Friday, January 30, 2015

Wellesley thief nabbed in purse-snatching

Ok, so I nabbed a purse from a two-year-old. It wasn't my first heist, and I can tell you, it won't be my last.

I'm big, but I'm quiet. Stealthy, you might say, and you'd be right.

Once I snuck up behind an unsuspecting little girl walking with her dad on the boardwalk at Wellesley College. She was holding a cattail, just walking along, having a super day. Well, I snatched that cattail right out of her hand, before she or Mom or anyone else even knew it was happening.

I tried to make my getaway by jumping off the boardwalk. I forgot, however, that I was on leash as always, and Mom was not interested in plunging into the marshes.

The important thing, in both robberies, was that nobody got hurt, nobody cried and no damage was done to either object. I'm a gentleman robber, no doubt about that.

Monday, January 5, 2015

This is just to say

Every kitchen needs a recipe tester.
That the gingerbread
which you had baked for the neighbors
and worried was not good enough
was a little dry.

Forgive me
but it could have used
whipped cream.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Bruiser looking for a fight attacks Sleepwalker's dog

"Stray Dog" hits the streets of Manhattan.
Look, the guy couldn't have been too smart. When I saw the Tony Matelli dog sculpture at Wellesley College, I sniffed it just to be sure, then moved on, and never was fooled again.

But a giant pit bull terrier mix at Broadway and 73rd in New York City was fooled. Mom and Dad, in town to support their beloved Boston College Eagles in the Pinstripe Bowl, recognized Matelli's "Stray Dog" by the subway stop. The beast, bent on picking a fight, rammed his square snout at top speed into the dog. He bounced off, bruised and shaken. Passerby laughed, and lots of them petted the fake pup.

The city rejected Matelli's "Sleepwalker" piece as part of a public art display and went for the dog instead, apparently put off by the ruckus caused by the sculpture of a paunchy, balding guy in his skivvies.

About the installations, the Times noted: "Parks Department officials thought better of putting Tony Matelli’s “Sleepwalker,” a realistic sculpture of a nearly naked man...which recently caused a debate on the Wellesley campus in Massachusetts, where students protested it as stalkerlike."

Despite the terrier's best efforts, "Stray Dog" hasn't been vandalized. Mom and Dad reported that lots of people petted the fake pup. And it turns out that "Sleepwalker" is on display, just not stalking subway riders. He's safe on a rooftop at Marlborough Chelsea on W. 25th, where artsy types don't seem bothered by him at all.

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Walpole woman calls cops on piano-playing squirrel

First, though I have been accused of many crimes and guilty of most of them, I have never caused Mom to call 911.

Well, I guess she did once, when I escaped and was trying to break into the SmartPak saddlery on Rte. 9 in Natick.

But I digress. I assume you want to know about the squirrel, not me.

A writer friend of mom's, upon arriving home this week, was startled to hear music wafting from her piano. A ghost? An intruder who just couldn't resist tickling the ivories as he or she lifted the family silver?

She calls 911. Walpole police arrive, and find—a squirrel.

Squirrel still at large. But how did he learn to play the piano? I sleep right next to ours, and the magic just hasn't happened for me.

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Close look at Flutie bobblehead: does it do the man justice?

I thoroughly inspected the Doug Flutie bobblehead for accuracy.
With Dad clearly claiming the title as Boston College's most fervent fan, especially when it comes to his twin loves of academics and football, nothing was going to stop him from being at BC's last game of the season.

Did he want to be present to watch the Eagles avenge last year's yucky loss to Syracuse?

Without a doubt.

Would he ever miss an Eagles game, in person or on the screen?


So this game celebrating the 30th year of the most famous play in football was one that, no doubt, would find Dad in section X, row 19, seat number one. Not only that, but season ticket holders who attended every home game would receive—drumroll—a Doug Flutie bobblehead!

Dad decamped early for Alumni Stadium, wearing the requisite maroon and gold. He eagerly opened the box containing the precious objet d'art,


I've seen that Hail Mary pass more times than I can count, and let me tell you, this bobblehead could use a serious makeover.

Poor #22 has been modeled as if he's in an adult league. There's not a trace of the fresh-faced twenty-something who made football history and picked up a Heisman, too. Crow's feet? Really? As a hound who's getting up there in dog years, I'm more than a little sensitive to ageism. Plus, it simply looks nothing like him.

Even #1 fan Dad had to agree that the sculptor missed his mark. After all, Dad's the one who recognized Flutie as he sprinted along Commonwealth Avenue in front of BC in this year's Boston Marathon. He's the one who once played basketball with the Flutester. He's the one who proudly wears his Flutie Flakes hat. Displays the Eagles flag. Plants the front walk in maroon and gold (no, that's Mom).

No matter. This Flutie representation will grace the family's mantel for each and every Eagles football game from now on. And thanks, Doug. Dad really loved watching you play.

Go Eagles!

Friday, October 31, 2014

Who am I? 24601!

Yep, I'm Jean Valjean for Halloween, and I have to admit, it's an apt costume.

Just a week ago Friday I was on the lam—and if you're wondering where this expression came from, you're in good company. Check this New York Times Magazine piece on the origin—but don't say I sent you.

Here's how it happened. Lately, I just hate to be left behind. Mom and Dad were planning an outing. I knew all the signs:  Dad put on real shoes; Mom brushed her teeth.

I pulled my first trick: asking to go outside when I really didn't need to. I ran around, willy-nilly (there's another origin for you to guess; goes way back to 1608), easily eluding capture.

I was just warming up.

Dad managed to shoo me inside; I'm not sure how. Then it was time to move to Step 2 of my Evil Plan: push past Dad, evoking past Boston College great running back Andre Williams, and get into the garage. I dropped my shoulder and shoved.

Dad gave up on the garage, where I knew Mom was waiting in the getaway car. Except that no one was getting away without me.

So when Dad tried to get out the front door, I did a replay: dropped my shoulder, pushed past, and—out to freedom.

I jumped off my neighbor's garden wall to the ground—an eight-foot drop, but I'm a pro at that.  I've always wanted to explore the steep hillside that runs down to Shore Road. Usually I'm in too much of a hurry, but with my parents hobbled by darkness, I had all the time in the world.

After I nosed around, I went over to the mulch business, then checked out the horse store on Rte. 9. Closed. Drat. So I hightailed it down Rte. 9 (staying on the sidewalk). I wasn't really paying attention to anything but the warm breeze and good scents.

When I looked up after stopping to sniff something really good, a dragnet of Mom in one car, Dad in another and some guys in their truck surrounded me. Before I knew it, I was in shackles.
Like any good prisoner, I'm always looking for an out.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Kennebunkport, Nicky Hilton style

Meet Seamus. Hangs out in Portsmouth NH
except when he visits his Kennebunkport
grandma on the weekends. 
Well, I wasn't in Kennebunkport when a bunch of Nicky Hilton's bodyguards stopped in at the Tides Beach Club a couple of weeks ago, so I can't really tell you what happened. She was there celebrating her 30th birthday; Mom and Dad went for some sun and sand.

Despite leaving me behind, and feeling horribly depressed about it, Mom and Dad reported having a fab weekend lounging on the Tides porch and walking on the beach. That's probably because they met that cute guy above, Seamus from Portsmouth, N.H. Not the Mitt Romney Seamus of NH, he of the dog-crate-atop-car style of travel. Not that it was the dog's fault.

This Seamus was incredibly well-behaved, compared to me, and suitably beloved, but he showed his true hound-ness when did a little gardening at the Tides. That afternoon, the gardeners had done a bunch of pruning. Not enough for Seamus. He took whole bites of butterfly bush and chomped them to pieces. Then, he serenaded the sun and sea worshipers with some soulful notes. Now, that's my kind of guy.

Meanwhile,  over at Southboro Kennels, I was wooing a sweet little Catahoula leopard dog puppy. Really, she was too young for me, so I took on a more paternal role, becoming completely necessary as a puppy-sitter. I was so successful that when Mom came to pick me up, she was asked, "You're not taking Tucker from us, are you?"

I tried to stay, jumping in and out of the way-back several times, until those creative Southboro Kennels people figured out a way to keep me in. Not that they didn't want me to stay.

Believe me, I usually get a different reaction after a kennel stay. Like "we'll take your parents' money, but please don't come back" kind of thing. I know when I'm not wanted.

Anyway, I don't know what Nicky Hilton received for her birthday, but if it wasn't a hound, she sure is missing out.