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Crofton, MD, 21114

A long-running personal blog shared by two authors with completely different approaches to life. And a lot of large, beautiful photographs of dogs and nature and places we've traveled to. Rich in commentary and irreverant in style. 


We started blogging a long time ago. Our work hours never aligned with recommended psychotherapists and we needed to get our thoughts out. We are great friends, total opposites and long-time housemates. This was a way to communicate. With each other. With strangers. With consumer marketers. With sub-par meteorologists. With distant friends who wanted to see pictures of stuff we were up to.

This is the place. Our bucket of thoughts to share. You are welcome. 
(We realize that most of you are here for the dog pictures.)

Death comes quickly. We hope.


We have a small problem in the house. A story has been unfolding in the office and tool room over the past month. A story that must seem an unsettling and bizarre change of circumstance to the eyes of our hamster Mega (rest Bernie Madoff’s soul, we miss him).

We have mice.

Now before you go judging us - we have cleaning people (bless their souls, too. Best damn money I’ve ever spent.) And as for leaving food about the house - well Thor doesn’t really let that happen. Ever. All unattended food is seen to immediately.

So we are not a ‘dirty’ people. But recently when I was in the office looking for Mega’s bag of hamster “donuts’ - they are hysterical - they look like little frosted donuts with sprinkles. I HAD to buy them. Laughed all the way home.

Well when I pulled out the bag of Hamster donuts... there was a little round hole in the plastic of the packaging. As if some ghost rodent with Homer Simpson tendencies had sought them out and sampled a wee bit. This little missing circle of plastic made my blood run cold. I thought about it for days.  

(But did I do anything? No. I was busy.)

Well, the other day I went into the office and sat at my desk while looking for a check. And a quill and a pot of ink. Cause in my mind that shit all goes together now a’days.

And as I was doing so I saw a little black ‘thing’ outside the colorful penitentiary that Mega calls home. Mega’s cage sits atop our fantastically gigantic office desk that is so formidable that communities come over to hide underneath it during tornadoes and otherworldly smiting. It’s a big desk. Back to the hamster cage. It sits on top of a wing of the T-shaped desk and has a level that is just bars. (yes, it’s quite something) And from time to time Mega likes to peer at me from this level with his tiny little fingers gripping the metal rungs. I smile and consider giving him a wee little cup with a handle to thrash against the bars and peep out a barely audible “Attica!”

Well, on this day I looked at the little turd outside of his brig bars and gave him a stern ‘tsk tsk’ for his unsophisticated behavior.

“Now, Mega. I know your life is sometimes lacking in richness - but let us not lower ourselves to such primitive behavior as slinging excrement.”

“fuck you.” (I imagined his retort)

Shaking my head I went back to my search for a paper book of checks. Trying not to upset my stacks of yet to be divulged correspondence from our troops in the east (?). Curiously, I came across another turd. What the hell? I regarded Mega, still gripping his prison bars and measured the distance between that place and the site of the newly discovered turd.

The site of this discovery was a good 5 feet away from the hamster cage. Immediately I considered the most logical reason. I was the co-owner of the most brilliant hamster baseball pitcher the world had ever seen. I regarded his right forearm and squinted imagining a colorful cap with a perfect logo teetering a top his beedy little eyes.

I wondered how we would handle the scouting that would be the logical next step in his world domination of the sport. I could make bleachers out of balsa wood from the hobby shop. I had been wanting to do something that would involve elmer’s glue for a while. I’m an adult now and would not eat it (I counseled myself). Bases could be made from felt and velcro'd down before each game... on to a graham cracker crumb infield. (...weird. that one may need more thought.)

Everything was coming together. I mentally began decorating the top of the desk like it was the set of a miniature “Bull Durham”- Mega would play the Tim Robbins role. I would play the condescending Costner role (but bigger). I didn’t want to wear those baseball knickers, though. Everyone looks so silly in those. Even Redford in “The Natural” and if he looked bad in them...well then no one would look good. I did like the muslin color of the old timey one’s though. I wonder where I will find a small enough needle? Red thread seemed right until I looked at his round shape. Was I making a uniform or a baseball?

“You are such a fucking idiot...” (Mega’s look seemed to say.)

Mega couldn’t have thrown this turd. This turd was another’s. This was a foreign turd. An intruders turd. Ohmigawdwehavemice.

And the mice are far too close to my electronics.

They must die.

In an instant the theme of my movie changed dramatically. This was going to be a Bourne film. With cold, calculated killing... delivered with (Hollywood) military precision.

“p-ting! p-ting p-ting!” (that was the sound of a very small - but lethal - gun.)

If there was one place that knew about mice - and how to kill them - I knew where to go. I went to Home Depot.

(seriously - small time out here, but who is the brainiac who decided to sell birdseed in that cavern? what a stupid idea? They have all sorts of birds and rodents living in those stores. gross. Stoopid idiots. If you happen to drop your purse and find yourself on your knees collecting overpriced [underused] cosmetics - you will surely see all the carnage that happens beneath those huge shelving units.)

So I went and got two kinds of traps. It should be noted that I bought 16 traps. I took this turd seriously. There is no such thing as “one mouse” in my mind. I actually think it might be possible for one mouse - if left on it’s own in a sealed glass box with a camera on it - I believe that you could come back and the next day there would be two there.

(all of you that just thought “uhm no.. it would be dead from no air” can go to hell. You know what I meant. jerks. I hate you.)

Okay. This mouse tale is getting too long. I need to just get to the point. (shut up)

We bought two kinds of traps. The type used in 100 BC with the cheap wood and the metal that ultimately bites you while baiting it (twice)(my finger still hurts) and the kind that were obviously designed in California by Windows. Those suck. And they don’t look like traps and we have looked at them long and hard and still - all of us - do not understand how they would trap anything. It’s like a white mouse hallway. Those suck. I bought 8 of those.

The primitive ones went in the tool room (so we did not have to hear death snapping) and the Windows® one’s went into the office.

This is the score to date (48 hours have passed)
Tool room: 2 dead
Office: currently being used as the Admiral’s Club by all rodents in the house.

Of which we have no accurate census for the population there of.

News to report: Yenny has bated a primitive model and put it on the desk in the office (on the desk behind her monitor) as of last night. (I believe this is a bad idea - but I am not planning on being in the office this week - so I decided it would be fine. For Yenny. tee hee.)

I am waiting patiently for the snap+scream+lunge sounds of our favorite Asian.

Also, slightly newsworthy - Bryant is a gigantic pain in the ass in his duties as grim reaper and thinks he is soooo funny wagging victims still embraced by traps in our faces on their way to the sanitation department. Boys. Ugh.


I hate you stupid people.