{"id":1416,"date":"2009-06-25T07:50:31","date_gmt":"2009-06-25T13:50:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/?p=1416"},"modified":"2009-06-25T07:50:31","modified_gmt":"2009-06-25T13:50:31","slug":"overweight-glob-of-grease","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/2009\/06\/25\/overweight-glob-of-grease\/","title":{"rendered":"You’ll be malfunctioning within a day or two. And so will your dog."},"content":{"rendered":"

A bit of background here: several years ago, my dog attracted several potential suitors despite the fact that we’d been told she was already spayed (hint: she wasn’t)<\/a>. It was kind of like the dog version of The Bachelorette, in that you didn’t so much have lots of moon-eyed soft-focus close-ups in fabulously romantic mansions and vacation spots, as you walked out the door to see dogs gettin’ it on in the front yard. (Thankfully, this was years before Evan was born – how in the world would we explain such a sight now? “Well, son, they’re hiking the Appalachian Trail…” But I digress.)<\/p>\n

Both of the dogs pictured in that earlier blog entry still live near here, and they still drop by, often bearing gifts – as if to say “Pleeeeeeeeease, can we do that thing again? ohpleaseohpleaseohplease!” These days, post-spay, Xena’s more like “Howdy, want to follow me down to the pond on the adjacent property and go swimming? Maybe gang up and kill one of the pond geese or something?” It’s altogether unlikely that she’s physically capable of caring any less. (I really need to learn her secret someday, my life would be much happier. Or maybe I need to go kill a goose to release the tension? Any<\/em>way…) The male dogs bring her dead deer (or pieces thereof) and other strong candidates for road kill – it gets disgusting, especially once it’s built up that beautiful aroma that only comes from not-so-freshly-dead animal carcass that’s been baking in the noonday sun. Guess who gets to dispose of these “gifts” from Xena’s boyfriends? Who else?<\/p>\n

So imagine my unfettered delight when my wife informs me that the backbone and ribcage of some unfortunate creature has been left at the top of our driveway by some ex-boyfriend of Xena’s. Nothing says romance around this house like dead things. When I walked out to look at this latest gift from the gods, er, sorry, dogs, I was completely perplexed. At least the usual dead things have some meat on them – there’s some practical value to a dog. This poor thing, whatever it had been, had no such value.<\/p>\n

\"WTF?\"<\/p>\n

But once I laid eyes on it, I realized that, as the head of the household, I had a responsibility to do the only thing that would resolve the situation to anyone’s benefit and with any kind of dignity whatsoever. <\/p>\n

\"Transport!\"<\/p>\n

(For comparison:)
\n\"WTF?\"<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A bit of background here: several years ago, my dog attracted several potential suitors despite the fact that we’d been told she was already spayed (hint: she wasn’t). It was kind of like the dog version of The Bachelorette, in that you didn’t so much have lots of moon-eyed soft-focus close-ups in fabulously romantic mansions and vacation spots, as you walked out the door to see dogs gettin’ it on in the front yard. (Thankfully, this was years before Evan was born – how in the world would we explain such a sight now? “Well, son, they’re hiking the Appalachian […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[22,3],"tags":[15],"class_list":["post-1416","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-critters","category-funny-stuff","tag-star-wars"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1416","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1416"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1416\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1416"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1416"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thelogbook.com\/earl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1416"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}