In the News...

Shadow Shack's picture
Shadow Shack
October 26, 2010 - 4:42am
I swear, this is almost worthy of my Dudeman Files...

"HYDRO, Okla. — An elderly Oklahoma man landed himself in jail after using bolt cutters to break his prized pooch from the pound.

Instead of paying a $100 fine for not having his poodle on a leash, 73-year-old Edwin Fry of Hydro decided to bust Buddy Tough out. Authorities say Fry drove his lawnmower to the city pound Oct. 13 and broke into the cage with bolt cutters. The pair were intercepted by police."

Words for the wise: if you ever feel the need to commit a crime and there's even the slimmest possibility that police may end up chasing you, make sure you get the most agile high performance escape vehicle possible.

And what better vehicle is out there than an 11-horse Briggs & Stratton powered LAWN MOWER.

Snick through the gears and you'll quickly hit the vehicle's maximum speed of NINE miles per hour! You'll never have to worry about losing control in the sweepers either, this baby corners like it's on rails. Hell, you won't even have to downshift, you can take hairpin turns at top speed without ever letting go of the throttle. What other vehicle can stake such a claim?

You will put O.J. Simpson's white Ford Bronco to shame with this beast. Five hours, what a doorknob...this baby'll do that on half a gallon of gas!

What would you pay now? But wait, there's MORE!!!

Hit the quick release lever and drop the grass catcher. The sudden weight loss will INSTANTLY catapult you to a neck-breaking, arm-stiffening, gut-wrenching, mind-boggling 9½ miles per hour!!!

Endorsed by wheelmen across the world, you'll be making Jason Statham's "Transporter" look like an ameteur in no time at all.

Don't wait, get yours today!!!

I'm not overly fond of Zeb's Guide...nor do I have any qualms stating why. Tongue out

My SF website

Georgie's picture
October 26, 2010 - 4:56am
He would have got away too, if it wasn't for Mrs. Jenkins' ill kept lawn!
The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.    * Attributed to Mahatma Gandhi

jedion357's picture
October 26, 2010 - 8:29pm
What kills me is the dog's name "Buddy Tough" and hes a fragging poodle!

Dont get me wrong the best dog we ever had was one awesome poodle that I grew up with for 13 years. Who had a personality like no other poodle that I've ever known. Who when his body was totally crapping out on him at age 14 and Dad was DTY for the Air Force and my Mom asked a neighbor if they'd take him to the vet to be put to sleep, I insisted that I go along so he wouldn't take that ride with a stranger. Since that time I've by and large found the breed to be worthless and I'd likely volunteer to drive them to the vet to be put to sleep not out of respect to the dog but to rid the earth of the little beast. (Mom tried replacing Pierre with 4 other poodles over the years but they were useless dogs). Remind me to tell you how the last one, Six Pence (yes that was his name and his name lived up to what the rest of us valued him as) committed suicide.
I might not be a dralasite, vrusk or yazirian but I do play one in Star Frontiers!

Shadow Shack's picture
Shadow Shack
October 26, 2010 - 9:57pm
There's teacup poodles, toy poodles, and whatever those big poodles are called poodles. Not to mention mutt-poodle mixes, which probably wouldn't help the breed seem any more aggressive. A name like "Buddy Tough" says the codger had a sense of humor to say the least. Kinda sucks that the dog had to be put down nonetheless.

Still, there's that looming get-away vehicle issue...

I too grew up with a (toy) poodle "Muffin" who was an awesome dog, but like you say it seems you only get one. Neither my folks nor I ever found another one that seemed the least bit appealing after that.
I'm not overly fond of Zeb's Guide...nor do I have any qualms stating why. Tongue out

My SF website

jedion357's picture
November 6, 2010 - 6:36pm
Six Pence was a miniature poodle and he was my mother's dog. He was a snot and only liked women but if both my mother and sister were out of the house the little shnit would come to my Dad, brother or myself for attention. We despised him partly for that and for being a useless waste of space.

I went away to college and fobbed my cat, Ebony, off on my parents. Ebony had little love for the dog too. He wait till the dog wandered into the bathroom and then go lay across the door and pretend to not watch the dog. The dog was too intimidated to try to leave so he'd sit and begin to whine and whimper. My mother would hear him and call his name which would provoke even more whining till she had to get up and go find him and yell at the cat. When ever this happened my brother would open a can of tuna on the pretext of making a sandwhich and slip the cat some. Other times the cat would provoke the dog by running and he'd give chase except the cat would jump into my father's easy chair and hide his face under my dad's arm. I think Dad was very fond of this game and would stroke the cat while smirking at the dog.

One Christmas I came home from college and was chilling in the den with Dad and something was gnawing at my subconscious; something was missing- then it hit me, there was no dog! "Dad, where's the dog?"

"He committed suicide."

Incredulous I asked, "How does a poddle commit suicide?"

"Your mother was sitting in the living room knitting and Six Pence walked in and lifted his leg and pee'd on the chair she was sitting in. She yelled at him and cleaned it and went back to knitting only to have him come back and do it a second time.  When I came home she said get rid of the dog."

With a smirk he said, "She didn't have to tell me twice."

As we talked more I learned that she asked him if he'd found a good home for him latter and Dad said, "He's a 10 year old neurotic poodle, who's pees against a chair while your sitting in it, who's going to take him?" and mother never said another thing about him ever again. Dad says he thinks Six Pence knew he had really "screwed the pooch" as he was driven to the vet on his last car ride ever.

Dont get me wrong we all love dogs but Six Pence was a lousy excuse for a K9
I might not be a dralasite, vrusk or yazirian but I do play one in Star Frontiers!

Shadow Shack's picture
Shadow Shack
November 7, 2010 - 4:35am domestic animal is more crafty or cunning regardless of breed. The mutt-cat is the least predictable, adapting personality traits from the various breeds of its genetic make-up as well as traits from "associates". Fascinating creatures, to say the least.

At one point I simultaneously had five cats: three were litter-mate mutts, a fourth was a siamese mix (from a purebred siamese mother cat knocked up by a stray), the fifth was a siamese/lynx mix who was later replaced by a siamese/persian mix.

The alpha-cat, "Shy Guy" (one of the littermates) was initially the runt but grew out to a healthy 16 pound beast. You couldn't ask for a friendlier cat, but he took nothing from the others. Intelligent to boot, he figured out the concept of doorknobs. That big bastard would leap up and grab the doorknob with both forepaws and twist his body, using the weight to turn the knob while simultaneously slamming against the door, and he was in. Never took more than two attempts. And as for a water source? Why bother drinking out of the communal two liter bottle dispenser-bowl that the other four slobber into when there's a nice Sparklett's refrigerated water dispenser in the kitchen? He'd stand up and pull down on the button to fill up the overflow tray, and once it was full he had nice cool fresh water to lap up. I swear if I was doing something I didn't want him to do, I'd have to do it in the other room beause he would simply study and observe everything. Once he put his mind to duplicating something, he'd do it. He was territorial, the humans could hang around him but not the other cats, else it would be a one-sided throw down. He'd simply grapple the other cat and pin him under his weight, moves he picked up from watching early Wrestlemania era events (did I mention he knew how to turn the TV on too?)

Bullseye (second of the littermates) was an obsessive kneader. He just couldn't sit still to save his life. I'd come home from work with a sore back and lie on my stomach and literally pass out while enjoying an hours-long back massage. He'd play fetch to boot, discovered purely by accident. Bud Dry (the third littermate) was the eater. He would eat anything. Salad. Tobasco sauce. Potato chips. Lemon wedges. If it fell on the floor it was his next snack. He earned the name as a kitten when he knocked my Bud Dry bottle over and immediately began lapping away at the spill. His talent was finding away between me and my wife no matter what the occasion, he'd simply end up between us. Bud & Bullseye were "the twins", both grey cats with Bullseye sporting concentric rings on his midsection as the only difference. They always paired off, steering clear of Shy Guy. Bud escaped one day and I recovered him months later, all that time in the wild and nothing changed. Figures, he wasn't a picky eater.

Mimi (siamese mutt mix) was the character, he had a massive vocabulary. I never knew what he was saying but I understood what he meant half the time, certain meows meant certain things. His specialty was hiding and ambush, he'd crawl into tight spaces and stay there for hours, only to pounce on the first victim to wander nearby. Shy Guy practically mothered him when he was a kitten, he kept the other two males from harrassing him. Nobody $#!&ed with Shy Guy, and Mimi was his best friend.

Mystique (siamese lynx mix) was simply too cool for words. She had the iciest blue eyes and was incredibly docile. Loved to be picked up, held, whatever...attention was good and she'd come to you when called. Sadly the shelter we picked her up from didn't mention the fact that she didn't get along well with other cats (something I had mentioned several times before acquisition) and her former owner was abusive, she didn't mix well with the boys. She got sick and died within a few months. Bullseye, Shy, and Bud all fell ill later on, in that order.

Luna (siamese/persian) was another character. Two different colored eyes, one blue one green and completely white fur. She was my wife's cat, pure plain and simple. Where one was, so was the other. Her talent was being nosy. If my wife was reading a book, she would hop up on my wife's shoulder and follow along. Wife turns her head to read the opposite page, Luna followed with a head turn as well. She managed to escape one day too, we never saw her again.

We picked up a pommeranian puppy when Luna was a kitten, but the cats simply avoided the overenergetic dog. Another kitten I inherited is a black and white mutt-cat named Shadow. I nearly ran over him on my motorcycle coming home from WalMart with far more merchandise than should be bungeed and secured to a bike. After stopping to make sure nothing came loose, he hopped up on the bike seat and started purring. I guess that was permission to take him home, I emptied a saddlebag and secured the WallyWorld bags elsewhere and stowed him into the warm leather saddlebag for the trip home. Named him after the bike I was riding (a Honda Shadow). Despite only associating with Luna (briefly) and Mimi (for about a year, Mimi had to be put down), Shadow somehow ended up acquiring most of the traits of all the cats I ever owned. And he gets along quite well with the dog to boot.
I'm not overly fond of Zeb's Guide...nor do I have any qualms stating why. Tongue out

My SF website