Some Like It Hot

Some like it hot, but not me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good challenge, I just don't enjoy the bad ones. Of course, after prevailing through a bad challenge, there is much to enjoy and be thankful for, not to mention a gigantic relief.

I reckon the most difficult part of bad challenges is bein' thankful DURING the bad part(s). I'm a work in progress in that department, but I am aware of it, so I give it the old college try (not to be confused with the new college try; I'm talkin' effort here, folks) (also, not meant to denigrate those that actually do get a real education, rather than indoctrination at most liberal, or to be more accurate, leftist colleges, natch).

Anyhow, to make a long story a bit shorter (too late!) there was a confluence of bad challenges to deal with this past week or so.

The first one was a bunch of bad headaches, everyday (of course they are bad, there are no good headaches-Ed).
You see, I rarely get headaches, and if I do they are usually mild and quickly dealt with afeter a few aspirin. But these headaches didn't go away, and they weren't mild. I tried drinking more (iced tea, not grog, although Skully insisted that more grog might be preferrable when they didn't stop, but alas, we are currently out of that medicinal wonder product until payday).

Needless to say, reading was practically out of the question, as was excessive noise. Headaches suck, but I tried to be thankful my head didn't explode.

Secondly, we had a helluva heat wave type of weather system that came crashin' through from California (thanks guys!), and we reached triple digits for three days, topping out at 106.
Yeah, I hear QP, Sal, Julie and Joan laughin', 'cause that's almost normal for them in the summer, but up here in Washington that's torture. Hard to believe I used to work in weather like that. I guess I have grown soft, 'cause that heat almost sucked my will to do much of anything. It was mighty hard to be thankful, but I actually was because we cordoned off the living room with plastic tarp stuff and it got no hotter that 85 in there. Walkin' the dogs was no fun, and stayin' in the same room with Patti for several days 24/7 was, um...interesting, but we didn't kill each other so I'm thankful for that.

Thirdly, we lost Cammilu, our terrier mix dog. She was only 9 years old, and it was unexpected and, well, sad. But I'm thankful she is runnin' around in Heaven now with Oscar eatin' Heavenly pork chops n' steaks and bacon! Hopefully, she ain't barkin' at the Angels. Cammilu barked at purty much everything. We miss you girl.

Forthly, I made the grave error of downloading IE 8 (internet explorer 8). I know most of you guys use Macs, but for those of you that do use pc's, DO NOT download
IE 8. It sucks. Bigtime.
So Patti, my tech support wench, takes off her clothes...ha ha. Just kiddin' (unfortunately). She takes off IE 8 and puts IE 7 back on. Hurray! Sort of. Everything is workin' fine again, except my mail...all my mail disappeared! WTH?
And nothin' is comin' in. Say what? Okay, not really say what, unless you want. So Patti says she will get to that today, maybe.
At any rate, I didn't find anything to be thankful for with IE 8, other than I'm thankful we could get rid of it and may it die a thousand deaths and experience all of the Chinese hells (the Chinese got a lotta hells).

Which brings me to today. It'll be relatively cool, I got a lovely wench, the dogs are as fun n' cute as ever, I got plenty of good friends on the innernet (thanks guys), my health is still good, and I could list a brazillion things I'm thankful for! It's a great day to be alive, but even if it wasn't, I hope I can always manage to be thankful, 'cause it can always be worse, and we got a bunch of good stuff to look forward to as we continue on our journey towards Truth.
Bein' thankful is just one of those truth's that might be kinda hard to fully realize sometimes, but we know it works.

Besides, we know precisely what bitterness n' envy does to a person. Ain't never goin' there. I might be cynical at times, but I ain't sinical, if you catch my drift, and I know you guys ain't. :^)
Now to catch up on my readin'. See you guys in the funny pages.

In the Wilderness

It's difficult to say exactly why I went down the road of self destruction. It seems, lookin' back, it was a plethora of things that I used at the time to "justify" my behavior and cynical attitude.

Certainly the Navy wasn't what I expected it to be. It appeared as if all of my hard work was noticed no more than the work (or lack thereof) of those who did everything they could to get out of work.
I mean, what was the use in puttin' out 100%?
I wasn't advancing any faster than anyone else. There was no meritorious advancement in my future, no special medals for service above and beyond.
Where in the hell was the glory?

Hey, don't get me wrong, I was no braggert, even at that young age of 18, but if this was a movie I would've been standin' out, maybe gettin' more respect and an opportunity to lead.
Afterall, I had been in the Navy an entire year already!

At any rate it didn't happen overnight, and the short answer as to why? 'Cause I wanted to. Besides, the girls like the bad boys, right? Right? At least, that was my observation at the time...in the dives I frequented.
Yeah. Same as high school.

Why am I so depressed, so pissed off and so...sad? Was it because dad divorced mom and left when I was five, never to visit, call, write or even provide child support again? What had gone wrong? We had such a great time before that, fishing, goin' to the races, playing football. Everything a dad and son did. I only hd fond memories of dad up to that point...the point when I told him about what his friend had done to me.
Soon after that, everything fell apart. Actually, I learned later that everything was falling apart before that happened, but that was several years later.
But damn! Why didn't dad do sdad or mom do something about that guy? I still don't know the answer to that question.

Who could know that a friend had raped their child and do...nothing? I expected dad to beat the crap outta the scumbag, like Popeye puttin' a serious beatin' on Bluto (which is what the pervert looked like. Bluto, that is).
But neither my dad nor my mom bothered to even call the police.

Ugh. Yeah, I have daddy issues, I thought, disgusted with myself. well, f*ck that! I'm over it now. Who needs this sh*t? I had been usin' my altered military ID, compliments of a pal in Personnel. Okay, not really a pal because he charged me fifty bucks. Highway robbery, but where else was I gonna get one at?

I was riding the bus to Long Beach, down to the "Pike" which used to be a hoppin' place, kinda like a small Coney Island I had heard, but was now run down. Only some scattered dives remained among the abandoned businesses that used to light up the place like a gigantic carnival.
Dives with a unique mix of customers such as longshoremen, bikers, shipyard workers, rednecks, and sailors.

It felt good to get off the ship, especially after a long day of grinding, chipping and sanding rust and paint off the weather deck. That wasn't my "normal" job, but when a ship is in the yards for an overhaul no one except maybe the Bos'n mates do their "normal" jobs.
Besides that, virtually everyone had several other jobs to do, such as security alerts (real or drills), fightin' fires (which happened quite a few times in the yards), fire drills, flooding drills, sweepin' and swabbin' the decks, cleanin' the heads, taking out the garbage, cleaning the spaces, maintenance on the WTD's (watertight doors and hatches), maintenance on the electronic equipment we used, updating charts and a gaggle of publications, working parties to resupply the ship's stores and galley, standing watches, duty days, inspections, mooring detail for other ships coming or going, mess detail, general training, and many other duties.

Not to mention the ship was dusty and smelled of paint, paint thinner, turpentine, oil, fuel, sweat, BO, wax, various cleaning agents, grease, the acrid smell of welding and cutting torches, and a long list of other smells depending on where you were at on the ship.
Despite all the cleaning that was done the ship was never really clean in the yards.

Then there was the noise. Sanders, grinders, pneumatic tools, chipping hammers, petty officers and chief's shouting orders, sailors cussin', an occasional junior officer asking questions or tryin' to pretend they knew what to do, slowing work down in the process, sailors arguing, sailors askin' to borrow the tools you were using (there never was enough tools to go around, and if you weren't fast enough to snag the best tools you ended up having to use sand paper and elbow grease), and more sailors swearin'.

The first day I reported to the USS Duluth (LPD-6) I saw, heard and smelled all of this. My first thought at the time? WTF? Oh sh*t! I'm screwed!
Not really what you would call a cheery environment. This only added to the bad attitude I had developed since reporting onboard.

I walked into my favorite dive and ordered a beer. I had onlty been here a few times, but I liked the place. It had a jukebox with classic rock and country on it. There were a few pool tables and I liked to play, although I was inconsistent. Sometimes I made evry shot I wanted, and other imes I couldn't sink anything. There was also a very small dance floor but it was seldom used.
The bar was a horseshoe shape, and there was ten tables or so with chairs. I preferred the barstools.

I looked around and surveyed the bar. It was close to 1900 so the bar was beginning to fill up. I sat down where I could see the two entrances and still keep my eye on the rest on the area. The last time I was here there was a fight between two bikers. I don't know why, but one biker simply walked up and clobbered another biker who proceeded to clobber back. The fight didn't last long before one of them was out cold. A biker chick had smashed a beer bottle over the back of his head. The remaining biker beat feet, bloody nose and all, his drunk girlfriend staggering behind him and cussin' at the unconcious biker.
Needless to say I wanted no one behind me.

"Here ya go," Mitch said, sliding me a frosty mug of budweiser.

"Thanks Mitch," I said.

Mitch owned the place and he had three or four bar maids workin' for him at any one time. I was faily certain Mitch knew I wasn't twentyone by the way he looked at me after checkin' my ID, but he just grinned. He wasn't gonna turn me in.

Three beers later Luca walked in and sat down next to me. I didn't know him very well since he was a Bos'n Mate, but everyone respected him. I had heard he had been in twelve years. Currently he was a petty officer third class, having been busted in rank for fightin' and being UA (unauthorized absence) from the ship due to bein' jailed. Scuttlebutt had it that Luca would've been a chief by now, but he loved to drink and fight, so he got busted a lot.

I only met Luca once when he was in charge of the tool locker, but I saw his hulking form frequently, shoutin' orders at the other bos'n mates and sometimes laughing loudly. He asked me where I was from and I told him California, florida and Oregon, but mostly Oregon. He laughed at that.

"I'm from the Bronx," he had said.

And he sounded like it. He asked for my name and shook my hand, welcoming me aboard the ship.

"Work hard and you'll be okay," Luca said, shaking my hand.

I winced from the vise-like grip of his massive, heavily calloused hand, but I didn't show it. I squeezed back as hard as I could. Luca looked me in the eyes and laughed again.

"You're alright for a RADAR guy," he said, chuckling, finally releasing his grip. "Hey, if you ever have problems with any of my guys when you're gettin' tools just tell 'em Luca sent ya," he concluded, slapping me on the back and almost knocking me down.

Geez, that guy is strong! I had thought, rubbing my right hand. I could tell, just lookin' at him he was a badass, and someone I never wanted to piss off. I could also tell he knew his job well.

"Hey Luca!" I said, raising my mug.

"Ben, right?" Luca replied, holding up two fingers to Mitch.

"Aye," I said, surprised he remembered my name.

Mitch brought a mug of beer and a shot glass of what looked like whiskey. Luca downed the whiskey in one gulp and drained half his mug.

"Ahh! That hits the spot!" He exclaimed. "Nothin' like a good boilermaker, eh? Have you tried one yet?" He asked.

"Not yet," I replied.

"Whattya waitin' for? Mitch, two more shots," Luca said.

Mitch brought another shgot glass and filled both Luca's and mine with whiskey, an amused look on his face.

"To the Duluth!" Luca bellowed, raising his shot glass.

I raised my glass and repeated the toast. I didn't really want any whiskey with my beer but I wasn't gonna tell Luca that. I downed the whiskey and did my best not to cough. I had drank whiskey before with my Grandpa, but only small amounts, and small sips. I never got drunk and neither did Grandpa, but I enjoyed those times, even though I never liked whiskey all that much. At least not as a teenager.

"Now you drink some beer," Luca said, grinning.

"Right," I managed to rasp, drinking a few big gulps of beer.

The beer helped ease the harshness of the whiskey. This whiskey tastes a lot worse than Grandpa's Canadian Mist, I thought.

We had a few more boilermakers and Luca told me some sea stories. After the third one I was getting pretty wasted. Not bad, I thought, but my stomach wasn't too happy with me. At this point I didn't much care.

"Damn it!" Luca exclaimed opening up his wallet. I only gotta fiver left. Would you spot me a twenty?" Luca asked.

I didn't have much money, bein' a seaman and all, but I did have forty bucks left. I gave Luca a twenty, wondering if he would remember borrowing it.

"Thanks Ben," Luca said. "You're a lifesaver, pal!"

"Glad to help," I said, lighting up a smoke.

"What are you looking at, assh*le?!" A guy on the other side of the bar shouted.

It seemed like he was looking at me, but I wasn't sure. I took another drink of beer and continued listening to Luca. None of my business, I thought.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, f*ckface!" The guy shouted.

"Knock it off," Mitch said.

"That guy is eyeballing me!" They guy said, standing up and walking around the bar in my direction.

Another man who had been sitting beside him followed. I watched them both and they were definitely looking at me. Oh sh*t! I thought. When they got close I stood up.

"Hey I don't want any trouble," I said.

"Nobody eyeballs me, boy!" The man in the lead said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

The other man was beside him now and both looked dead set on kicking my ass. They appeared to be longshoremen or yard workers. They also both appeared wasted and mean as hell. They wre both bigger than me as well. I knew I should run, but I refused to do so. I quit runnin' from bullies in junior high school, and I wasn't about to start now. I got ready to strike, tryin' to formulate a plan.

When you're outnumbered the best thing to do is look for equalizers. The only equalizer nearby was my mug, so I grabbed it.
That's when I noticed the guy who had been yellin' at me had a knife.

Crap. This just keeps gettin' better and better, I thought.

The guy with the knife lunged and I took a step back as he slashed at me, missing.
Then I saw a chair from one of the tables smash him on the side of the head. He went down like a brick, and I saw it was Luca swinging the chair.
Next he kicked the other guy in the knee and I heard a crack as that guy fell to the floor holding his knee and screamin' in pain. The Luca hit his in the jaw with a haymaker and he was out like a light.

It all happened so fast that neither one of those guys could react. I could barely keep up with what Luca had done. Damn! I thought. Luca is more than a badass!

"Thanks Luca! Man, you really kicked the sh*t outta those guys!" I exclaimed.

"Holy sh*t, Luca! Way to go!" Mitch said, putting his baseball bat away.

"No sweat," Luca said. "F*ckin' pr*cks!" Luca said, kickin' the guy who had the knife in the ribs.

Luca picked up the knife and examined it. It looked like a switchblade. He gave it to Mitch, and sat back down as if nothin' happened. A lot of guys shouted praise or gave a thumbs up, but Luca was nonchalant about it.

"They were p*ssies," Luca said, lighting a smoke and taking a drag.

"That deserves a couple of free drinks," Mitch said, refilling Luca's shot glass and bringing another beer.

"Refill Ben's too," Luca said.

"Sure thing," Mitch replied.

"Listen Ben, don't ever hesitate. Guys like that you gotta take 'em down fast n' hard, y'know?" Luca instructed.

"Thanks Luca. I could use some pointers," I replied, nodding my head.

Luca gave me fighting tips the rest of the night and more sea stories, of course.

On the jukebox I heard one of my favorite songs playing.

Man In The Wilderness, by Styx

Another year has passed me by
Still I look a myself and cry
What kind of man have I become?
All of the years I've spent in search of myself
And I'm still in the dark
'Cause I can't seem to find the light alone

Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness
I'm a lonely sailor off to war
Sent away to die - never quite knowing why
Sometimes it makes no sense at all

Ten Thousand people look my way
But they can't see the way that I feel
Nobody even cares to try
I spend my life and sell my soul on the road
And I'm still in the dark
'Cause I can't seem to find the light alone

Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness
I'm a lonely sailor lost at sea
Drifting with the tide
Never quite knowing why
Sometimes it makes no sense at all

(I'm alive)
Looking for love I'm a man with emotion
(And my heart's on fire)
I'm dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean
I'm alive

Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness
I'm a lonely sailor off to war
Sent away to die - never quite knowing why
Sometimes it makes no sense at all

The song seemed appropiate for my own life at the time. Would I see the light? I thought I did years before but now it didn't seem real.
Would anything ever make sense? I felt a loss I couldn't explain and a sorrow beneath the armor of my humor, riding a wave of cynicism that was growing stronger by the day.

It was glad to have a new friend, but loneliness was always creeping at the edge of my thoughts, often intruding when I allowed myself to think.
I tried to pray but I was beginning to think that God might not exist or...I didn't deserve His attention. Nonetheless, I needed answers, or a few more beers.

Indurance

It's funny how much work a pup and teenage dachsi can be. The effort required has certainly surpassed my expectations.
For one thing, dachsunds have small bladders, so you really hafta watch 'em and take them outside often, normally every two hours, but sometimes more, and rarely, less.

Secondly, neither Patti nor I have ever had a young puppy. The youngest pup I recall having was six months old, and already housebroken.
So I searched the innernet and got plenty of info.

Only take them out for five or ten minutes, and once they do their thing, praise them and bring 'em right back inside.

Yeah, right. This may very well work with most breeds but not these dachsi's. They go when they are ready.

Put them in a kennel type carrier when they sleep, or when you can't watch them, because they won't go where they sleep at, is more advice.

Hyeah. Please. Now, with Skully that wasn't a problem, but Little Miss? Well, after you get over the incessant whining, and you never do, and the crying makes you feel guilty..."I'm a monster! Free the puppy! Poor thing. Awww, it's alright. Don't do that. Oh c'mon, it's only temporary."
And then she does indeed pee n' poop in the carrier. Strike that idea.

When Little Miss whines it can mean several things:
She has to go.
She's hungry and/or thirsty.
She's tricking you so she can play outside, then she'll pee or poop when she gets back in. Argh!
She's tired and needs a nap.

I've never had a dog that fights sleep like she does, but our youngest daughter was like that. Sigh. Our youngest daughter is now grown up and is workin' as a psychologist at Fort Bragg, where she served four years as a Soldier in the 81st Airborne while goin' to school at night to get her degree. So she wasn't adversely affected by the fightin' sleep syndrome.
Come to think of it, I often fought sleep so I could read books as a kid, by moonlight sometimes, or the small amount of light coming under the door, or a borrowed flashlight under the covers. But I digress.

What I have found works best for the pup is to sit her on my lap and pet her, turning off all the lights I can, and grabbin' her every time she tries to escape to attack Skully or Cammilu (she loves to wrestle/play fight). Sigh. As Caesar, the Dog Whisperer says: "be calm and assertive." And that works with most other dogs, but not Little Miss. No, she's a rebel, an outlaw who laughs at the rules. However, persistance is rewarded, after many long battles.

A few days ago I was about to go to the store and Skully, who is always well behaved darts out like black lightnin'! I immediately followed, callin' his name. At first I walked fast, tryin' not to scare him, but he just kept runnin' down an old, unused road that's mostly getting overgrown now.
So I ran faster to keep him in visual range, soon going into an outright sprint.

Now, I haven't ran like that for ages, but I couldn't let Skully get ate by coyotes, or a bear or cougar. Yeah, as most of you know we live in the boonies, and I did see a black bear once, and a cougar, as well as plenty of tracks. But coyotes are the biggest danger to small dogs and cats.

Skully sped up and so did I. I briefly wondered how long I could keep this up. As most of you guys know, it wasn't too long ago I was at death's door under the care of hospice nurses and my wife, Patti, unable to walk or talk, or even read without goin' into a seizure.
I have made great strides since then, but I still have very little physical energy or endurance.

I pushed the thought out of my mind. I refused to stop, although my muscles were screamin. Oddly, I wasn't huffin' and puffin' for breath, I remember thinkin'. Even when I was extremely fit, during my Navy days, I would be breathin' purty hard at this point.
I have a mission, I thought, and I would. Not. Stop. Until I had Skully securely in my arms. Period. I ran faster and felt my adrenaline kick in. The minutes went by, and I was sure I had passed a mile, but I could still see Skully, about fifty feet ahead.

Earlier, he wanted to walk down that old road, and we walk it often. He loves it, having been born and kept in a barn for two years before we got him. So this was all new and fascinating to him.
One thing I have learned with dachsi's and terriers is that they can become obsessed with something, be it a rabbit or a mole or a smell, or whatever. They don't forget it, and it will stay on their mind sometimes for days.
For Skully it's this old road, and wild rabbits.

The road turned into a trail, and then barely a trail. Soon we were runnin' through brush and a lot of branches from the logging the owner of the property did a few years ago. Amazing how fast the cleared out land became overgrown with more small trees and brush.

Fortunately, this slowed Skully down a bit, but it also increased the danger of a sprain ankle for me. I looked ahead and saw woods about two hundred yards ahead.
At one point I was close enough to tackle Skully, but I didn't wanna hurt him.
He surged ahead, outdistancing me. Damn! Maybe I should've tackled him while I had a chance, I berated myself.

I forced myself to keep going, runnin' ever faster. My legs burned, and felt like they were about to spaz out. You see, I have peripheral neuropathy in my feet and legs, and sometimes the muscles will knot up into a herd of charlie horses, not too mention burn like hell which happens most the time. That sucks, of course, but I'm thank God I can walk again, and even run when necessary.
But if my muscles spaz out no amount of willpower would enable me to walk, let alone sprint.

No, I thought. Don't go there. I steeled myself and stopped thinkin' about it, as sweat drenched by face and burned my eyes. I poured it on, ignoring the pain. I gotta catch Skully, I was thinkin'. I just gotta.
The woods edged ever closer, but so did Skully. An idea popped into my head. What if I yell "No!" very loudly? It could make Skully stop or it could make him run faster.

When we got Skully, a few months ago, he would often cringe when we would bend down to pet him or pick him up. That's usually a sign a dog wasn't well treated or perhaps he was ignored.
Cammilu, our terrier would also do that when we got her, but now she trusts us. We would never hit our pets, except with a newspaper in extreme cases, or, I found a squirt bottle with water works purty good whe they misbehave. Especially when they dislike getting water on them. At any rate, nothin' to hurt them but rather get their attention.

I realized time was runnin' out. I had to try somethin' before my legs gave out or before Skully got into the woods, where I would probably lose him. I hoped this would work.

"No!" I bellowed. Skully stopped and cringed. Yes! I thought, quickly closing the gap.
I got ten feet away when I steeped on a branch. It snapped loudly and Skully got up, ready to bolt as he usually does at loud sounds.

"No!" I yelled again, launchin' myself towards Skully and grabbing him as he began to run.
I picked him up, balancing myself on the branches that littered the ground.

"It's okay, boy," I said calmly, cradling him in one arm and petting him. He wagged his tail tentatively, and eventually realized I wasn't gonna hit him.

"Yeah, it's okay," I said, as I slowly walked back to our home.

Halfway back I saw Patti who was lookin' for us. She smiled when she spied Skully.
I knew she would be out soon to help me find Skully. It took awhile for her to find where we had gone, but she did. She always has my back, God bless her!

I felt good, although my legs were killin' me.
I can still do more than I think I can do, I thought. Not that I wanna run like that again, but simply knowin' I can feels good. Getting stronger...yeah, that feels great, but as I told Julie this mornin', replying to her e-mail, it feels like I'm in bootcamp at the end of the day, and I can barely keep my eyes open as I fight sleep, the pup finally asleep on my lap and Skully sleepin' beside me.
I'm exhausted but I'm gettin' stronger.

I sure do miss you guys. I'll try to blog n' comment at your blogs more often, as I get stronger, as once again I realize I can do more than I think I can.
That feels Good!

Puppy Pandemonium

I like my pork rinds straight n' neat, I said. Hold the rocks. But that dame bitch slipped me a mickey. Wow, maybe I should quit watchin' those really ancient flicks that Dad likes to see. Besides, the music can be scary and don't get me started on all those shadows n' stuff. I love pork rinds.



Nothin' like some leftover chew bone to start the mornin'. Too bad Skully or Cammilu ain't around, then I could get them to soften it up for me, before I borrow it from them. Guess I should've thought of that last night. Oh wait, I did think of that last night, ha ha! Boy, were they mad!


Time to sit up, I guess. Where is everyone? Sleepin' in again?


Gotta do my yogi exercises that Dad taught me. Yeah...that feels so much better. Now I am in touch with my inner therewolf. I wonder what a therewolf is? That guy with the weird eyes said somethin' about it on that movie we watched last night...Young Frank n' stein. 'Cept he didn't look very young to me.


Lookin' good in my seadog outfit that big Skully gave me. I wonder what a pigme is? He said they were really short like me.



Time to kill the tiger! Little Miss thought.

Can't be too careful around these things.


"Hi Mom and Dad! What's for breakfast? Look, I killed the tiger...again," Little Miss said.



Cool! Giant lips! Skully thought.



I really hope no one saw that.



If I'm vewy vewy quiet, I can ambush Skully again, thought Little Miss.


Geez, not again, Skully thought. Doesn't she ever stop?


"Dangit! I got babysittin' duty again!" Cammilu said. "I'm a terrier, not a collie."



Little Miss takin' a nap, no doubt dreamin'...dreamin' to take over the world!




"Don't make me beg! Okay, okay I'll beg," Skully said.



"Hey, let me outta here! I didn't do it I tell ya," Skully said.



Skully takin' a leisurely stroll while I sit in the command chair, surveyin' the tactical situation. The work of a cap'n is never done.



Here's Little Miss runnin' so fast she's just a blur. In fact, so am I. Could be that the grog I drank, along with her superdog speed has thrown the entire space/time continuum out of whack.



Skully n' Little Miss n' me sleepin'. I'm the one wearin' red. I think.

There's that blur again. Is this what a wormhole feels like?


"I'm down with that," Little Miss dreamed. "Hey! Are those flyin' pigs?"


"That is the best doggone smellin' underarm I ever smelt!" Exclaimed Skully.


Skully n' Little Miss sleepin'. They look so cute, but don't let that fool you. I mean, they are cute, so don't get me wrong, but that's a distraction, designed to...distract you. You see, they're rechargin', in order to wreak more havoc and let loose the dogs of war! Or somethin'.