Rex was gone. I don’t mean he had zipped through his secret burrow over to Millie’s back yard, and I don’t mean he was hiding under the bed. My dog was gone.I had noticed him being missing after our fight over what to watch on TV. He had wanted to watch a rerun of “Lassie,” and I wanted to watch a PBS special, “The History of the Paperclip.” Even though his brain is the size of a walnut, he is pretty good at punching buttons on the remote and finding a show that interests him. Read the rest of this article »

I found the Foolish Times deadline for the “Adventures with Rex” story fast approaching, and nothing came to mind to write about. In fact, nothing had happened in the last month.”

Rex, what are we going to write about? Nothing is new.” Rex, who had been sleeping on his back on the sofa, cracked an eye open and gave me a dismissive look. His look indicated it was MY problem, not OUR problem. Read the rest of this article »

I had recently read a book on meditation, and felt I was making great headway in becoming enlightened. My only problem was Rex. He frequently disturbed my bliss. I needed to get him enlightened, too, so he wouldn’t bug the bajeesus out of me.”Rex, I’m going to teach you how to meditate. Just watch me. It’s easy.” I closed my eyes and envisioned a brilliant ball of undulating light in my third eye. My breathing deepened and I suspected I was becoming One With the Universe. I opened my eyes to monitor Rex’s progress. He was gone!

“Rex, you slacker! Get back here. How can I teach to meditate if you wander off without the least bit of interest in becoming enlightened?” Read the rest of this article »

I had been rummaging through the hall closet looking for my high-school senior year book, deciding if I should attend the reunion. The last one I went to, I found out my old flame had married Stinky Jimenez. In a way I wanted to go to see if they were still together; if they had split up, I might make a run at her, but then, any woman who would marry Stinky Jimenez would be the epitome of damaged goods. My old checkerboard set fell from a shelf and Rex buzzed in like a scud missile to investigate. Read the rest of this article »

Rex and I had cabin fever. We needed to get out and DO something.

The paper had said the Bedouin Ballet was coming to town. I don’t know about you, but I can’t get my brain to wrap around the concept of a Bedouin ballet. Tutus or berkas? Tutus AND berkas? Swan Lake or Camel Lake? Pirouettes or Whirling Dervishes? No, I don’t think my money will find its way to the cashier’s box at the Bedouin Ballet. Read the rest of this article »

Once again, procrastination had prevailed. The living room portion of the heater flex-duct under my house had probably collapsed, as I had no heat from the living room floor vent all winter. I hadn’t wanted to crawl under the house in the bitter cold weather, and now that Spring was ready to spring, it was warm enough to go under the house, but I didn’t need the heater anymore. Gee, that was a long sentence, but I wanted to get it all out. Read the rest of this article »

“Rex, it’s time to think about a Valentine’s gift for Millie. She’s your main squeeze, so we have to get an appropriate gift for her. Last year’s Valentine was a dud, if you recall. We got her a cow bone to gnaw on, remember? Half a femur, I believe. She felt the ‘cow’ implication was a comment on her size. Females don’t like any gift with the word ‘cow’ involved, Rex. The fact that she’s an English sheepdog and is ‘big boned’ didn’t help, either.” Read the rest of this article »

Rex and I were out driving around, just for fun. At least I think he finds it fun. If he sees a cute little teacup poodle sashaying her bootie down the sidewalk, he’ll whimper. I know the feeling; if I see a mini skirt sashaying, I’ll whimper too. Read the rest of this article »

Rex was lying on his back on the living room floor, watching a spider crawl across the ceiling. He ignored me as I walked in. That pretty well sums up our relationship: I lose out to a spider. I felt like faking him out by whispering “ice cream,” to watch him flip up and over in mid-air and screech into the kitchen and slam into the fridge and await for a treat. That would teach him to ignore me. Come to think of it, it wouldn’t. I’ve been down this road with him before. Read the rest of this article »

I had just gone to bed after watching a TV show on police pursuits in Venice, Italy, “The World’s Most Shocking Gondola Chases.” After settling in under the covers, you-know-who put his paws up on the bed. He needed a boost up on the bed as he is too small to scale the summit unassisted. Read the rest of this article »

A few years ago I picked up Rex at the dog pound. He’s a small black Dachshund, and my life hasn’t been the same since. If Rex were the Road-Runner, I would be Wile E. Coyote. If Rex were Stan Laurel, I would be Oliver Hardy. I can never win . . . I can never win.

I was rummaging through the hall closet looking for my English-Sanskrit dictionary when I came upon the Ouija Board. It was tucked in between an oil pan from a ’39 Mercury and the French Maid’s outfit I had bought for an old girlfriend. The oil pan was well worn—the outfit had never been. Read the rest of this article »

A few years ago I picked up Rex at the dog pound. He’s a small black Dachshund, and my life hasn’t been the same since. If Rex were the Road-Runner, I would be Wile E. Coyote. If Rex were Stan Laurel, I would be Oliver Hardy. I can never win . . . I can never win.

Rex and I had been fighting for a few days. You know, petty little things that build up and go unresolved. My not washing his food bowl twice a day, not changing his water as soon as His Majesty would require, buying cheap dog food. Read the rest of this article »

A few years ago I picked up Rex at the dog pound. He’s a small black Dachshund, and my life hasn’t been the same since. If Rex were the Road-Runner, I would be Wile E. Coyote. If Rex were Stan Laurel, I would be Oliver Hardy. I can never win . . . I can never win.

I have a cold. Not a “go to the hospital” type of cold, just your garden variety “camp out on the couch” type of cold. Lots of water, some fizzing cold pills, a squirt of this in the mouth and a homeopathic that under the tongue. And Dr. Rex. Read the rest of this article »