Pedigree - Part I

It seems the cat is out of the bag.  (Sidebar: I hate that expression.  Not because I have anything against cats.  I actually think cats are hilarious.  Especially the ones on the youtubes.  I just don't know what the cat was doing in the bag in the first place.  Seems cruel.  And I'm against animal abuse of any form.  Except squirrels.  They can get the plague for all I care.  Anyhoo...)

In my last post I revealed that I was, for a short time during my late puppy years, homeless.  I haven't been able to respond to all the emails asking me about this because (a) I'm a dog and my internet access is limited and (b) I'm 91 years old; these old paws can't type like they used to.

The short answer is, it's a long story, but here's the beginning part of it.

I was born into a litter of four mutts in an alley in Park Slope.  My mother herself was of mixed-breed, while my father was a purebred German Shepherd.

He was a strict disciplinarian, quick with a growl but short on patience with my siblings and me.  Seemed he was always "working" and "needed his space."

Despite his stern demeanor, my father was a brilliant comedian.  He could have been one of the biggest stars of Vaudeville, but for two things: (1) the rampant discrimination towards dogs and; (2) the fact that he couldn't talk.  Funny jokes, but zero delivery, right?

Through his diligence, though, he wound up writing for some of the great Borscht belt comedians of his day: Joey Adams, Mort Sahl, Shecky Greene...  Of course, no one knows about it - or pretends not to.  Last thing Buddy Hackett's going to admit is that most of his comedy was written by a German Shepherd.  But whaddya gonna do, right?

Well, what my father did was leave.  He resented my siblings and me, thought we were the ones keeping him from his dream, and left my mother to raise four pups on her own.

She did the best she could, my mother.  And my father?  I never saw him again.

The neighborhood became my surrogate, the restaurants, bars, alleyways, and people of Brooklyn my masters and best friends.  Scraps of food from the co-op.  Free concerts at the conservatory.  Yeah... we survived all right.

And even though I'm enjoying my Golden Years out here in sunny SoCal, those years on the streets of Park Slope are while I'll always be...

-Brooklyn Hayes.

Weekend Thoughts

Hey there blog followers, 

It's been harder than usual for me to get hold of a computer or mobile device lately. 

For one thing, one of my owners is always out with her laptop (grrr). The other one stays home more but has been on a breaking-stuff rampage. 

If you're wondering what that has to do with me, well, lets just say, it affects me in every way. 

Why, you ask? Because whenever something breaks and there's a dog around, we get blamed. 

Dad drops the pasta bowl while sneaking in a few bites? It was the dog. 

Mom drops the baking sheet right out of the oven? It was me. 

Baby decides to poop on the floor? I did it. 

Never mind that I also help clean all this crap up WITH MY VERY OWN TONGUE. 

Anyway, long story short, I'm staying away from his stuff until his fight with gravity is over. 

In the meantime though, I've been listening to radio. NPR more specifically. (Don't get started on congress taking away their funding. I could bite them.)

So this morning they were interviewing this woman Lucy Walker about her documentary WASTELAND, I think it was called. Premiered at Sundance, yadda, yadda. Now, I haven't seen the film yet (just couldn't bring myself to use my owners' credit card to purchase it) and so this might be unfair but what's with the love affair that well-to-do white people have with poverty?

I mean, you should hear this woman wax poetic about how amazing these people who live in a dumpsters in Brazil are. Life has put them in the garbage and they just triumph and move forward and are happy. Gimme a break! There is nothing, let me repeat, nothing poetic about that kind of poverty. Believe me, I know. Don't want to turn this blog into a "poor me" rant but I was homeless for a large part of my childhood; my family was dirt poor for a long time and went without eating for days on end. You endure because you have to; not because you have some kind of revelation about the animal spirit triumphing or how not having possessions frees your mind. 

Just to be clear, this isn't a criticism of the humans living in the dumpster. You do what you gotta do, right?

I'm from Brooklyn. 

Babies... Who needs 'em?

I don't get why humans are so interested in babies.  Any time one of these little bald freaks comes around, I either get pushed outside or poked in the eyeballs.  And then they all laugh and talk about how "cute" the baby is.  You try gettin' poked in the eyeballs, or having your tail tugged on, or taking a few fingers in the nostril.  See how "cute" you think it is then.

Look, I know I'm an old gal, but all I'm saying is, who needs 'em?  Do babies keep watch against intruders?  No.  Do they let you know when the doorbell rings?  Nope.  Do they bring you cool things like sticks and dead squirrels and stuff?  Never!  And I'll tell you something else: you never see a dog upchuck on a person's shoulder, neither.  We take our business outside, where it belongs.

Babies...

GASLAND

So I finally got around to seeing GASLAND while my owners were sleeping late this morning. 

WOW. 

Depressing. So tough to see that cat losing his hair and the horse all skeletal. And of course, the humans with all their headaches and illnesses. 

When is this bull going to stop? I mean, wasn't A CIVIL ACTION also about the effects of  trichloroethylene? And ERIN BROKOVICH? Same thing. (How about that paternity suit on Soderbergh, ha? Who woulda thunk it). 

I'm just saying these bastards are gonna keep doing this over and over unless we collectively unleash our teeth right on their behinds. Otherwise, they'll continue to poison people, buy lobbyists and move the operation somewhere else before you can say Halliburton. 

Damn. 

iPhone 4 at last!

So I spent the day at the beach today, which was pretty cool. I think we were somewhere in Malibu? I don't know. It kinda all looks the same to me out here and I didn't recognize anyone's smells...

But a couple of cool things happened. First of all, as soon as my owners dozed off (and their friends too; everyone in this group likes to sleep) I managed to get my paws on the coveted iPhone 4! I've been trying to get at it for a while without success and today I finally got the chance even if I got in trouble for it later. Thing is, my owners have been proud users of the iPhone since the first generation (boy owner even stood in line for hours the first day - what a geek) but I hadn't yet gotten to use the video camera on the 4, which is what I was really excited about. Boy, it did not disappoint.

I used the iPhone to film the second cool thing that happened today: seagulls!

What are these things? I've seen birds before but not big and bulky like these. They just kind of sit there and let you chase them around. I felt like I was 25 again!

Here. See for yourself:

I was pretty proud of my artistic skills. I mean, I know I'm no Kurosawa, but still. For an old broad from Brooklyn, right?

I was basking in the glory of that video and the seagull smell, when this happened:

There still kinda mad about it. Between the iPhone robbery and me staring at them this morning while they ate, they've screamed at me a lot today. Jeesh. You'd think I was a bad dog or something. If only they knew how much I crave new technology...

In Praise of Kibble

File this under "Things that happen in California that never happened in Brooklyn and I'm not sure I'll ever get used to."  That's a long heading, I know, but I'm a dog.  You should be impressed at what organizational skills I have.

One of my owners took me for a walk yesterday morning up in the hills and, bless his heart, I love him for it.  It's hard to describe to a human what a walk in these hills is like for a dog.  But imagine going shopping in one of those - whaddya call 'em - malls, except everything in the mall is made of stuff you can either eat or pee on.  Sometimes both.

Back in Brooklyn, my owners were known for having friends over and making orecchiette with sausage and fennel.  In Los Angeles, fennel's growing all over the friggin' place!  Out of the ground!  So believe me when I say I love going on these walks, even with the arthritis and whatnot.

It's a gorgeous January day out here (another thing you'll never hear in Brooklyn) and we're about halfway up this canyon when I see this crazy SOB run across our path with a friggin' rabbit in his mouth:

This coyote, he stops, looks at me like, "Whaddya gonna do, right?"  And I'm looking up at my owner like, "Seriously, whaddya gonna do?"  Now I don't wanna get too racial or anything, I mean, I'm from Brooklyn, where everyone lives with everyone and mostly gets along, but these coyotes... they aren't like other dogs.  They'll soon as gang up on you and mangle your coat as as sniff your hind parts.  So I didn't know what this crazy kid was gonna do next.

Lucky for me, I was with my owner and coyotes don't care much for humans.  After a second or two, he trots off and we turn back for home.

It was a lot of excitement for a girl my age to be seeing new, exciting things like that, and it's just one of the reasons I recommend to all my friends retirement in a lively setting.

But as I took a nap on the balcony that afternoon, looking back up into the hills, I was pretty grateful I have owners who take care of the whole food part for me.  Sure, the kibble gets boring sometimes, but what else am I gonna do?  Chase rabbits?  At my age?!  Come on!

Ugh

I ate some potatoes and beans last night (owners' leftovers) and I spent all night passing gas...

Anybody have a remedy?