Is May gone already? Sorry. Lots going on this month... LOTS. I'll need to lose some sleep to catch up on a few posts that I need to write.

But until then, let's look at some vakay photos shall we?

Last month, while Dingo was locked up in the Petitentiary, we went to Arizona for a week. The guys played golf four times, and the pinnacle of the trip was their round at Grayhawk Golf Club. This was the first fancy schmancy golf course Tyler's ever played... and, of course, he loved every minute of it. He and Dave thought they had died and gone to Heaven. (In fact, they REALLY hope the track up there is as nice as Grayhawk.)

I dropped them off that day, because I wanted to see the course and take some pictures of them in action. When I went to pick them up, they weren't quite ready to say goodbye. So I sat on the patio, had some dinner and watched them on the practice greens for about an hour... and it was very easy to understand why they were lingering as long as they possibly could.

Grayhawk is a gorgeous, tranquil oasis in the Arizona desert... as you will see... and the highlight of our trip.


tails from the PETitentiary

We've been back from our vacation for more than a week... but other activities (work, teenager shenanigans, laundry, more teenager shenanigans) have prevented me from getting back here to write about Dingo's stint in The Petitentiary.

There are a few sordid details I want to share at some point... but right now I only have time to post what was far and away the most comical side-effect Dingo suffered from serving time in the canine clink.

My friends, I give you:



We picked him up around 5 p.m., and he literally passed out in my arms before I shut my car door.
It was a 25-minute drive home from the kennel, 
and he was unconscious every second of those 25 minutes.

Four hours later, he hadn't moved a muscle since I placed him on
our family room ottoman with his "blankie."
I kept checking him just to make sure he was still breathing.


This was taken around 5 p.m., about 24 hours after picking him up,
and he's still a goner.

I think he got up twice in that time period. Earlier that morning he followed me from the family room to our bedroom, probably 20 feet total... but as far as he was concerned, it was from sea to shining sea. He would hobble a few steps and then stop to rest...
and the tortured look on his face said:

"Lo there, Female Human! Must you traverse this ever-so-painful distance, knowing that it is my duty to follow you even in my most fragile state? Of all that I have endured, surely this will be
the cause of my death and demise."

[Yes, Dingo's face was speaking Shakespearean,
because it made the moment more dramatic and morose...
our very own shedding Othello who licks himself.]

After that endless sojourn, 
the longest distance he could muster was getting to his pillow...
which is about four inches away from the ottoman.
 He never got up again that day.


Forty-eight hours later there were a few more signs of life...
not that you'd know it from this photo.

He gingerly wandered around the house a few times,
mostly looking dazed and confused (Dude, where's my... uh...),
but before long he would just stop wherever he was and fall asleep.

Early in the evening he managed to walk far enough to find his bed,
which is in a corner in our bedroom.
Game over. Nite nite.

It was pretty damn funny, but a little scary... I admit, by Monday I was beginning to worry if he had irreparable damage from being in such a foreign environment. But I'm very happy to report that he made vast improvements after that... which is what 72 solid hours of sleep will do for ya... and today is back to normal.

Welcome home, Dingo.