Stream of Self-consciousness

5-5-2017 B“Crowley!  Knock it off!  If you want to go out, you’d better stand still!  Hold it!  Stop it!”

Good grief!  It is 9:30 in the morning!  How can it be seventeen thousand degrees out here?

So…what music do I want to hear?  Why did I download Bread’s Greatest Hits?  What was I thinking?    

“That’s a good boy. C’mon, Buddy.  You can’t sit down in the street.  We’ll get hit by a car.”“Sorry!  Thanks for not hitting us with your car.”

Really?  What kind of horrible manimal leaves a dirty diaper on the street?

“Crowley! Spit that out!”

Why does Chester have a giant picture of the cookie monster looking out of his living room window?  No, better question; why doesn’t everyone have a giant cookie monster picture looking out their living room windows?

“Hold on Crowley, I need to pick that up.”

“Leave those birds alone.  I’m sorry, buddy, they’re not trying to play with you.  They’re being jerks.”Wait, what is that?  What the heck?  Is that a…yeah, that’s a drone hanging off that mailbox.  It’s new, and it looks like a nice one, too.  What the what?

“You hear that dog barking at us?”

That has got to be the crankiest dog in North America.  Can a dog actually be a butthead?

“C’mon Buddy, let’s go.  What do you think?  Should we do the whole walk?”

Ok, it’s a million degrees.  Should we head home?  If we cut it short, it’s tuna on lettuce for dinner.  If we keep going, it’s blue box mac…“C’mon, let’s keep going, we’ll have the whole walk knocked out in no time.”

“Really?  Again?  Hold on, I need to pick it up.”

Oh, cripes, I hope that darn dog isn’t out in the yard…

“Whoa!  Crowley! Whoa!  Crowley, I’m gonna…Whoa!”

I am going to have arms like Schwarzenegger.  If he doesn’t kill me first. 

“No, Buddy, they didn’t invite you to play just because their garage door is open.  G’ morning! Sorry, he’s a puppy, and thinks everybody is his best friend, and everything belongs to him!”meth cupcakeWhat do those people do in there?  Every time we go past, the garage door is half open and they’re sitting at a table working on something.  Is it meth?  I read you need lots of ventilation for meth.  Are they decorating cupcakes?  I hope they’re decorating cupcakes.

“Crowley, get up boy.  C’mon, we’ve got to move.  We’ll be home soon, and when we get there, you can lay on the cool tile in the fireplace.”  If I don’t get there first, big boy.

“Morning!  Boy, that yard is looking great!  You’ve done so much work!”

Oh my gosh, that yard looks tortured into submission.  There isn’t a weed on the planet brave enough to pop up in that yard!  Cuh-razy eyes!  That dude scares me.  I’ll bet he’s got more than rakes and fertilizer in the basement.  “It rubs the lotion on its skin…”5-5-2017“Alright Buddy, we’re home!  After dinner, we’ll do another full walk…’cause I’m having root beer and cookies for breakfast.  Now move over!  Mama needs some of that cool, cool tile.”

Starting in July, The topic of the column running on the last weekend of the month will be picked by you, gentle reader.  Send your ideas (and any other comments you may have) to  I can’t wait to see the ideas that surface from your brain boxes

No topic is off limits except for these off limit topics: politics, religion, and boy bands of the 80’s.Thanks for your time.

Hey girl! Try out for the pup squad!

Petey looks like he’s been washing his hands with that new product sold at only the most exclusive retailers, ‘Broken Glass’.  He’s got more nicks and cuts than a near-sighted barber student.

I, on the other hand, have hands that would make Scarlett O’Hara jealous.  But much of my clothing is so perforated with pulls and tiny holes I look like a demented marksman used me for BB gun target practice.

What, you ask, is capable of making us look like the swankiest meth makers on the block?

We got ourselves a puppy, y’all.


Riker and The Kid.

Last fall we lost our beloved pony-sized puppy, Riker.  There was never a question of if we’d get another dog, it was only when.  The Matthews family does best when there is a four-legged member.

Besides, dogs are generally easier and more reliable than people.  They’re honest.  They’ve no agenda save food and affection.  And dogs reward kindness with kindness.  Frankly, pooches are too good for us flawed humans; we’re just lucky they put up with us.

Our last dog was 200 hundred pounds.  We aren’t getting any younger, so we felt that we should downsize in the doggy department.  I started looking around at Akitas.  We’ve had one before and love the breed.   And they usually weigh in at only 100 pounds. Practically a lap dog.

I’m no fan of Craigslist.  The Kid found an apartment for an internship in upstate New York on the site.  The landlady was so batty she made Caligula look like the poster boy for mental health.  And then there was that “Craigslist Killer” guy.

But for some reason, one Sunday night, I found myself looking at dogs on the Greensboro Craigslist.  One seller had two male Akita puppies.  In the photos, they were watched over by their father, who coincidentally looked just like our earlier Akita, Steve, who we’d gotten the year The Kid started kindergarten.  That dog and that child were closer than siblings.


Steve, otherwise known as The Kid’s “little” brother.

We arranged for a visit to meet the pooches.  I asked The Kid to come along, to be a voice of reason in case Petey I fell in love and lost our cotton pickin’ minds.

We met the owner Chad, and his family, both the two and four-legged members.  The humans were nice, and the dogs were sweet and beautiful

We were goners.  I held our new puppy on my lap for the ride home.

Crowley’s the guy in the shades.  Maybe naming him after a demon wasn’t the smartest idea…

We named him Crowley, after a character in a book that’s a favorite of both The Kid and me; Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Our Crowley’s a funny little guy who’s convinced, like Will Rogers, that a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet; or possibly just a chew toy.

A few times a day the puppy goes on a tear and employing many tiny needle-like teeth, perforates Petey from fingers to elbows.

His signature torture for me though, is sneakier.  I have become his prey.

Dude, hold up!  I need my inhaler!

While walking through the house, minding my own business, Crowley will fling himself at the back of my legs, seemingly to hamstring me.  I feel like the kind of slow, asthmatic gazelle that always gets picked last for kickball, but first for dinner.

So far though, my tendons are intact.  And we’ve known enough dogs to understand that the bite-y behavior is a passing phase (Oh please let it pass).


Let’s all play ‘Find the puppy’!

After we got home with Crowley, The Kid ‘fessed up.  Once the father dog was glimpsed in the ad photo, all bets were off.

My child, the voice of reason, had fallen head over heels in love and all objectivity had vanished like Krispy Kremes at a Weight Watcher’s meeting.  We’d been on our own the whole time.


Crowley, the crown prince of hell.  But ain’t he cute as a new pair of shoes?

Thanks for your time.