-months passed and she was still going strong. Once again Del was beating the odds. Then, in late August, she started showing signs that things weren’t right. She started to decline quickly, eventually stopped eating and our local vet told us that it was time.

We lost Delaney on September 8th, 2008. She was nearly 12-years old, and I held her as she passed. She was wrapped in an old robe of mine that she loved so much. You know, I learned more from her than anyone can imagine. Her determination, resiliency, and lust for life were inspiring. Once she learned that we loved her, her loyalty, compassion, boundless energy, and sheer will-power made her a remarkable pet and the perfect companion.

She’s been gone for 8-years now, but she will never, ever be forgotten.

I loved that little dog so much.

Ever heard of Salty and Roselle? If you haven’t it’s a damn shame because their story is amazing. Both were in the World Trade Center, Building 1, on September 11th, 2001 when the plane hit. Salty was on the 71st floor and Roselle was on the 78th, and both miraculously led their friends to safety amidst the chaos before the burning tower collapsed.

It may not surprise you to learn that Salty and Roselle were dogs, and they were the only guide dogs in the Towers that day.

When the attacks occurred that terrible day, Salty and his sightless owner, Omar Rivera, found themselves on the 71st floor. Refusing to leave Rivera’s side, Salty stayed with his best friend. About halfway down a co-worker, trying to help, tried to take Salty’s lead but it was a no go. Salty refused to leave Omar, leading him to safety and away from the soon-to-be fallen building.

Roselle? She was asleep under her blind best friend Michael Hingson’s desk on the 78th floor in Tower 1 of the when the attack commenced. She was awakened by the plane impacting some fifteen floors above them. Roselle then calmly and bravely led Hingson to Stairwell B despite the smoke, confusion and noise surrounding her.

She then proceeded to lead her owner and 30 other people down 1,463 steps and out of the tower. And do you know the only time Roselle stopped, about halfway down? It was to pause and lick the hands of some people going up the stairs – the firefighters.

Somehow, it seemed that Roselle knew.

The descent of took just over an hour, and just after exiting the tower, it collapsed, sending debris flying everywhere. Hingson later said, “While everyone ran in panic, Roselle remained totally focused on her job, while debris fell around us, and even hit us, Roselle stayed calm.” Once clear, Roselle led her owner to the safety of a subway station.

Salty passed away in 2008 at the age of 11, and Roselle followed in 2011 at the age of 13. Both died as unsung heroes of 9/11.

Dogs, huh? If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a million times – one day we’re going fully understand what dogs know and just how much they understand, and the answer will surprise us.