Well Amigos, the American political process is alive and well and another Peep Presidential Election must be just around the corner because we see Candidates popping up everywhere except on ESPN and the Tennis Channel.
Old Uncle Sam had a mess, E – I – E – I Oh. And with that mess he had some candidates, E-I-E-I Oh. With a snip, snap here and a snip, snap there…snip, snap, snip, snap everywhere a snip, snap. Old Uncle Sam had a mess, E-I-E-I Oh.
Clean up the mess – let’s run Pretty for President! That’s right. The Red Man is convinced Pretty has all the leadership qualities necessary for the job because she’s had so much experience being in charge. Pretty has been in charge of the old woman Slow and Casa de Canterbury for years. I’m talking years – as many years as The Red Man can remember, and it hasn’t been an easy job, let me tell you.
Pretty doesn’t bother with negotiation which has been a big problemo for Peep Presidents in the past. No sirree. Pretty’s Presidency would be more like the one across the Pond where they have a woman in charge of the Big Things. I’d say Queen Pretty would fit her better than President Pretty, if you catch my drift.
Hm…let’s see. Will Pretty have to have a Convention to officially nominate her and a Party to back her? The Red Man prefers a Convention close to home so maybe we could have it in Hopkins at the farm on Backswamp Road…yes, that would be perfect. Her Party could be the Life is Good Party since she and Slow already have so many of those tee-shirts.
The Red Man is feeling it now – Paw Snaps and Twirls to himself for having such an inspiration on a Monday morning.
Get me outta here, Percy. I need to make plans for a fundraiser…Pretty for Pres!
Sweet Lady Gaga. We have a steady parade of Amigos coming by Casa de Canterbury these days, but they only have eyes for Tennis Ball Obsessed Chelsea. Seriously. To paraphrase from The Help: I is cute. I is smart. I is here. So why is The Red Man being ignored? This is a rhetorical question, of course, because The Red Man will never be ignored, but still…apparently I am now wearing the Invisibility Cloak belonging to one Harry Potter. For real. It exists.
TBO Chelsea on front porch watching for company
Number One Son came by late this afternoon and stayed a long time while the old woman Slow and Pretty went out for 25-cent shrimp night at Rockaways. He oohed and aahed over TBO Chelsea and talked to her and petted her but did he have a kind word for moi? Not even a glance. Sigh. I suppose he’s forgotten the good old days when he used to chase me down the street in his bare feet while I made one of my infamous escapes from Casa de Spring Valley. Heh, heh. Those were some fun times, let me tell you. Hm…that may explain more than I’d like to remember.
So today was a good day for Casa de Canterbury – Chelsea forgot she’s under the weather and started using the doggie door again. She even forgot she only has three good legs and could be seen standing on all fours whenever she had an audience so Slow and Pretty were happy, too. Maybe her meds are kicking in. Who knows – but never look a gift horse in the mouth. Just take it and run with it. We’ll see about tomorrow if it gets here.
In the meantime, get me outta here Percy…I think I’ll do some Paw Snaps and Twirls to get a little attention before zzzz time. Catch you later, Sports Fans…stay tuned.
Well Amigos, The Red Man is stunned to say that Tennis Ball Obsessed Chelsea has found the right combo of Happy Pills this week and is off to the races on her three good legs whenever the old woman Slow or Pretty makes a move to feed us. Yessiree, TBO Chelsea may be under the weather but she has definitely NOT lost interest in her chow.
Get out of her way and never get between her three good legs and meals – wherever they are being served. Lately, she has been a regular Diva and Slow and Pretty practically fall over each other trying to get her water and food with her meds and chipped ice, too. Chipped ice? Are you kidding me? TBO Chelsea thinks she is the Queen of Sheba and Slow and Pretty are her handmaidens. Well, I never.
This afternoon she went outside in the back yard for a little warmth. For some reason, Pretty has it in her head that TBOC requires Cool Temps in the house and I promise you could hang meat in our place but of course you wouldn’t want to since Slow and Pretty are still pescaterians. Brrrrr.
When TBOC decided to get a little heat, The Red Man kept her company.
Keeping it real in the sunshine
So Sports Fans, we’ll hang in the back yard at Casa de Canterbury whenever we need to thaw out this weekend and hope all of our cyberspace Amigos will be able to locate some sunshine as the summer winds down in our hemisphere. Wherever you find yours, pass it on.
Get me outta here Percy, I think I hear someone lifting the lid to the treat keeper. I’d better hurry.
Well Amigos, as you know The Red Man tries to focus on the positives and rarely is the bearer of bad news but unfortunately the dog days of summer have not been kind to the familia (which is Spanish for family) at Casa de Canterbury and he feels compelled to prepare his followers in cyberspace for a catastrophe.
Yes, this past week Tennis Ball Obsessed Chelsea developed a slight limp in her right leg and the old woman Slow who Pretty calls the Hypo Homo and who fancies herself a medical guru of some sort decided it must be arthritis and increased the dosage on the Rimadyl all-purpose cure-all.
To make a long story short, a visit to Hottie Doc’s and then someone called Uncle Collin Gist proved Slow was wrong and TBO Chelsea has a tumor in her bone and her days are numbered. Well, I guess all of our days are numbered, but her numbers are low. Shit house mouse. Who’s in charge here?
Chelsea taking a Personal Heat Treatment
Outside at Casa de Canterbury today
(she’s a wonder hopping around on those three good legs – I’ll give her that)
TBO Chelsea and her BFF Spike relaxing tonight
(they bonded a long time ago)
So Sports Fans, this is how the tennis ball bounces around here this past week, and we’ll try to keep you updated on further happenings. No news is good news, if you catch my drift. Sorry to bring you down, but misery truly does love company.
Clearly all’s not ending well which just goes to prove The Red Man’s theory of nothing good comes from an odd-numbered year, as any fool can see. Ah can see, as Granny Selma used to say when she had her right mind.
Get me outta her Percy…all this crying and carrying on makes me need a Happy Pill before I go to bed tonight. Stay tuned.
And I’m not talking chocolate, either, Amigos.
This is Hershey
Since Pretty has retired from the Mast General Store, she and her best buddy Super Shelley have been keeping the roads hot between Prosperity and West Columbia…working on Pretty’s new antique booth business adventures. Occasionally the old woman Slow tags along, but she is generally in the way and has been referred to behind her back as the proverbial bull in the china shop, but you didn’t hear it from me.
The Red Man has been largely ignored during these outings – and never invited to ride along for the ride. Never.
Sunday afternoon Slow tagged along with Pretty and Super Shelley while they took stuff to the Three Rivers Antique Shop in West Columbia. They’re getting ready for the big Grand Opening this coming Saturday from 11 – 2 and are in a tizzy with their pricing and re-arranging the items, blah, blah, blah. It’s a circus.
So Slow comes home and all she can talk about is Hershey. Hershey this. Hershey that. How cute was Hershey. Ad nauseum.
Apparently their friend Paul has the booth right behind them at the Three Rivers Antique Shop, and he brought his dog Hershey with him Sunday for a little fun outing. Slow even took a picture of Hershey – she was so taken with his cuteness. I don’t get it. What’s the big deal? So he’s a cute dog that Paul can carry around like a baby. So what?
Where, oh where, was The Red Man’s invitation for a Sunday outing? Lost in the mail, perhaps. Lost in the evites maybe. But lost, regardless.
Well, well, well, Now I see how I really rate around here – and how swell it must be to live at Hershey’s house with someone who appreciates the importance of an affirmative inclusion policy for his dog.
Hm. I might just make up a sign for my new social justice issue: Take Red to Three Rivers Today!
Get me outta here, Percy. I’m a doggie on the edge…stay tuned, Sports Fans.
Well Amigos, The Red Man has a frightening tale for you, and he does mean s-c-a-r-y. Hang on to your Twilight Zones.
So moments ago at 3:10 a.m. in the dead of night at Casa de Canterbury, The Red Man woke up and managed to get out of his bed with just the right amount of fanfare to wake the old woman Slow who then got out of her bed to walk down the stairs with me to take me out for my usual evening constitutional (or potty time for those who prefer the term). It’s our routine except it wasn’t routine at all for us tonight. This night something was very different…
As we walked past Chelsea who was sleeping in her regular spot on the sofa downstairs in the living room and made our way to the back kitchen door, Slow and I heard this LOUD roaring noise like the old mosquito spraying trucks used to make in the middle of the night when they drove slowly through the neighborhood to spew poison in the air to kill the mosquitoes. Apparently it also killed other things like people, too, so the city abandoned that practice. That’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that the NOISE was LOUD.
We walked outside and looked around the streets and didn’t see anything.
Then Slow looked up because she figured out the noise was coming from ABOVE us instead of AROUND us so it must be a plane or helicopter or something like that. I saw her walking back and forth on the brick path in our back yard with her head cocked skyward, but I took that opportunity to pee. Never miss an opportunity to pee.
Then the old woman stopped dead in her tracks and gawked at the sky. Well naturally, The Red Man stared, too, because I swear the noise kept getting LOUDER and CLOSER. Sweet Lady Gaga.
The next thing I knew I had seen the Green Weenie up there hovering in the sky just high enough for me to know it was definitely as high as a low-flying helicopter but I couldn’t see anything except two red lights at one end of a tube-shaped flying weenie and one green light at the other end of the mysterious machine. It freaked me out. The Red Man won’t lie. It freaked me out.
I stood next to Slow, and we watched it just hovering over us making this god-awful noise and blinking those two red lights and one green light. Every once in a while it would shoot a white light like a police helicopter in a direction away from us. Then, nothing but the noise and the two red lights and one green light.
If the noise hadn’t been so LOUD, I could have almost sworn it was this great big gigantic kite – it looked like it was suspended in the air like kites are when the wind catches them and you’re holding on tight to the string to keep it flying in the same place. Now, having never flown a kite myself before, I’m taking what we call in our business poetic license.
Anyway, Slow and I stood in the yard for I don’t know how long just staring up at the thing in the sky – we’d walk around to different spots to see if we could get a better view of the thing, but we couldn’t. Then, all of a sudden, it took off like it had been shot out of a cannon and roared off to the northeast toward Camden. Just took off and the noise stopped just that quick. Freaky. Spooky. Eerie.
Slow looked at me, and I looked at her and we practically ran over each other on the way back to the kitchen door and bolted inside. Slow locked the screen door behind us and then the real door as fast as her shaky hands could move. I looked at the clock on the stove and it read 3:38. She and I were both a wreck.
Then she said, “Red Man, I think we just saw our first drone.” I could feel a chill of fear moving over me. That thing was a DRONE? You mean to tell me DRONES are loud and hover over neighborhoods and then take off like bullets? That’s what DRONES are? That’s not how they look on Homeland.
Well Sports Fans, apparently we were the only souls stirring during the DRONE visit. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why nobody else was up and about in our neighborhood when it was so LOUD. Of course, I can’t wait for Slow to tell Pretty this story when she wakes up in a little while to go yard-sale-ing. I’m afraid Pretty will have her doubts about the whole narrative and may chalk it up to an ambien sleepwalker gone wrong in the back yard.
Thank God Slow has me for a witness.
Get me outta here, Percy. I’ve got to check the morning news to find out if any other DRONE reports have been filed. Big Brother is truly watching some of us.
Holy moly and Sweet Lady Gaga, Amigos. The old woman Slow and Pretty have truly lost it. Seriously.
Two weeks ago I overheard this bizarre conversation between the two persons who are in charge of my well-being at Casa de Canterbury. Warning: exercise caution as you proceed to read.
Pretty: “You know, we’ve always talked about being vegetarians and I think it’s time to try.”
Slow: “Well, yes, I know we’ve always talked about being vegetarians, but why now, brown cow?”
Pretty: “I just watched a video of a cow trying to run away from a slaughterhouse.”
Slow: “I see. Okay. Point taken. It’s time to become vegetarians. No more beef.”
This conversation took place on a Sunday afternoon when the Tennis Channel had an obscure tournament on and neither Slow nor Pretty was interested in it.
The next day was Monday, and here’s how the new diet talk went.
Pretty: “I forgot Monday night is 25-cent shrimp night at Rockaways.”
Slow: “Do vegetarians eat shrimp?”
Pretty: “Hmmmm. I’m not too sure, but we can’t miss 25-cent shrimp night, can we?”
Slow: “Hmmmm. No, I don’t think we can. But I won’t get the hamburger steak with my shrimp like I usually do because I’m a vegetarian.”
So off they went that Monday night to Rockaways as their nouveau vegetarian selves.
Please. Well, after they came home full of fried shrimp, Pretty surfed the internet to see what she could discover about vegetarians and fried shrimp and what do you think she was able to find?
Presbyterians? No. Pescaterians. P-e-s-c-a-t-e-r-i-a-n-s. Apparently these are vegetarians who eat fish. So she spelled it out for Slow who was happy to be something that ate fried shrimp without a guilty conscience. Of course, she never wants to break a rule under any circumstances and feels guilty if she even lusts about it in her heart so now shrimp was an “allowable.”
Sigh. Shit house mouse. The Red Man has burdens to bear with these two. The next thing you know they’ll be looking for Pescaterian Dog Food. Help – we need our chicken and beef!
Get me outta here, Percy…bacon, bacon, bacon…I dream of bacon. Beware the ides of salmon, Sports Fans.
Well Amigos, I can say that while living with two lesbians for fourteen years The Red Man has heard a LOT of talk about coming out of closets. As a matter of fact, “closet” is practically a four-letter word at Casa de Canterbury…
not everyone got the “closet” memo
Severe thunderstorms wig all of The Three Musketeers (Tennis Ball Obsessed Chelsea, Squirrel Chaser Spike and moi), and a really bad storm last night spooked Spike to take refuge in the pantry closet where he clearly felt safe.
Hm…I wonder if that’s why some of the gays loved their closets, too. Sweet Lady Gaga. Just imagine.
So Sports Fans, more bad weather is on the way tonight, and Spike is already heading for cover. I can’t really blame him. As a matter of fact, I’m getting a little nervous myself. That last flashing crackle of lightning was way too close for comfort.
Get me outta here Percy…where’s that Thunder Shirt when you need it…
Well Amigos, we have had quite the maximum activity level going on at Casa de Canterbury for the past week. We had company meeting themselves coming and going up in here, and The Red Man was extremely happy to see friends and neighbors who came all the way from Worsham Street and beyond. Way beyond.
One of the Little Women of Worsham Street and a friend of hers drove up to see us last week and stayed for a few days, and Pretty kept them on the go with her antiquing while the old woman Slow tried to lay low since she’s got the pneumonia or the misery or the epizootey – whatever you want to call it. Anyway, she was allowed to make the trek to Hopkins to visit with Cookie Man Dick and Cerebral Curtis at their old home place because she said she would pitch a fit if she couldn’t get out of the house to go to the country.
Little Woman of Worsham Street with her camera
She just loved being at the farm
Cookie Man Dick and Pretty
Arranging the cushions on the outdoor furniture of course
Pretty believes she takes pictures from the best angle
Hm…Cerebral Curtis brought suspicious bag
Evidently the liquor cabinet was out of gin
According to the conversations at Casa de Canterbury later that evening, a good time was had by all – including the old woman Slow who regretted she was unable to participate in the adult beverages due to her countless drugs. Rumor has it the Publix Pharmacy is naming a cash register in her honor.
And then surprise, surprise Slow’s roommate from college back at UT (hook ’em) in Austin popped in with her husband for a visit Sunday evening and took off to head back to Paris, Texas this morning. For real, Paris, Texas. And for real, this is the only roommate who has remained friends with Slow for lo, these fifty years. Slow had a ton of roommates during her three-year stay at UT, but unfortunately none of them liked her very well and would move on after a semester.
But this College Roommate was a big hit with The Red Man because she is a faithful follower of his rants and raves and wanted to see moi before she even talked to Pretty and Slow. Clearly a woman of good taste.
And so Sports Fans, the casa is way too quiet without visitors and without the TV on in the background playing Wimbledon round the clock, too. The tournament summary for our house is Rafa went out early, Roger lost in the final, and Serena made even more history. The Red Man sends Paw Snaps and Twirls to Serena for her twenty-first grand slam title and to Novak Djokovic for his spectacular win in the gentlemen’s final. We are now officially in Wimbledon Withdrawal.
Get me outta here, Percy…I need to catch up with Castle or Bones or NCIS this afternoon.
The Red Man loves this picture of Pretty at the farm