huck island

Dog Years

2011-09-11T13:46:00.000-07:00

Meat Eater was walking me this A.M. A woman stopped and said "oh what a beautiful gait your dog has!" (We love compliments).
Then she asked "How old is he?"

Me, I Barked

"Seven," Meat Eater replied.
I'm closer to eight, but hey this is L.A. everybody lies about their age.

What, Me Naked?

2011-09-08T12:02:00.000-07:00

Piano Player laughs at this. He says I don't have to worry--I'm always naked. Then again, I don't take the bus often.
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-0908-public-nudity-20110908,0,4290865.story

Pinkelponkers Etc.

2011-09-06T12:39:00.000-07:00

Looks like Vegetarian wrote about me in her garden column. She recommends Truffaut's Wild Child. Reminded of the tenderness in dogs and how far we came to be with mankind, she puts her head on my shoulder and cries. C'est la vie bipeds!
Me I looked askance.
http://patch.com/A-lGhM

How the Heck Did I Get to This!

2011-08-30T12:46:00.000-07:00

Ugggh!

Beatrice has been spayed. She has licked her hot pink stitches until her bipeds broke down and put this collar around her neck. Some who choose to see the glass as half full can imagine her as Queen Elizabeth. All she needs is a pair of heels. Those of us on all fours see it as humiliation. Beatrice looks conflicted. She has the happy pink tongue while her eyes are saying, "Why I oughta..."
B, my long-distance crush, I can only give you this advice: soon you'll forget it all and can go back to what we do. Me, I licked extra today for you.

Fuck you, Coco. Bugger off, Edge!

2011-08-20T13:39:00.000-07:00

I am licking burrs. The Vegetarian has come over to the couch to pull them from my paws. Her caffeinated rant starts with with Coco Chanel...Nazi collaborator and now, in a new book, uncovered as a Nazi spy and rabid Anti-Semite. "Fuck you, Coco," she says. "And anyone who wears Chanel on the red carpet and sings her praises is on my shitlist. That includes you Rose Byrne (pictured), Keira Knightley, Rachel Zoe, Kathy Griffin, Mila Kunis, Emma Stone, Blake Lively....." She has a long list.
She tells the PianoPlayer: "I will throw out my bottle of Chanel 19, the signature perfume of my youth."
Next up: U2's The Edge, "You have too much money. You can't hide behind the label of artist. You need TO COME BACK DOWN TO EARTH, dude. This multi-whatever compound you're building, the one that destroys the ridgeline in Malibu, is hubris. You and your groovy architects should all be slapped around by Barbra Streisand. Hope this greedy land grab along with the shitty songs in your Broadway musical costs you your reputation as a rebel."
Now Vegetarian has finished reading the newspaper, having laughed out loud at Chris Erskine's always funny Saturday Man of the House column in LA Times. http://www.latimes.com/features/home/la-hm-erskine-aug20-20110820,0,3197436.column . She plants another of those deep mulch kisses on my overturned ear.
Me I licked.

What do you mean funny, funny how? A guest column from my friend Maxy

2011-08-14T22:35:00.000-07:00

Guest Columnist Maxy

There's a new breed of "artist." They don't suffer for their art; they make you suffer for it. First up, I hear the singer with a voice as lovely as a dental tool. Owee. Your art is hurting me. The smoking guy next door plays acoustic guitar with the finesse of a fart on a gurnee. His doctor prescribes an awesome amount of bed rest. Finally we have the Wampum artist who smiles when he tells you you are hated and waves his inky hands saying, "pay up." Hey I ain't no Warren Buffett. There's a recession going on.
Speaking of which, that "hip" slacker, in a fancy little stocking cap (in the summer!), new mustache and torn jeans, deserves a slap in the face. Nothing says non-conformity like standing in line for the ATM at B of A. So hey dude, do us all a favor and cover your mouth when coughing continuously behind us. Back off germ carrier or I'll bark!

HSUS IS GOOD, AMERICAN HUMANE ASSOC. SUCKS guest columnist Maxy weighs in

2011-08-14T20:53:00.000-07:00

Maxy

I've spent alot of years on the planet. Don't doubt me. When they were going to shoot deer in the North Shore hamlet of Highland Park, IL the only group that went on record against it was The Humane Society of the United States http://www.humanesociety.org/ Not PETA, not the local anti-cruelty society.

Next. This group that calls itself the American Humane Association is a shill for Hollywood movie studios. They have trademarked "No animals were harmed in the making of this movie." Ha! They were harmed. It's just been covered up. In fact the group has gamed the system. If you google them, the first hundred or so results are all linked to them and are oh so positive. Screw 'em.

Also, when we had proof that greyhounds were being taken from racetracks and used illegally in animal experiments at a major university, guess how much help we got from PETA? Zero. They just want your money and to hang out with Paul McCartney. They're a bunch of egomaniacs.

You know who's not a bunch of egomaniacs? Cleveland Amory's Black Beauty Ranch http://blackbeautyranch.org/ and The World Society for the Protection of Animals http://www.wspa-international.org/

Me, I'm Neutered

2011-07-31T12:27:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen...introducing the queen. Here sits Beatrice on her red throne with her "baby." She hasn't eaten the baby yet. Good puppy girl. She's a Dane. Now, I, being an Afghan, get bored with "babies." Sure, I might throw one around. Once. Then I get distracted. It's very hard, people, to keep an Afghan interested in anything for very long. For example, Afghans run as fast as greyhounds. But, bored with chasing some mock-bunny, we have been spotted sitting down in the middle of a race. Which is good because we aren't exploited in the way greyhounds are.

Anyways, Beatrice is beautiful, c'est vrai? I would like to spend some quality time with her. Just one thing...Me, I'm neutered. Have a nice day.

Me, I Pee

2011-07-30T12:58:00.000-07:00

The Vegetarian came home yesterday with a new tree--it's a plum "purple pony." She wants to make up for the thousands of trees that the Park Service plans to cut down in Yosemite. "The park is for people" the Tree Killer explains in the L.A. Times. Anyone who objects is labeled "tree hugger." This is an expression the Vegetarian is SICK OF. She says it's dismissive. She won't be labeled a "kook." Thing is, in our house we all think trees are groovy. PianoPlayer thinks they are beautiful, Vegetarian loves how they protect species. I like to smell them for urine. We all like shade.

Also, about two years ago when the recession was really steaming up, PianoPlayer/Meateater suggested Steve Jobs replace Timothy Geithner. Today the L.A. times reports that Apple is richer than the US government. PianoPlayer has lots of good ideas. Like the angle at which to hold my head while my teeth get brushed.

On my morning walk with PianoPlayer, a woman stopped in her car with a black dog in her lap. She found him running loose on the busy street yesterday afternoon and took him home, kept him overnight and went out looking again for its owner. No Lost Dog signs were up. When we got home, PianoPlayer described the dog to Vegetarian, who was making coffee. She thinks it's the gypsy's dog, he runs loose all the time. She calls the woman's number on the flyer and Vegetarian says if the black dog is the gypsy's, the nice lady who took him in should keep him.

Screw the park service, Steve Jobs can save the world, the gypsy has no dog to kick, the neighbors are rude. For the bipeds, the purple pony will partially block the view of the Rude People. For my part: Me, I'll pee.

She's Talking in Iambic Pentameters! Me, I Scratched

2011-07-14T11:31:00.000-07:00

The Vegetarian is usually bending over me going "ooohdebeebee." Stuff like that. It sounds like bird wings on grass. But today, as she contemplates Carmegeddon, she stands--well, not stands so much as leans--and recites this soliloquy:

To drive or not to drive? That is the question.

Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of Laurel Canyon on my way to get bagels

or throw my arms up in the air and by opposing a sea of traffic,

avoid the vertigo-inducing Traders Joes parking lot?

To drive, to beep.

Or per chance to flip the bird.

There’s the rub.

For in that creep of cars what jams may come

when we have turned the ignition key

gives me pause and makes me rather bear those whole wheat breads we have

than fly to gridlocks we know not of.

Thus freeway closures doth make cowards of us all.

Maybe I’ll finish my novel.

Me, I scratched.

Now I hear "woogywoogy." Things are back to normal.

New Girl in Town

2011-07-08T12:43:00.000-07:00

i've had a bath. big production number. razzle dazzle them. I
cooperated as only an Afghan can: hAf heartedly. so sue me.

I am here today to make an announcement. there's a new girl in town. just north of chicago. she's 16 weeks old and weighs 60 pounds. yet to be named, here's the pic of the lovely girl, adopted by david and joanne with a little help from alec visiting chicago during the momentous event.

Me, I scratched myself and ate pizza crust.

Human Daddy

2011-06-19T16:41:00.000-07:00

I was afraid of men when I was rescued. But I loved Piano Player at first sight. He knew me and named me. Walked me and paid for the dog food and grilled chicken from Tonys. He had a little help from the Vegetarian--she who always puts her two cents in then kisses me. Their repartee sounds like dance music. Today we walked down Tujunga. Vegetarian bought a zinc letter "H."
Happy father's day to my human daddy. Find him at
http://hughtown.blogspot.com/

Me, I Barked

2011-06-16T17:12:00.000-07:00

The neighbor sings like a cat in heat. The other neighbor plays guitar like a bull in a china shop. The cars whiz by and hurt my ears, and although I don't understand numbers exactly, the Vegetarian explains to me that Tujunga is as loud as the 405, then she plants a kiss as big as a cabbage on my head. The Meateater's doing a jig, which I thoroughly enjoy. He explains that he has time for such a jig because his computer has had a nervous breakdown and while I don't understand what a nervous breakdown is he says "time for a walk Hucky boy."
Me, I barked.

Where's the Shade?

2011-06-14T16:59:00.000-07:00

It's hot hot hot today. Please people plant some trees. Vegetarian has to walk me in a zig zag to keep my feet from burning on the blacktop streets. The good news is there was some yellow stuff on the sidewalk I fell madly in love with. I'd like to post some pictures of dogs for y'all now. The cockers are Riley (with bow) and the late great Shadow. The Dane is the sweetie pie pup Oliver, making mischief in the Banks backyard. He's also in the snow pic. Finally, there's that pretty silver Afghan doing what we do best--running our brains out.

I've Been Resting

2011-06-13T12:37:00.000-07:00

I've been on sabbatical. The bipeds are still around. Today over coffee they are talking about the planeloads of cash headed to Iraq circa 2005 that got "lost." Six billion in hundred dollar bills. Vegetarian thinks J.J. Abrams should use this as his next Fringe episode: Planes disappear over Iraq, six billion U.S. dollars vanished. Unaware, citizens stand in line for groceries at food banks and how-to-avoid foreclosure seminars. Call it "Lost."

Then the Vegetarian went off to the garden and the benevolent Meateater hits the trail for movie writing and piano playing. I'm laying on the couch from Macys (now a year old). Not as comfy as the deep-cushioned Crate and Barrel thing they had and was a filthy piece of crap by the time they had it picked up at the curb, but it'll do.

I'd like to send my best smells and waking daydreams to Shadow, who I got to know only briefly but was a welcome visitor at my door.

Flu and Taxes: Down for the Count

2008-05-07T12:49:00.000-07:00

Two things certain in the world: near-death and taxes.

First, the flu walloped Meateater/Piano Player. His head started swinging like a slack rope between his knees. Vegetarian screamed, "don't die!" then dragged him to the bathroom. He slumped like a marionette against the wall, his skin gray, his jaw locked, the small dark balls of his eyes rolling into whiteness. She threw water on top of his head, slapped him in the face, called him by his proper name. "What's happening?" was his slurred response. Then he faded. She got him into the shower and he came back. Not so much to her as just back.

45 minutes later we all three took a lollygagging victory lap in the hood..

That was the start of his miserable two-week flu, bracketed by chicken soup and chow mein, and after week one, the Vegetarian was invaded with the crap like Poland in winter. She was down for 10 days.

Then I hurt my leg. I howled every time I plopped on the couch. I couldn't lick the butter off the breakfast plate. It hurt to chase the cookie. I hobbled through the walks.

Priscilla, the angel of afghan rescue dogs, recommended immediate acupuncture. But Vegetarian waited. She has no love for vets. They always killed her beloved pets. Instead Piano Player, with his magic hands, administered acupressure, Vegetarian rearranged the pillows on the couch for me, gave me trace amounts of aspirin, and massaged my limbs while going through the motions of googling acupuncturists (even though her own experience with a Santa Monica acupuncturist proved just as fruitless as traditional MEAN-SPIRITED physical rehab at St. Josephs hospital).

We waited it out another week, against the advice of everyone.

Mmmmm I'm licking butter off the plate again. As Shakespeare said, of course not without the darkest fate looming first, "All's well that ends well."

Having less to do with fate than Capitalism, the next misery was income taxes. The accountant farted out so the bipeds were in warrior mode on April 15. Vegetarian doing the long forms, yelling at Piano Player to print them out 'faster faster" and we all jumped into the Honda and got to the Studio City post offfice at 5:27, just three minutes before the cheapskate privatized post office officials, officially declared local branches closed. Hey, a nice touch was that Starbucks was passing out free coffee at the Laurel Canyon branch P.O.

The Agoraphobe and Me

2008-02-27T12:13:00.000-08:00

The Vegetarian comes home, as usual with some groceries and way too much emotion. She disembarks from the hot Honda. "Come help me," she calls to Meateater/Piano Player.

"I hate that Whole Foods, with its anorexics-only-sized parking lot and unstocked shelves," she says. "I'm telling you, the personal politics are so complicated it's on the level of Yalta."

"Where do you want me to put this?" Piano Player asks.

"Not to mention," (she can't be stopped here) "eat up, people, the Ralphs with cows dragged to slaughter and dead calves that stood all their days in a dark crate, or the chickens stuffed in ventless cages, and the unwiggled pigs, the abducted salmon.".

"OK. I know. Kill me. THERE WILL BE NO TALK OF DEATH in Everything's groovy L.A. Well guess what?" (she's going for it) "Fuck the beautiful weather!"

"Put those on the counter," she answers.

The Vegetarian-- who defies 12-step programs. resumes, Prozac, Type As, Oprah, blood-type diets, rock critics and protein powders, Joseph follow-your-Nazi-bliss Campbell, V8 cans attached Scientologists ears, GITMOS, IRAs, 401 Ks, APRs, S&Ps.--leans over, "Hi, honey boy," and kisses me. Me, I kissed back.

The Jig Is Up

2008-02-23T16:56:00.000-08:00

Meateater has been laid low by a cold.

Then the Vegetarian ducks into Art's Deli to get two cartons of chicken soup.

Back home after coffee the Meateater got up and started dancing a jig. Me, I barked.

Where's Huck?

2008-02-21T13:12:00.000-08:00

The Vegetarian is looking for me."Where's Huck?" she asks.

"In the other room," Meateater answers.

Finding me in the office, she leans over and asks, "What are you up to Honey Boy?"

I, of course, am working on my collection of poems--"Me, I Barked."

She doesn't get it and plants a kiss the size of cabbage on my head. Now the mood is ruined. Art is a hard vegetable.

Until the muse strikes again, I'm gonna read the funniest writer at the L.A. Times Chris Erskine. This week he talks about a beagle, a distant relation of mine.

Chris Erskine column

Could You Stop Cutting Down the Trees in Studio City!

2008-02-19T13:09:00.003-08:00

Would it kill you to stop cutting down the trees for the sake of squashing a neo-Mediterranean castle--equipped with--what is that, a gun turrett?--onto a postage stamp sized lot? I need some old growth trees to pee on. All those little yellow birds are gone by the way. Since we moved two years ago into this neighborhood, Wendy Gruel, more than 25 old trees in less than two square blocks have been cut down. By the time the Council gets around to restricting mansionization, it will have come too late.

Here's a picture of me on the Island that has trees.