Happy Howl-oween!

Exhausted from answering the door to
legions of trick-or-treaters, I merely wish
you a very Happy Howl-oween.

Hurricane safety: The cupboard under the basement stairs

You're welcome to join me
in my man-cave alternative.

While my Jersey shore relatives hunker down in an attempt to escape wind and water, I've taken up a listening post in as quiet a location I can find: the cupboard under the stairs. (Notice the antenna position of my pennant-like ears, hinged for maximal input to the cochlear area.)

Unlike Harry Potter, I was not forced, Dursley-style, into this confined spot. Mom fixed it up for me when she found me cowering under an ancient telescope. I had evacuated myself from the old family room sofa in the basement and just stood there, shivering. I mean, there is no way you could see the stars, even if it were night and the telescope were not in the basement.

I plan to wait out the storm here. If you need shelter, give me a woof and I'll make some room.

Spooky Cookies: best Halloween treats around!

I did my best beast imitation, sans costume, last week at Petco Unleashed on Linden Street—not only did I sample the free cookies at the counter, I demolished practically the entire contents of the bowl.

How long does she really expect me to sit  here?

I tried them, I liked them. I loved them. So when it came down to which cookies to choose at the bountiful treat bar, I went right for the bats, pumpkins and ghosts  (inside: a delectable peanut-molasses combo, plus some food coloring to make the pumpkins orange and the bats purple).  I'm so crazy about these things, I'm even coming when called. As long as there's a treat when I get there.

Way past time to take matters into my own jaws.

That is, if there are any left.

Going way Boloco in Wellesley

One valuable nose.

Summer's lease hath too short a date, that's for sure. I dropped two neck sizes, all the while exercising both my body and my nose as I went after perfectly edible food considered unworthy by humans. So, sometimes I made mistakes: remember the rabbit head I snagged at Wellesley College?

This week, in that very same spot, I grabbed an old hamburger bun, with a bonus—part of a burger. Earlier, I had hightailed it to just-opened Boloco, where I broke a woman's reverie by diving underneath her table. Embarrassed Mom dragged me out of there, but I was not to be denied: I made a second pass after the diner had left and grabbed some carnitas that were, wastefully, lying just at that woman's feet.

While I may have a thinner neck from all of that nosework, my friend Rebecca at Wellesley Books thinks I have plumped up at the other end. Like the ant in the Aesop fable (remember the ant and the grasshopper?) I'm saving up for winter's bleakness. Fewer after dinner walks, fewer chicken wings tossed out of car windows. Yet if you drop it, I'll find it. Just doing my part to keep things clean. And, thanks, Wellesley selectmen, for allowing those outdoor tables. You just might help a poor animal make it through the winter.