That's thought number one.
And, thought number two, which I am sending out to a special person, and I really really hope you know who you are, is: Oh Puhhhhh-leeeeeze! Really? Really? Uh... NO. Now go away and spend some more time pumping hot cow methane into your ego. Are you fucking kidding me???
[I will explain this, in the long run, in more private settings. And suffice to say, it's a very funny story.]
Now that I got that off my chest, on to today's topic.
For those who faithfully follow these stories, you probably know that I have been experimenting with an indoor-remote-control-micro-helicopter-with-flashing-lights-and-machine-gun-sound-effects and wadded-up-balls-of-Scotch-tape-between-the-shoulder-blades exercise regimen for my cats.
Because I've been trying to turn them into something that they, alas, are not: animals with souls.
I will continue working with the cats, but I realize it is no secret that I'm a dog person.
I've always had Australian Shepherds, ever since I was a kid. They are high-energy, high-maintenance dogs that require plenty of space and mental challenges (like land and livestock) in order to become self-actualized dogs.
Anyway, my very very best Aussie ever, a champion blue merle named Luc, died about 6 months ago (he was very old). He was an amazing dog, by far the smartest animal I've ever owned, besides my son.
So, last night, my wife and kids came home with an early no-Jesus Christmas present for me: a 13-week-old tank of an Aussie tri, who looks like he's going to shape up to be a pretty good animal, already exerting complete pwnage over my struggling and special cats.
Today, he's going to get to meet the horses, too, and I'm taking him out on the trail.
I'm not one for gifts, really. I love to give them. I bought a car for my wife for Christmas, and lots of cool stuff for my kids. I even bought an electric squirt gun for my cats. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when they open that present.
And, honestly, the only gift I wanted was a new CD-wallet for my car. Mine's all jammed up with backup copies of my novel. Eh... whatever. CDs for music are on their way out, unless you're a writer with a backup addiction. The new AV system in my car is all about (sorry VP) MP3.
So, anyway, here is the new master of the house:
