Can You and YOUR Dog Please Fix My Car?

Gail and I had a discussion last night to determine which of us appears more insane based upon the blog entry from yesterday.

The consensus is that I alone am insane since the validity of most of what I wrote about Gail is questionable.

Nevertheless, I went with the “I did it to protect you!!!!!!” defense.

Since it is evident to the whole world that I am out of the country, I had to throw something out there to put trepidation and fear in the heart and mind of anyone who might think of stopping by the Flying J Circle S Dude Ranch and Woodshop and making off with a Panther Saw, a Bridge City Foxtail, or a 25th Anniversary Lie-Nielsen 4 ½.

It seems the house is a somber, lonely place at the moment. Each day Gail sends me camera phone photos of Peyton camped out at the front door waiting for me to get home.


Then, late at night Gail goes down to the door and drags his furry butt up to bed where he apparently drifts off to sleep thinking of me and then wakes up the next morning still thinking of me. (It is sort of flattering to be loved like that, even by a dog.)

By comparison, calls to Gail while I am in Brazil do not find her moping around awaiting my return. Rather, calls to Gail find her at Vera Bradley shopping for hand bags.

Gentlemen, this is my bit of wisdom for the day….

Women say they love you, but manage to “move on” before your car is out of the driveway.

Dogs not only fail to sense you are leaving, but then struggle to even function without you.

The difference is: “Have you ever seen a dog in a bikini?”

Even if you get beyond the hair, the bumpy parts just aren’t in the right spots.

So we always come home to the ladies. And they show us their new hand bags, new shoes, and a flat tire on the SUV that needs IMMEDIATE attention.

Guys, if it weren’t for fixing flats and replacing wiper blades, we might just be completely unnecessary to women of this planet. Then, our lives will have gone to the dogs.