The Disabled Guy has RETURNED!

He's been home less than 48 hours and we've already had a conversation "about that guy who looks like that guy but it isn't him." But more on that later.

We all know the story of the "Rats with Little Nike Shoes", right? If you don't, you should. Its a part of history, according to DG. We also know that DG and the boy (who is over six feet tall and almost nineteen years old) went to North Carolina for five weeks. Yes, five weeks...

This is a story told to me by the boy:

While they were in NC, they went to the Outer Banks. Now, I don't know for sure if its the Outer Banks or just Outer Banks. At any rate, while on the way there, they crossed a bridge. If you're familiar with bridges over water that lead to or are near the ocean, you're aware that they're high bridges to accommodate boats and waves and such. Along this particular bridge, there were dozens of dead seagulls. They were apparently hit by vehicles or felled by a storm or whatever- they were dead. The boy referred to them as being "piles of feathers and blood" at times.

DG said: "They were hit by cars because they're young. They don't know no better to fly higher."

The Boy: "What about those, Dad? Those are adult seagulls."

DG: "They're old. They committed suicide because they couldn't take it anymore."

So, I asked why the story wasn't longer. I mean, look at the Rats story, right? DG toned it down because his parents were there and he was either embarrassed to be himself (because, come on, this is absolutely him, you can't fake this kind of hilarity) or he didn't think they'd "get it".

Me: "What about Nike shoes? Didn't they have little Nike shoes?"

DG: "No, of course not! Don't be redikkalus! *ridiculous* They're birds, they can fly. Except when they get hit by a vehicle."

The daughter, Ceej, exclaimed, "They can't wear Nike shoes, they've got weird-shaped feet!"

Good point. Hopefully, we can coax the story out of him as the days go on...

Earlier this week, Regretsy decided a pumpkin carving contest was in order. Oh, I do love Regretsy. But, I also knew that my attempt at pumpkin carving would be no match for the awesome artisans who submit to Regretsy contests. But, I tried anyway. I didn't submit my pumpkin, but I completed it and showed to the Regretsians (of which I am one).

So, after I carved our pumpkin, I was looking for something to make fake blood out of since my Sharpie marker wasn't giving me the effect I wanted. So, I used honey mixed with red food coloring. I had to get DG to reach the honey for me, because I'm short. He watched me squeeze a generous amount into a glass bowl.

He asked, "What are you doing?"

I replied, as I mixed in copious amounts of red food coloring, "I'm making blood for the pumpkin."

DG: "Why are you using honey?"

Me: "Because we don't have any Karo syrup. Why, what do you do to make blood?"

DG, "I'd just punch someone in the face."

And you know how he is by now... he waited several long moments and then added, "Maybe I'd cut myself shaving."

Here's a photo of my non-submitted-but-still-loved-by-Regrestians pumpkin.



About an hour before I started this blog, DG decided to see what new movies were "on Demand". He found one called "Legion" with Dennis Quaid and Paul Bettany. Now, I didn't argue, because I loves me some Paul Bettany and Dennis Quaid is a bonus... and it turns out, its pretty star-filled in general.

Now, I'm not out to spoil anything for anyone, so don't worry. The actor we had the conversation about is named Lucas Black. Most would remember him from such fine films as "Sling Blade" and "Ghosts of Mississippi"... but here's how we got to how DG knows him.

DG: "That kid, right there. He's not River Phoenix. I know he's not because he's dead."

Me: "You're right. Acting is difficult to do once you've passed away."

DG: "So who is he? He's that guy. That guy who looks like River Phoenix."

Really, at this point, I'm pretty surprised that DG even knows who the hell River Phoenix is, but, since I do know how he thinks, I said, "Are you talking about his brother, Joaquin Phoenix?"

DG: "That's not him."

Me: "I know that's not him. That's not Joaquin Phoenix or anyone who looks like any of the Phoenixes... what are you talking about?"

DG: *rubbing his fingers together, like that helps me* "He's that guy who was in that movie."

Me: "Which movie?"

DG: *sighing* "The one where they rode horses through the desert."

I can hear you all now. "What the hell? How many movies are out there with horses and the desert!? How do you know these things!?"

Well, I'll tell you... I have an astounding memory for useless trivia. It comes in quite handy at times. I'm fairly fun, pretty informed and I can fake my way through almost any conversational situation (except sports, but I'm also a chick, so no one expects me to know anything about sports. Sexist, but true).

So, when DG said, "The one where they rode horses through the desert..." I said, "Yes! That's him! That's Lucas Black and he was in "All the Pretty Horses" directed by Billy Bob Thornton."

After that, I felt like bowing. Like a Shakespearean actor receiving a standing ovation. I damn near jumped to my feet and bowed. "That guy who looks like River Phoenix but isn't his brother and doesn't really look like the Phoenix family at all and was in that movie where they rode horses through the desert." That's right. I knew what he was talking about.

On a completely unrelated note, there are still plenty of birdhouses available through the Disabled Guy Family etsy shop. I even added some Autumnal photos to the mix.

Part textually speaking, part other stuff...

The Disabled Guy and the boy (who is almost 19 years old, but he'll always be "the boy" to me) went on a trip down to North Carolina. I'm sure you remember, there was at least one blog about it. DG has been texting me daily. No kidding. Daily.

As you recall, he's had a stroke. I know! Sometimes you forget! And when he text-messages, it takes a lot of time to get a reply from him. A few times, he's replied faster, so he's either getting better at it or he's getting help.

Last night, the boy texted me about some stuff and ended with: "Tell Dad we need to get some Gummy Bears."

So I did. I texted to him: "Hey, you should go get some Gummy Bears."

DG replied: "Did Jason tell you to say that?"

Me: "No. Why?"

DG: "Yes way!"

Me: "I said 'why', not 'way'."

DG: "What the hell are you talking about?"

Me: "I said to get gummies. You asked if Jase told me to say that. I said 'No. WHY?' and you said 'Yes WAY'. I was just telling you what I said."

DG: "I don't even know what's going on."

Me: "You never do."

DG: "Sometimes I do."

Me: "Really? What's going on right now?"

DG: "I don't know.".

Me: "There you go."

DG: "Where am I going?"

So there you have it. I don't know if they ever did go get the Gummy Bears.

Other stuff...

Last week, the Regretsy lady put our etsy shop on the Facebook page (our linky-link to the shop). She was talking about disabled people in general- it started from a book she found called "Crafts for Retarded" from 1964. She immediately got anger-mail about it. My response to the anger-mail (which was hilarious, I swear, I almost busted something important laughing at it) was to explain, in expletive form, that DG does not embrace his disability, he hates it. He mocks it. And shortly after that, she put our shop up with: "Speaking of disabled people..." We made several sales and will now be able to make the semi-regular scheduled payments for our daughter's orchestra trip. The big payment is due in February, so we're okay as long as people will buy stuff over the next few months.

Here's the link to the Regretsy post that started it all.

And the angry mail (which turned out to be a ruse, but it was hilarious nonetheless).

This is April's entire intro to posting our shop link:

"Speaking of disabled people, here's a link I've been meaning to post for a long time. This is the Disabled Guy's shop. He's the husband of Regretsy regular Patty, who has been a huge supporter of our God given right to mock. Patty says he makes these birdhouses with one hand, which I can only assume means he's masturbating. In any case, I just bought one of these birdhouses to help them raise money for their daughter's school trip. Take a look at their lovely store and see if there's anything you like."

I love her so much. And even DG got the masturbating joke. "I wouldn't have been able to make those birdhouses if I was masturbating, so I had to stop till I finished the houses."

DG and the boy are due back in about two weeks. I don't know how much more of the texting I can take.

Animal conversations... mostly one-sided, of course.

As you know- and if you don't, why aren't you taking notes?- we have four dogs. A German Shepherd and three Chihuahuas. Luna was our first and we refer to her as his girlfriend.

For your enjoyment- a photo!



After years of being a good dog and listening to us when we tell her what to do, she's gotten it into her head to run to the front yard and across the street at people. She barks like a psycho, but she's a good dog and wouldn't bite anyone. The problem is the whole "across the street" thing because our street is fairly busy. In the old days, we used to leash all our dogs and walk all the way out to the backyard with them and wait on them... because we don't have a fenced yard.

Then all my health issues started and I can trust Gypsy off-leash. The Chis were a little testier because they don't listen quite as well as she does. Its all DG's fault too, because I train them and he un-trains them. Normally, I stand on the deck, overlooking the rather large backyard. There's a large pine tree on one side, blocking fast access to the front and then the driveway and our vehicles to the other side. Normally, that's enough blockage for anyone to react... except DG and his un-training.

Back when we had a Rottweiler (Kodiak, best dog EVER!), I trained him to simple, one word commands. "Sit", "Stay", "Down", "up", "come", "no", "Kisses", and "bang" for "play dead". And I did this for DG's benefit. Multi-word phrases confuse him more than long division. And what does he do to poor, yet genius-smart Kodiak?

"Sit down!"

"Stay there!"

"Get up!"

"Lay down!"

Kodiak took about fifteen seconds to process each command from DG, but he did figure it out. Not so with the Chis. They simply don't listen to him. When I say "NO!" or "STOP!" or even: "DON'T YOU DARE!", they stop what they're doing. All the dogs and sometimes people walking down the street.

In the last couple weeks, Luna decided to dart to the front of the house- with a rather small yard and a far-too-busy street. The other day, I was upstairs in a half-dressed mode (as I had just showered) when Luna took it upon herself to chase some religious door-to-door people. All the way across the street. One of our down-the-street neighbors was walking by on another day and she took off after him. She's not attacking anyone, just barking and wagging her tail so hard it has an effect on her running.

So I said, "That's it- she's going to be leashed! Its a pain in the ass, but its better than a Dead Luna."

Last night, DG had this conversation with Luna. Where I put in the ellipsis (the "..."), that's where he pauses as if waiting for her to answer.

"Why do you do that? Hmmm? ... Why do you run? ... You're going to have to get a leash... I know! You'll wear a leash and then the other dogs will laugh at you... because... because you'll be the only one on a leash and they'll think its funny. ... Yes they will! .... Yes they will! They'll think its funny! You'll have a leash..."

Then he disintegrated into a weird baby talk that sounded like: "Oh-boo-boo-doo-boo!"

Luna had puppies on June 30th and one of my online friends bought one of the pups. All the other pups went home two weeks ago. Hers is still here because she lives down south and we had it all worked out that my parents would take the pup to her, like they've done for us before. Even though DG is perfectly capable of taking the pup himself. Now, my parents would be leaving in two days. Today, DG says he can take the pup. Well, that's just great.

For the last week, I've told him to get one of our cat carriers out so I could clean it up for the pup (dusty, has cat hair in it). He finally got it out today while I was out running errands. He assembled it and cleaned it up. On the side is written: "Millennium Falcon" because when we got it, we had two kittens that he'd named Han Solo and Chewbacca. Har-har, right? About six months later, Han Solo became sick and passed away. We ended up with more cats, but that's a story for another time. The point is, it says "Millennium Falcon" and Han Solo is no longer with us.

After he got done wiping all the dust off the outside of the carrier, he said: "Jabba the Hutt has Han Solo. Get it? Get it!?" then he picked up the carrier and moved it around making "schwooosh-schhwoooosh" noises.

Oh, and for your pleasure, a photo of Martini. Because who doesn't love cute puppy photos?



and another one, because I think its cute.



So, DG is going on a trip. Now, I'm not going to blast all over the Internet where he's going, exactly, but obviously, he's going to North Carolina. It just so happens that the new owner is in NC right now, visiting some family. She was going to drive back home- to where my parents are actually ending up on their trip- to pick up the pup and then back to NC. But now its all worked out that since DG is literally driving past where she is now, he'll be taking the pup. Because I'm not telling you where they all are, these town names are made up. These may or may not be actual town names, but these are NOT the towns where she is, where he'll end up.

I sent her a message to ask where she was in NC and I told DG (again, NOT the real town).

Me: "She's in Jackboro."

DG: "Smackboro?"

Me: "JACKboro!"

DG: "Markboro?"

Me: "JACK-BORE-OHH!"

DG: "Jackville?"

Me: louder, more enunciation, then less enunciation: "JACK... BORE... OHHH! JACKBORO!!!"

DG: "Is that near Townville?"

Me: "YES! YES, it is NEAR TOWNVILLE!"

He breaks out a nineteen year old road atlas. Nineteen years old! And he shows me the route he takes- going over Jackboro and near Townville to get to his destination which is near Fayetteville (real town name, actually). Obviously, in nineteen years, things have changed. I'm up on Google maps and he's holding that nineteen year old atlas.

Me: "Where do you go? Through Ohio, into the Virginias?"

DG: "Yeah, right here." *points at the old atlas map*

Me: "So, just take Highway [whatever number] to Greensboro and then down to Jackboro, then cut over to Townville and you'll be fine."

DG: "No, I won't, I need to be on Highway [different number] to get to [parents' house] from here."

Me: "That's not what you said-"

DG: "I go through Knoxville, you know, Knoxville, Tennessee!" (he was trying to match my level of frustration).

Me: "Fine! Do you go through Ashville?" I even pointed on his two-decade old map.

DG: "No, I go through KNOXVILLE!"

Me: "But, to get to [parents' house] you have to go through Ashville, then up to here [pointing at a town] then here and then past Townville!"

DG: "No, I go through ASHVILLE after Knoxville then up to here [pointing at same town]..."

Me: "WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY?"

Let's just say it was a long and frustrating day. So its all worked out. DG will meet up with my friend in Townville- which is just a bit out of his way, but wouldn't be if he took another highway instead of insisting on taking the original highway... Its all worked out and I don't feel like smothering him with a pillow anymore.

By the way, I got my very first hate-mail. I was told that I'm a sociopath and that they feel sorry for my son (I'd mentioned my son in a Regretsy comment) because his mother is obviously a schizophrenic. *waves at lurker* Also, upon reading this blog, I've also got my head so far up my ass that it warrants public exposure.

I don't really know what that means- because how much more public can I get? This is public blog, its open to public comments, and I've linked to it through my signature on several message boards, the Regretsy site (my screen name is the link) and there's a Facebook group. But apparently, this person (who has some issues with punctuation and spaces between sentences) is going to submit this blog to "fail blog" (which is a pretty funny website, if you need to waste some time, go on a read it- its one of those time-killer sites). I did reply to one of the emails (there were two- one calling me a mental patient and the other telling me I had some cranial-rectal issues) and said: "You'll have to be more specific, I do several blogs and I say a lot of things on Regretsy."

But, I'm still confused as to how I have my head so far up my ass because I post ridiculous conversations with my disabled husband, with his knowledge and permission. But hey, more readers are more readers and I can't complain about that, now can I?

A few conversations from today... (swear words inside)

I post on Regretsy as one of those smart-mouthed snark-bitches. That is, if you believe what other people say when someone else is wittier than they are and they can't come up with anything clever as a retort.

Today, Regretsy featured this post. I was the first comment. Now, over on Regretsy, we don't tolerate that whole "FIRST!!" bullshit that some other sites seem to either enjoy or ignore. Either way, no one who has ever posted there will post "FIRST!!" unless they're being ironic or it happens to play into the original post. That particular subject is about some kind of fetish involving heavy-duty knit sweaters. And since its Regretsy, my post was filled with snark and attitude. I didn't think I'd be first, but that doesn't matter either way.

This is what I said:

"I want to get that orange fuzzy thing for the disabled guy. He’s always bitching about being cold. No kink involved here, I just want to stifle the urge to smother him during the winter.

With that, I could have the best of both worlds- he’d shut the fuck up and I would feel like I was actually smothering him."

In less than a minute, I received THREE "thumbs down" clicks! I thought, "Damn, it wasn't THAT bad!" When I refreshed the page, I had more thumbs down clicks. I posted it on my Facebook- how I was thumbs-downed so quickly for such a silly comment. I don't care, I mean it doesn't hurt my feelings. Usually the thumbs-downers are a bunch of whiny, self-righteous people who swear by their "art" no matter how bad it is. But hey, being on Regretsy brings sales and if something sells, who cares how they found your link?

Some of my friends commented on my status with much hilarity because most of them were also of the Regretsy ilk. I read their comments out to DG and would check back on my "thumbs down" count. The highest I saw was fifteen.

DG said: "That's mah Fan Club."

On the other extreme, I posted this comment:

"Holy shit! I’ve never had a comment “hidden due to low rating” before! A banner day for me! Huzzah!

The disabled guy just said, “That’s my fan club.”

*high five* with asterisks!"

That one received (at last check) forty-four thumbs up clicks! So my fan club is doubly strong to his. (thumbs up and thumbs down cancel each other out so if you get fifteen thumbs down and sixteen thumbs up, it shows as +1).

Later in the afternoon, DG convinced me to join him at Wal-Mart. Not my favorite place to be. Too much walking, too little gratification. In the middle of our excursion, he asked which tulips I liked. I like all tulips. Tulips are tulips. He half-mumbled something about different kinds of tulips and that was all. About twenty minutes passed as we continued our shopping and then left.

As we were driving away, he said: "There were all colors. Orange, and purple. Not orange, that would be ridiculous." and he rattled off a few more colors.

Me: "How is orange ridiculous?"

DG: "For a flower its ridiculous."

Me: "Orange is a color found in nature. We have orange flowers in our backyard. We planted them." (which are not tulips, but still orange flowers)

**Proof**


DG: "Tulips aren't orange!" (except when they are)

And he left it at that.

For the rest of the drive home, he alternately "sang" and bopped his head to whatever imaginary music was in his head. If I looked over at him, he would stop (bopping his head, that is). If I continued to look he'd giggle almost maniacally. I had to swing by the grocery store to pick up some photos I had printed and he said, "I'm gonna let you go in without me."

I replied: "Thank the gods, because people can see you head-bopping."

He started to bop his head and sing: "Look at me! You can see me!" followed by more maniacal laughter.

Just now, as I was typing this, I was telling Ceej about it. He shook his head and said, "I don't think it was me. I was possessed!"

And he thinks orange tulips are ridiculous.

The Disabled Guy is a Spaz- the doctor says so...

In January, DG had a follow-up appointment. Well, follow-up isn't the right word. Once a year, he sees a GP (general practitioner, for those not up on the hip, hospital lingo). Once a month, he sees the anti-coag clinic (that's anti-coagulation, for people on blood thinners). So, in January, he saw his doctor and that doctor prescribed Baclofen.

Baclofen is a muscle relaxer and anti-spastic. But we didn't know that at the time. A few weeks go by and DG tells me that he hasn't received his Baclofen. Of course, he didn't say that at the time. What he said was: "I didn't get this drug I'm supposed to get." Which was DG-speak for "call and figure this out with as minimal information as possible..."

The pharmacist at the VA looked it up and said that all his drugs were current and if he didn't have something, just wait, it was probably en route. And then I forgot about it.

Hey, what can I say? I had a lot of crap going on in my own life. In case I haven't crammed it down your throats as well, I've got Fibromyalgia, which is a lovely, debilitating disorder that causes a lot of pain. But I digress.

Today, DG went up to the VA hospital and saw the seizure people. The clinic has its own goofy name (and by "clinic", I mean in the hospital, its not a free-standing place) and they see people who have seizure issues. DG started having seizures about six months after the stroke (the day before my twenty-sixth birthday, in fact). They tried to wean him off seizure meds, but after a short time, he started having them again. So, back on the drugs he goes. And now he sees the seizure clinic once a year (unless there's a problem, of course).

Now, DG doesn't care what clinic he sees. He goes to the appointment, gets seen, says everything is fine, even if it isn't. He slipped on the ice a couple of years ago and quite possibly broke a rib or two. He landed on his paralyzed arm (he was wearing a puffy winter coat). Anyway, he was at the hospital for another reason and I really don't remember why I was with him, other than to make him go to Urgent Care for his ribs. The doctor looked at his ribs- bruised, visibly swollen, it hurt to even raise his arm- and that's the doctor raising his arm for him, since DG can't raise his arm. X-rays showed no fracture, so the doctor called it a "bone bruise" and sent him on his way with a bottle of Vicodin, some anti-inflammatories, and instructions on using ice and heat.

In the truck for the drive home he said, "Wow. How hard do you have to hit a bone to bruise it?"

I replied: "You know how hard you have to hit it to break it?" When he nodded I added, "A little less than that."

He wasn't amused.

So, today, he comes back from his appointment with a note. The note tells me nothing- its just a doctor's name, a phone number and the word Baclofen. In DG speak, which took about three minutes to get out, I was told I had to call the doctor at that number, inform them that the order for the drugs had been written but never put into the computer. And apparently, doctors can't just put in other doctors' requests all willy-nilly.

While I was on hold, I showed DG my daily photo submission on Flickr. Apparently, he doesn't think I'm artsy and doesn't believe I was naked in the photo I took of myself. I was trying not to say stuff while on hold, because at the moment you blurt out: "Of course I was naked in that photo, that's my ASS right there!" the person you're waiting for gets on the phone. Here's the photo in question if you feel like clicking. If you're on my Facebook list, then you've already seen it.

I got the medicine order all sorted with a receptionist. I asked if he knew what Baclofen was for and he stated that he did not (he was merely a data entry/receptionist person). I said I'd Google it. And while I was on hold while Mr. Receptionist did what he had to do, I found Baclofen.

Its a muscle relaxer and antispastic. That's right. Apparently, the Disabled Guy is a Spaz. And he takes medicine for it.

The Disabled Guy talks to puppies...

Two puppies to be exact. I mentioned how he renames the pups and he finally got around to it this past week. Of course, Easton is Sheena Easton. Martini and Eli I caught on video. Drake and Moose are still Drake and Moose but he elongates their vowels- "Draaaaaaayke!" and "Mooooooooose!" Wah-lah! is still Wah-Lah! but that's because he can't come up with anything more ridiculous to call her. (she hasn't been renamed by her new owners yet).

Also, last night (Thursday night, if you're reading this on a day that isn't Friday), DG had a conversation with himself. Ceej and I left for the orchestra meeting and even said, "Bye" to him as we left. I called him about an hour later to ask if he'd make a swing so we could use it as the prize in the raffle for fundraising. He asked, "What about the birdhouses?" I told him those are for our kid alone and the swing raffle would help lower the overall cost for the parents of every kid. So he said he'd do it. We really don't have much else to offer up in the way of fundraising or volunteering. He can't do it, and I simply don't enjoy sitting in uncomfortable chairs without pain medication for hours on end. But I digress. You didn't come here to read about my whiny little rant about fundraising.

You came to watch these videos.



I don't think an intro is really all that necessary because the videos speak for themselves.

Quite literally...



In this one, though, we reference the movie "Undercover Blues" and the character who called himself "Muerte" which is "death". The Blues (Kathleen Turner and Dennis Quaid) called him "Morty".



This video is supposed to be about the puppy and not DG's chest hair.

"Y'all clean up your room!" (pics and video!)

As I mentioned, the puppies live in our kitchen till they're old enough to go home. That's because our kitchen is the warmest room in the house and it is also the only room with a tile floor that is easily blocked. And trust me... we need the tile. People think Chihuahuas are small and not very messy. Well, that's true. But when there's six of them, the mess is times-six. So much poo.

Even though the sweet puppies are in the kitchen, we still have to use the kitchen. Most times, that's not an issue, but first thing in the morning, well, let's just say it takes work. During the day we try to keep up. At the point when they go home, people ask me if I miss them. No. I do not. By the time they go home, I'm just so very tired of the poo.

But I digress. DG has conversations with the puppies. As if they're human. As if they're not babies. And as if they can do what he's ordering them to do.

Nearly daily, he says, "Y'all, clean up your room!"

And this is the response the puppies give him:



DG: "Don't look at me like that! You need to clean up your room!"

And the puppies' response:



DG: "Y'all think you're so cute, dontcha? Well, you're not as cute as you think you might be!"

And the puppies say:



DG: "Hey, you're supposed to pay attention to me. Don't ignore me! Oh, sure, just go to sleep. Be that way. You'll be laughing out of your face when you clean up this room."

Puppies? What do you have to say?



Now, as you can see, I took these photos all in a row. And the one absolute consistent was the single puppy sleeping in the center with his head resting on the edge of the bed. That would be Moose. The big white one that keeps moving around, that's Martini. The darker brown one to the left is Easton. There's a white one in the foreground with Moose, also sleeping. That would be little Eli. Eli eventually moved to get away from the flashy thing and was curled with little Wah-Lah!, and the other (larger) brown one in the back is Drake. I'm telling you their names because all but one has been re-named (that would be Wah-Lah! who is having someone come look at her tomorrow).

Of course, DG doesn't call them by their names. We named all the puppies till their owners re-named them. In the last litter Luna had, DG named them all different names- as in: Angel Eyes, Two Socks, Speedy Rodriquez, Brownie, and The Brain. So far, he hasn't named this litter- except Easton.

I promised that there would be video. And, here it is... these are short snippets of video and two of them are actually one long one broken in two parts. In one of those, I sound incredibly annoyed with DG. And I kind of am. More than once a day, he makes the same exact joke when he says, "Which one is this?"

I reply: "That's Easton."

He exclaims: "Sheena Easton!"

And I tell him yet again that her new owner is a coach and a teacher and she had her team name the pup- Easton, after a baseball bat.



Short discussion with the pups.



Part one- (DG spilled some chili he was reheating for lunch, which is what we're telling Luna to leave alone).



Part two-



And because I mentioned it in the above video, here's the video where Drake gets Easton pinned in the playpen.



There you have it... in the next few weeks, before the pups all go to their new homes, there will be more video and quite possibly longer conversations with the puppies. Because we all know how puppies always do what their told. As if they're human. As if they're not babies.