Gad Zooks, Great Ukes!

My brother found the Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain. In their repertoire you'll find Smells like Teen Spirit, Life on Mars, the Good Bad & The Ugly, and this my favorite.

Weeping lasts for a night; Dogs come in the morning

Larry and I let the idea of a dog go for the time being. I was emotionally exhausted. But Champion Corgi Lady kept looking. She knows where to look, since it's her goal in life to rescue these guys. She found a couple of ads for corgis online and sent me links: a stud dog that's 'no longer needed for our breeding program' (that makes me sad. Why not neuter him and just keep him as a pet, since he's yours?), a seven month old pup that hadn't been sold yet.

But by the time I followed the links, they'd been scooped up. However, one ad had a link to a breeder info website. The link in question, all the pups were sold, but there was another ad for And there was one link for four-week old corgi pups!

I emailed, called, did everything to get a hold of the breeder. And waited.

Larry drove home past the bike shop. He's been resisting buying a new bike for the past year ... the cost, blah blah. But his bike is 15 years old, and he hasn't been out riding it for at least a year. The doggy disappointment sent him over the edge, so this time when we stopped he was ready to buy one. (This is what you do when you hit a midlife crisis, and you're too old to have kids and too poor to buy a sportscar: you get dogs and bikes.) Not that I'd want him to get the red sportscar. I like Larry as he is. A guy who buys bikes, not cars.

We got home and there was an email from the breeder. Yes, she had four tricolor males left, and sent pictures. "That's it," Larry said, "Tell her we want one, and send a check." Yea. Finally!

But then Corgi Lady contacted me about a 1 1/2 year old "free to a good home" corgi. My heart sank. I've wanted to save a rescue before buying a puppy, and this guy looked really sweet. I guess it's me and my bleeding heart, the person who'd rather eat fast food or go hungry than spend money on trendy gastrobars; who'd rather be married to a guy who buys a bike than a Corvette. Who'd rather save the outcast than jockey for the popular pick. But I have my cat. It's going to be Larry's dog first. And Larry's wants the puppy.

Corgi Lady's going to get the "free to a good home," and I know she'll find him one. (anyone want a really sweet 1 1/2 year old dog, let me know and I will hook you up with Awesome Corgi Lady.) And we're going to get this guy. We're paying a breeder fee, but she's half the price of the other breeders we contacted; and not anywhere near as emotionally expensive as losing a dog in a raffle.

So this is our guy. We'll get to take him home on July 11.


















The breeder said that once we choose a name, to let her know; she'll start calling him that, so he'll know his name when we get him. He's a Welsh Corgi. Got any ideas for a good Welsh boy name? Besides Aberystwyth?

Take a Dog Breather

It was two days since we lost the corgi raffle. Larry and I settled into our sadness, as well as the greater awareness that God is good even if he doesn't get involved with day to day disappointments. Well at least not those involving dogs. The longing and disappointment didn't belong to the dog; those are my emotions, not the dog's. He'll be happy wherever he goes, as long as the new owner is a good dog person I hope the owner's wife isn't the lady with stilettos. And if she is, well, maybe the chubby Chinese guy really needs that dog for solace. Who knows.

The Corgi Lady has been awesome. She started trolling the web immediately, looking for corgis for sale or adoption and sending me links. Talk about a kind, forgiving person.

I stopped by the Pasadena Humane Society, knowing it was too soon to look again; knowing that no dog would be good enough unless it looked like the corgi we lost. And then I saw this.





















Yep. Time to give it a rest.

A Dog By Raffle

It would come down to a raffle ticket. Anyone who was interested in the corgi in Kennel 7 at the Pomona shelter had to come in between 8 and 9:45am and turn in their application. You couldn't turn it in ahead of time, had to be this morning, between 8 and 9:45am. At 9:45 they would close applications. And if there were more than one applicant, they would hold a raffle. You had to be present for the raffle at 10:02 am. In Pomona.

I hadn't heard from my agents in two months. And whaddya know, but I got an audition for 10:30am. In Santa Monica. 60 miles away from Kennel 7 in Pomona. Now, often commercial castings will have a category open for an hour or two. But my agent's assistant was brand new, trying to figure everything out and do it punctiliously, so when I asked her for the casting window, it was as if I'd launched a virus in her brain. Poor gal, I could see her sitting at that busy desk in that manic office. I said yes and hung up.

Larry had back to back meetings, so he couldn't go to the shelter. Larry's heart sank. "I had a feeling just as I came home, that something was going to keep us from getting him."

"Don't think like that. I'm not giving up. I'm going there. I'll find a way."

I loaded the dog crate in the back of the car; the one I drove 30 miles to buy off a guy in Encino. And the dog collar and leash I got Larry for Valentine's Day. I kept my mind on the what ifs. What if I got the dog but because I had to go to Santa Monica they'd give it so someone else? What if someone else got the dog? I put those thoughts out of my head.

It's just a dog, right? It feels silly. We have friends who can't get pregnant, friends who've had miscarriages -- one who miscarried in her seventh month. And our friends who are trying to adopt overseas. They are really going through the ringer. This is nothing comparatively. But this is what happens when you get too old to have kids or raise kids. You get pets. And well, Larry needs a buddy. I'm going to be traveling a good deal this fall, and I don't like the thought of Larry alone and lonely. Larry's such a soft-hearted guy; he cries whenever we go to the pound. It's one of the reason I love him. True, I wish he looked good in more daring footwear like Doug can pull off. But overall Larry's got everything right. Including that soft heart.

So I was glad it was I who was driving down there to face the nerve-wracking drama in Kennel 7. I'd first seen the Corgi on Craigslist. "Is This your dog?" the post asked, hoping to reach the owner. "I couldn't keep it; I took it to the Pomona shelter." I went last Friday hoping to find him, but he wasn't there. I'd hoped his true owner found him.

But the following day we were at Corgi Fun day, and passed the shelter on the way back. "let's stop just in case." And there in Kennel 7, was Craigslist Corgi. He was adorable, sweet, alert, interested. He wasn't available unitl the following Friday. We wanted him. But so did an Asian couple at the shelter. I'd just witnessed two young Asian women with massive boob jobs at Corgi fun day. They'd parked their luxury SUV in the fire lane and left it there so they could go off and show off their uh, corgis. Now this Asian couple was drooling over our boy. The woman, in stiletto heels barked at her husband: "you are coming back for him on Friday!" I wasn't having a good experience with Asians that day.

Friday came today, and I hoped I wouldn't see her. I arrived at 8:15 and turned in my application. I was the first person there. The lady behind the desk smiled." Oh he's a really sweet dog!"

"Yeah," I laughed, "We've kind of been pining for him." She took the application and left the front desk area. Maybe she held the raffle. Maybe she made the decisions about who was raffle-worthy? Maybe she saw the longing in my face.

I sat in the parking lot for 90 minutes. Finally the dashboard read 9:44. I went back. "Yes, there's going to be a raffle for him," she said. There were other applications for him.

I looked at the people milling in the breezeway: an old white guy with a trucker hat. An elderly white lady; an Hispanic woman and her nervous daughter. A couple in their thirties. A group of four Asian 20-somethings, a Chinese guy with a pot belly. I say "Chinese because he looked like a Chinese friend of mine. I hoped he wasn't the guy whose high-heeled wife barked at him to "go get him on Friday."

My heart was racing. This was silly! I thought of Jack Nicholson in "As Good As It Gets," crying over Verdel and then scoffing, "Over a dog!" at his own tears.

"Everyone inside for Kennel 7," a lady said flatly. We marched in. She made sure we were all present: no absentee applicants. Then she pulled out four raffle tickets -- four of those yellow paper tickets you see at a carnival. Oh my, they really did mean it. It was a raffle, with random raffle odds. No factoring in the fact I saw him on craigslist a week ago or had come to see him twice since then. No it was all a raffle crap shoot. The woman tore off four tickets, kept her corresponding tickets and threw the other four into a tin lid.

Go ahead, she said, "pick one." We stood there for a moment. I was closest to the lid. I reached and took the one on top. Oh god I should have fished around. I should have fished for another one!" This was so random and lame.

We all got our tickets. The lady shook the tin and picked a ticket.
She read out the number.
It was not our number.

The Corgi went to the pot bellied Chinese guy, who may/may not have a wife at home with stiletto heels.

"You're welcome to go look at all the other dogs we have available," the lady said.

I got into the car and cried. And how ridiculous, that I'd bothered to pray about it; an act that would make Richard Dawkins sneer. And maybe I should sneer at my own stupidity. God is the creator of the universe, he doesn't get involved. He has more important things to deal with, like world peace and Darfur and clean water in Africa. And so my little middle class white girl's disappointment is meaningless to him.

But then I wonder, you know, why "take it to the Lord in prayer?" Why bring your heart to Someone who doesn't give a flying wallenda, or is just too powerful, and important to give a flying wallenda. He still doesn't give a flying wallenda. So why why bother? And then was Larry to call -- Larry with his soft heart and inevitable tears, waiting to hear about a forever friend who was not coming home. Yes I know God is good, all the time. I know I'll get over it. I know that all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well." No shizzle, Spinozza. It won't come soon enough.

I drove 60 miles to Santa Monica with an empty kennel in my car and a lump in my throat.

Loose Blogs Sink Dogs

This was a week of mounting frustration. Our search for a dog had gone on for six months, and culminated in losing a Dachshund we were foolhardy enough to name before we had him. On top of that, and maybe because it, I’ve had writer’s block. I’ve got a 90 minute solo show script that’s overdue. And I can’t write.

I fessed up to Larry and some friends about the writers block, but the confession didn't break my writer's block. Thursday night came along. I got an email from a friend who needed to vent. I vented back, and we laughed about it. I published that vent in my blog.

When you’ve got writer’s block it helps to write to somebody. You have a person in your mind when you write. You know what they like to hear, what entertains them; you're more likely to write with details and specifics, because you know what makes that person tick.

My friend has had her own pet adoption nightmare. She found a cat at a local shelter, but they interrogated her with questions like, “Will you have teenagers visiting the house? Visiting teenagers would be too disruptive for the cat.”

My friend is from the South. She knows how to be polite. So she replied in her kind Southern lilt, “Shame on you, ma’am. This cat is in danger of being euthanized. I love this cat and want to give it a home. And you are worried about teenagers visiting my house? Shame, shame on you.” She got the cat.

So when I wrote her back about my pet search frustration, I regaled her with the details she’d appreciate. As a comedienne, I look for the absurd. I exaggerate. I use details; like saying our friend Doug’s shoes looked like Aladdin and Buffalo Bill had a brawl; or calling the corgi rescue lady, the “Crazy Corgi Lady.” I was just venting out of my id. It felt good. I got through my writer's block. I even posted my email to her as a blog.

Don't ever publish a blog when it's a vent from frustrated id. Because people read blogs.

The next day I thought, “That was not a cool thing to say about Doug’s shoes.” SO I added some important details: like the fact the shoes looked good on Doug. (Doug can get away with extreme footwear because he’s a jazz musician). Or clarifying Corgi lady. We met her the next day at Corgi Fun Day. Turned out she was really Nice Corgi Lady .. and Smart Corgi Lady. she knows important things, like the fact the breed is protective of its food So no, you really DON’T want small kids playing “Tease The Corgi With His Dinner.” SO I added more about her, and wrote more about our search for the dog.

I felt better. Only ..

Well, corgi ladies read blogs too. And she found mine. Needless to say, she was not happy with what I wrote. And she was not interested in letting Bitchy Blog Bitch adopt one of her corgis. Would you, if Blog Bitch just called you crazy?

I was mortified. I wrote her back and apologized. I explained as a comedienne I exaggerate things for comic effect, it came out of my id and all that. But you know, it wasn’t cool anyway. It wasn’t cool at all. She was still not comfortable in having us see her dogs. And I hardly blame her.

When I told Larry his eyes welled up with tears. He knew I was just being a comedian. He had to delete his entire blog, because employers read something in it and took it the wrong way. So he didn’t fault me.

But I did. And not just for losing out on a dog or seeing Larry so sad. But because I hurt a really nice lady. Really, for the sake of a funny blog piece? It was so not worth it.

Corgi Lady was crazy enough to forgive me. She noticed on my blog I’d said Larry had his heart set on a tricolor male corgi. She saw one at a shelter in the central Valley and sent me a link. I called and the dog already had two people fighting for it.

We saw another tricolor male corgi at a shelter about 25 miles away. It goes up for adoption tomorrow at 10am. And wouldn’t you know, my agent calls me with an audition: in Santa Monica at 10:30. An hour away. I’m going to the shelter anyway. I’m getting that dog. I’m doing it for Larry. And for the corgi lady.

Sometimes getting over writer's block just isn't worth it.

Dogs Part Two

Today Larry and I continued our search for a Forever Friend. We went to Corgi Fun Day, an event at an RV park in Corona. I'd been to this park in junior high with my girl scout troop. I spent the whole weekend trying to avoid getting bullied by the school bully. Which is like trying to avoid dogs in a dog park. But we were there to meet dogs. And just inside the entrance we saw them: dozens and dozens of corgis. The funnest, happiest dogs you could ever imagine.

Crazy Corgi Lady would be there with two of the dogs she had available for adoption. Crazy Corgi Lady turned out to be Very Nice Corgi Lady who just happens to love corgis. Face to face she was less stringent about children. She explained it was best to introduce children slowly, and don't let them around dogs' food or toys, because corgis can be territorial. We felt much better about her, and she about us. The dog we went to meet was a sweet, sable (red) corgi. Larry had his heart set on the tricolor (black white and red), but that one had been adopted already. Ah, that sucks! When your first-choice dog is sitting right there. Aggghhhh.

Well, we played with Second Choice a while. He was good on a leash, house broken, sweet, and distracted. His original name was "Karuko," which means "roll over" in Japanese. The Japanese family who'd owned him named him after a command, then abandoned him in teh back yard. The neighbors called to report a dead dog in the back, because it smelled so bad. "Roll Over" was alive barely, but he'd been eating rocks he was so hungry. Anyway, Crazy Like A Fox Corgi lady rescued him. Larry thought he bonded with me better than him. But he'd been rescued by a lady, and abandoned by Japanesese. Larry's got those almond eyes and everything.

On the way home we drove right past the Pomona shelter we had visited yesterday -- the one we'd gone looking for the Craigs List Corgi, but who wasn't there. I wanted to stop back in to see the two muts we'd visited yesterday. They were still there. But we knew that. They will come available Tuesday morning, when we are driving home from Las Vegas. Someone's goign ot get them, we are sure of it. How could they not? A young sweet Asian couple were eyeing another dog in the same pen, but they also notice our little Redhead Mutt. They loooked apologetic to even notice her. I thought to myself, they seem nice. If they get her on Tuesday, I know she'll have a good home.

Larry came around the corner, smiling: look here! There in a new pen was the Craigslist Corgi! He was here after all! He was cute, alert, friendly. He got very excited when another dog got put in the pen with him. But then an Asian couple came up. A Dragon Lady in high heels, squawking to her man about it being a purebred and how they were coming back on Friday to GET HIM." I growled to myself, over my dead body, you will probalby feed it rocks.

"They're going to come Friday and get him," Larry said.
"Not if we get him first."
But what about Karuko?
What about Redhead Mutt?
What about Black and White Mutt?
We can't get all four, Larry. What does your heart say.

Larry sighed. He thought about Crazy Corgi Lady's red sable, the one who'd been eating rocks. The one who bonded more to me. "He's definitely ours if we want him."
"But which one does your heart want?" I asked.
"I don't want to lose them all."

I lifted my hands in abdication. "It's your dog, Larry. You make the decision."

Of course it's going to be both of our dog, the same way Honey is both of our cat. But Honey was mine first. Larry needs his best buddy to make it even. Oh well. This is what you get when you get married late. You don't get kids. You get dogs.

Our friends Ted and Lori adopted a son from Etheopia. They are part of an amazing network and community of adoptive parents, many who blog. I am beginning to understand on a pathetically small scale, what they have all gone through. Only, they will have picnics and parties and reunions and schools to share. They'll ahve conversatiosn with their children, they'll have huge families that will keep growing. We'll just have the annual Corgi Fun Day.

Where's My Forever Friend?

Where have you gone, Corgi Boy, Corgi Boy,
And where have you gone, Darling Corgi?

Larry and I started talking about a dog. As early as December we started entertaining the idea. We knew our house owners were going to rent out the whole house and we couldn't afford it outright. Besides, we wanted a fenced yard. "To get a dog you know."

This is what happens when you get married too late to bear children and you're too old to raise adopted children. You get a dog. You get a forever friend. Larry really wanted a Welsh Corgi. I wanted a fox terrier. But I have a cat; and a dog is Man's Best Friend. Larry needed his own buddy. So we stared looking. Corgis are pretty adorable.


Over Christmas I saw a dog on petfinder named Amos. They even had a video up. He was at a shelter in Bakersfield. He looked so sweet in the video, with his little short corgi legs, running around playing with his shelter buddy. I emailed and the shelter staff said he got along OK with cats. "Oh yes," the guy wrote back. "And anyway, he's too small to threaten them."

I showed my brother in law the video of Amos on YouTube. "He looks really sweet!" Phill said. But it was December. And we still lived in a big house with no fenced yard. We'd have to ask our house mates.

Our house mates were down in January. We asked them about a dog. They said sure. Of course it would be a challenge without the fence. But we'd be looking for a place.

I emailed the shelter. Amos was still available! I asked all sorts of questions, I told them we'd be up on Saturday to see him. That very week, Wednesday, I was filming a commercial half way to Bakersfield. I told the old man on the shoot about Amos. "You should drive up and get himn today!" he said. But we didn't finish until 7:30pm. I called the shelter the next day to fidn out if I needed to bring a crate in the car.

Amos wasn't there. Amos got adopted the day before. But what about my calls my emails! We were coming to see Amos! "The dog went to the first person who was there and willing to take it home."

We tried not to look at Petfinder until we moved. We moved in March. We started looking, especially for corgis. There were a couple of rescue organizations that grabbed the corgis and resold them for $300 or more. That was annoying. I'm glad they love corgis and want to save them from euthanasia. But man, it made it really hard to get one.

We contacted a couple breeders. Purebred Welsh Corgis were going for $1,000 each. Larry decided if he was going to pay a thousand bucks, he wanted a tricolor male. The breeder only had red females. Another breeder contacted us. One of her dogs just gave birth! We got excited. Then she emailed back. She spoke too soon; they were all spoken for.

We expanded our list of dogs. Smallish dogs with the right temperament. We went looking at shelters. I ran into an old friend from high school! She was there with her husband; they found a dog for their two sons. My friend was smart. She had a great career, got married at the right time, had two sons, who are now old enough to have a dog. Some of my friends did their lives right. They left with their dog, and I went looking. I saw lots and lots of pit bulls; pit bulls and chihuahuas. I know people say pit bulls can be sweet. But last month a friend's daughter's boyfriend was visiting the house with his pit bull. Our friend's little Maltese ran out into the front yard. The pit bull attacked it, killed it right there in front of everyone. The boyfriend took the pit bull to the shelter. I would have taken the dog to the Mafia. And the boyfriend. Pit bulls shouldn't exist.

Then one Friday afternoon I saw another corgi on craigslist. I called the shelter, he was out in Lancaster. I got the voice mail run around. By the time I got to the right menu, it told me the shelter closed at 4pm. I went back to craigslist and found the shelter had a blog. There was the corgi! He looked so friendly; and he was part border collie. My sister has a border collie. They're terrific. I contacted the blogger. She said that if the dog was still online it was still available, but best to get to the shelter first thing.

We woke up at 8am and drove out to Lancaster. We got there at 10am. The place was packed. We got our number and went out to the kennel. There he was. He was the friendliest guy! He looked like a corgi but with longer hair. He looked just like my sister's collie, only with those short stubby legs.

Larry beamed from ear to ear. "That's my dog!"

A young Latino family with a crying daughter were trying to get their pit bull out of jail. This was the dog's fourth impound, and he was full of cuts this time. The dog wasn't neutered. The staff explained that they would not give them their dog back until they got their fence secured. Also, their dog would not leave the pound with its nuts. Because if the pit bull came back to the shelter again, it would not leave except in a doggie Urn. The dad didn't understand why the dog couldn't keep his nuts.

Because your dog has gotten out four times. He was found running in the street. Your dog was in a fight. Your dog is a pit bull.

The wife, dolled up in her makeup and stilettos at 10am on a Saturday, peeped up that the dog was purebred and they might breed it.
"Do you have the AKC papers?" The staff asked.
"The what?" She muttered.
"AKC papers?"
"Um. No."
Then you go home and fix your fence. We inspect it. If your fence is secured, you can come back and get your dog. Without its nuts.

Forty five minutes later, they called our number. We asked about the sweet friendly corgi in Kennel 12.
"Oh, he's been adopted."
"When?!"
Yesterday afternoon. They're picking him up tomorrow."
But why is he still on the site?
"Dunno."

Larry and I drove out to see the poppies. It didn't make us feel much better.

















I saw another adorable corgi pup at a shelter in Orange. I called. They said a rescue organization in SEATTLE had adopted it they day before. they were going to fly the dog to Seattle at the end of the month.

"But why, so someone will MAYBE adopt him? I'm here. I'm a real person who wants to adopt him!"
"Sorry. It's already been decided. The dog is going to Seattle."
"But," I continued, "Can you tell me the name of the rescue organization, so I can call them? I'd adopt him from them."
"Sorry. We can't tell you who they are."
I wanted to scream. "DO YOU EVEN WANT THIS DOG TO HAVE A FOREVER FRIEND? OR DO YOU JUST WANT YOUR PAYCHECK, YOU WASTE OF THE STAGE BUDGET!"

I called back a few minutes later. I asked if the lady would give MY phone number to the organization in Seattle. She said OK. I knew she was lying.

We found a few corgis on Petfinder. All of the Purebred Welsh Corgis had een rescued by a Crazy Corgi Lady. Her website has a huge disclaimer. "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT WASTING MY TIME OR YOURS IF YOU ..." followed by a list of things you can never do with a corgi. Like, let them around children. Or have visiting children over to the house. I wonder how corgis have survived all these eons of history, before recorded time, up to the present, without being around children. It's amazing how they've done that.

But there on her page was a Tricolor male! I contacted her. "TRAFALGAR" she informed me, already had an approved candidate for an owner, but she suggested we look at one of her other dogs, BROADMOOR. She'd renamed them. I'm half Welsh. If she wanted to give them Welsh names, she should rename them Hugh or Gryffydd or Cmrthddyyd or Llanannddaillo.

I filled out an application, said we were very interested in meeting Trafalgar and Sir Francis Drake or whoever she was calling them. Especially the tricolor, if the other candidate didn't work out. I had answered truthfully on my application that there was a child in the neighborhood. but I said I would never let it touch our dog. Ever. I didn't dare tell her I had a niece and nephew in high school. She wouldn't understand that they are intelligent, home schooled children. Maybe I could tell her that they're Amish and Amish don't allow pets.

Last Sunday Larry and I went to the Pasadena Humane Society. Not that we expected to see a Welsh Corgi, but you never know.

Well there was an adorable corgi-lab mix. But she already had a full waiting list. Then we saw a beagle puppy and a golden retriever puppy, and everyone's all over those dog. There in a corner, we see a dark red dachshund. Larry bends down. The sign says he's 8 years old. He's shy old guy, but his tail wags when Larry bends down to pet him. He comes up to the grate. He doesn't bark, he just puts his feet up to meet our faces. He's got two cuts and some stitches on him. He leans into Larry's hand and snuggles. Larry starts to cry. Then I do. We want this little guy. So much for corgis. It's the dog, not the breed. And we've fallen for this sweet boy. Given he's German , I playfully call him Dieter. Then I call him Deeter Doo," and it sticks. We are in love.

We go get in line. They tell us that A251184 is on WAIT status by the doctor, because he has stitches. The doctor wants to make sure he's healed before he's adoptable. To get on his wait list we first have to have an interview with one of their counselors. They give us a buzzer, put us on the waiting list. We are fourth in line to speak to a counselor. The place is busy.

We go back to visit with "Deeter Doo." He wags his tail when we return and snuggles into Larry's hand again.H e's the cutest, mellowest little guy. And my cat Honey could kick his ass.

Time ticks on. It is now 1pm. We are supposed to met our friend Doug for lunch at 1:15, and then go see a movie. We could skip lunch, I tell Larry. Larry doesn't like crapping out on friends. But we will have to choose between lunch or the counselor. Well, we rationalize, the lady at the front did say that Dieter, aka A251184 was "on hold,' until he healed. And everyone was drooling over the beagle and the lab corgi mix and the golden. We decide to give up our place in line and go have lunch with our friends. Because you keep your promises to friends. And who's going to adopt an 8 year old dachshund with stitches?

Doug is there at the Paseo. He is wearing stylish boots with long square toes, a shiny shirt with food dribbled down the front. You can't hide food dribbles on a shiny shirt. Except if you are a groovy jazz musician like Doug. He wants to go to the Yard House, a swanky sports bar. Actually everyone does. The Yard House serves $15 burgers and $14 for a tuna tartar appetizer that looks like Hiroshima after the atom bomb. It makes me sick to spend that much money when people are starving. It's so useless. I encourage us to pick La Salsa or Panda, something that is going to take less time. Because I am not going to get to a movie on its opening weekend, 5 minutes before it starts, and get stuck in the front row far side where the screen looks like a trapezoid in a fun house.

But everyone else wants to go to the Yard House. Well, I am not going to be an ENFJ today. I'm going to be a P. I go with the flow. Because that's how I roll. But 40 minutes later our friends are still talking about how horrible it is to be single. And I would have to agree, because when I was single i too lived for Sunday afternoon lunches with friends; except not at yuppie bar restaurants. Our food arrives and I have five minutes to eat my Tuna Hiroshima, easy to do when it's 1 oz, excuse myself and go save seats at the theater.

The movie sells out. UP is terrific. Larry cries at all the right places. Because he's that kind of guy. He cries when he meets Deeter Doo. He cries in movies. I love him. I am so glad I married Larry and am not one of those singletons eating Tuna Hiroshima at the Yard House. Afterward Doug wants Larry to go look at the shoe sale at DSW. It's where Doug got his new boots. But the same boots on Larry look like Aladdin and Pinnochhio had a brawl. It's best Larry keeps with his Converses.

We go back to the Pasadena Humane society the very next business day. First thing. I run out to the kennels, Larry gets in line. There is Deeter Doo! He wags tail wags when he sees me and cuddles into my cupped hand through the grate. Then, the counselor is ready to see us.

Dieter's wait list is full.
He's got a WAIT list, and it's FULL -- they won't add any more names.
THREE PEOPLE waited in that line on Sunday and got on his wait list. Three people who didn't go off to lunch at the Yard House. Of course there's a chance those three other parties will say no. But they won't put a fourth name on the Wait list. We'll have to call back tomorrow and find out.

Larry does better than that. He shows UP at the door, ready to do whatever it takes.

But Dieter is not there. Dieter got adopted. Dieter went home to live with his forever family. And it's not us. We both cried.

We called the Crazy Corgi lady and told her what she wants to hear. I told her I would shoot on sight any child within 50 yards of my house. Then I saw another corgi online today. A stray that got sent to the Pomona Shelter.

We drove out to Pomona to see him. But he wasn't there. We trust that his forever family came and rescued him, and that he already had his nads out so he could leave immediate. But while we were there, we saw two other sweet dogs. Larry loved the red one. I loved the black and white one. We thought we could take either home. Or both.

They won't be available until Tuesday. We'd need to be at the Pomona shelter, first thing Tuesday morning.

We will be in Las Vegas until Tuesday morning. What are the chances they'll still be around when we get back?

And anyway. I'm still grieving Deeter Doo.


Never fall in love with a dog that's not yours.
Never give a dog a name, until it's yours.
Otherwise he'll break your heart.