Tess here:
Yes. Old "Wannabe Hemingway" is asleep at the switch as far as I'm concerned so I've taken this thing over. A "Blog" he calls it. I prefer to think of this as writing a letter and hoping someone reads it. Wannabe, on the other hand had this notion (what the heck is a notion? Some kind of makeup or body oil treatment?) yes, OK, a notion that he was going to use this stuff as a way to improve his writing skills. NOT! This is letter writing and take it from me, Tess, a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. Hey! Why would he have used my near famous hunting picture as a cameo for this blog if I wasn't supposed to write it? Yes, you get it. Well Ol' Wannabe is over there in that rented recliner he won't let me sit in, reading some garble about "How to Write a Play" or some such nonsense. He must think that being a writer in your head is good enough. Not me. I want to figure out how to get this to my comrades, other hunting dogs, so we can commiserate on the reason apes did all that genetic research way back when to come up with this hybrid humans are so proud of "evolving" into. That is hilarious. Even after humans began thinking that they were creating their own perfect companion, dogs, we dogs were doing our own selective breeding to insure that there were enough kinds of us dogs to take over the psyches of every kind of human on the planet. Well, if I'm reaching my fellow dogs here you all know we have done it. We have now taken over human behavior by making them serve our every need and, while allowing them free time to create new technology to save their butts from their own stupidity, we dogs are having a hell of a good time.
Let me catch you up on what's going on at my place here in Hamilton. Sure, Wannabe, thinks it's his place, but let me set the record straight. Take a look at that "blog" heading picture inside Wannabe's profile that I conceded to for this blog. That is a shot of Blodgett Canon (see where the second word of this blog's title comes from?) just about 10 minutes drive from the house I made Wannabe rent for me on Main Street in downtown Hamilton. We had a great shot of me in the foreground of Blodgett Canyon, but Nooooo1..., Wannabe wanted this boring shot of the canyon posted instead. He'll come around. Further evidence is in the main profile picture of me he used due to his camera shyness. Now that is a nose profile worth posting.
Yes, we live on Main Street. Not sure if Wannabe thought that would give him a leg up (what do you guys do with only two legs, anyway?) on writing this play he has in his head to write. I want to tell him it's already been used as a title to a play, but I'll let him read until he realizes we could have lived on any street in Hamilton. Good grief, if I may steal a dog gasp from Charlie Brown's Cartoon, what makes him think about such things when in a wee 10 minute drive he could be sending me off on a "hunt" command into the wilds of Blodgett Canyon. So it goes with the perpetually busy minds of humans. If they lived through their noses they wouldn't be "thinking" all the time, they would out "sniffing" like us dogs (who, or is it whom?, bye the bye convinced apes to do the genetics for Homo sapiens latrinus).
Now, I'm hearing the gameplan today is driving to Missoula to get the Subaru lubed. What does that mean, "lubed". I don't even like the sounds of that. Sounds a little like camo-talk to get me to the Vet, but we'll see. Zach is back from California Security Guard Extraordinaire work and I'm anxious to see him and hear some tails. (Speaking of "tails").
There are other agenda items too. I suspect Ol' Wannabe is "thinking" about writing a blog post today. Forget it. He'll never get around to it. If thinking were a battleship his brain would fill up Montana with rusted out hulks of battleships in about eight minutes. Geezuz, mankind, it's enough to make a nose like mine want to plug itself with that Kleenex from that waste paper basket across the room and play dead to get attention. I think he's planning to go to lunch today at the "Filling Station Grille" here in Hamilton before we head out to Missoula. Wannabee thinks they have great soup. I think he likes the waitresses. Who wouldn't. They bring on the food right? You got it. Waitresses rule. If I could go in there, I'd break the chain of command immediately and ask the waitresses what they want in stead of always having them ask me what I want. See dog's like the Alpha role even if they know they are about to get their jugular veins ripped out of their necks.
I know Wannabee wants to have dinner or maybe lunch with Zach, but do I care? As long as he picks both dining out options I'm fine. You see, he's conditioned through guilt (another stupid human trait we gladly bred into them) to bring me a "bite" when we stop at a cafe while I freeze my butt off in the car. Just another trick us dogs pulled on H. s. latrinus to get them to feed us junk food. Again, I repeat; "noses" or "brains", which makes any survival sense to you guys? OK, I'll help just this once. Ever seen a brain find food? OK, you get my drift now don't you?
So, what kinds of stories do you want to hear from Hamilton, MT? Drop me a note and I'll conjure up something along the lines of your interests. Otherwise, you're going to be stuck with my point of view (I am a "pointer" dog you realize). As far as I'm concerned I could stick to the topic of 'huntin'' stories, but I suspect that gets a little boring for you "lap yaps" out there. So, I'll try to get some variation on that hunting theme, like barking at everything that walks by your house or car when you're stuck inside with your human sitting on the couch watching TV or reading or God help us, thinking or maybe if you're lucky waiting for your human to come back from a little lunch at the Filling Station Grille in downtown Hamilton, MT.
Woof, woof, from Montana,
Tess
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