Tag Archives: Chloë

Chloë Hails Huskies

Chloë does the Big Dance.

Chloë does the Big Dance.

When the University of Connecticut Huskies beat Florida in the Final Four semifinal, my bracket was doomed. I was therefore happy that the Huskies went on to capture the men’s national basketball championship. After the Albany Great Danes bowed out in the second round, I was pulling for the Huskies all the way. And being a “badger dog,” I was certainly glad the Wisconsin Badgers didn’t make the final game.


Chloë in game gear

Still, my “Chloë’s Picks” lost to “Heather’s Bracket” in her office pool, 78 to 69, and Heather claimed the grand prize: $15, which might barely cover a pizza. To add insult to my injury, Delilah, the horse in the tournament pool, finished dead last, and thus had her $5 entry fee refunded.  While I would have made her pay double the fee for finishing last,  it is what it is. I’ll trounce her again next March. That horse has a lot to learn about college basketball.

Chloë Puts on Her Game Face

Truth be told, I am glad the Syracuse basketball season is over. Too often, I’m in the bedroom napping after my dinner when Mike interrupts my slumber by turning on the TV really loud and then punctuating the din with sudden verbal outbursts and hand gestures. Earlier this season, in fact, he got so riled up that he spilled beer all over himself and the bed. He had to stop the DVR at halftime to do laundry. Now I’ll get a little peace and quiet around here.

Chloë and Penny follow the Orange

Chloë and Penny follow the Orange

For me, the good parts of  basketball occur only when we go someplace  to watch the game or people come here. Then I get to don my special fan garb and visit my pal Penny for some wrestling. Even better than watching here is watching the game at her house, so I can check out her new toys. Penny always has the kind that talk back to you when you chew on them. I love that kind.

C hloë : Not on my watch!

Chloë : Not on my watch!

For this year’s March Madness, my pal Juneau George sent me a new SU bandanna, made in Fulton, N.Y., by his sister-in-law Ando. I thank them both! I think my new scarf  is pretty spiffy, and I intend to wear it the next time I go to Heather’s office, whether there’s a game that day or not.  That’s because my “Chloë’s Picks” is running neck-and-neck with “Heather’s Bracket” in the office tournament pool. I must admit, however, that neither my enthusiasm nor my expertise were enhanced when I found out the pool has only five entries this year. And knowing Heather, if I win, she’ll give back half of my winnings for pizza money, anyway.

But pride is at stake, too. Even though my longshot pick of the Albany Great Danes went out early, all of my Final Four teams are still playing. As 16 teams march on to the championship game without the Orange, I must continue to keep my game face on. I am told that one of the other three entrants in our pool is a horse, and I’m not losing to any horse.

I just want to get through the tournament in better shape than my buddy Bob in Juneau. He had a few too many Snausages at the pregame tailgate party.

Max Bandanna

Bob sleeps off another SU loss.

Chloë Silences Another Toy

My pal Penny came over to play a couple of times over the holidays. We did some wrestling in front of the football game (or was it basketball?), and we took a long walk in the park. Penny doesn’t get there every day like I do.

Chloë and Penny take a break from hiking.

Chloë and Penny take a break from hiking.

Penny even gave me a Christmas present, although Mike didn’t let me open it until the decorations were put away. With my antlers, the Santa Monkey and Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer already demanding constant attention, I can understand Mike’s reasoning. He proved to be correct, by the way, because I fixated on Penny’s gift the instant Mike took it out of its packaging. It’s a toy called a MushABelly, which is clearly a derivative of Furby.  I’m calling mine Urby, because it’s not quite Furby.

Chloë's Hurby

Chloë’s Urby

Urby arrived with great fanfare of its own making, because loud, obnoxious laughing and cackling came out of Urby every time I touched it. And I touched it a lot. Within  a couple of hours, Urby wasn’t laughing and cackling anymore, nor are its vocals likely to ever return. But I still like gnawing and sucking on Urby, a lot. Each night I give it up reluctantly at bedtime and seek its last resting place as soon as I emerge from my crate the next morning. I carry it into the kitchen when I eat and into the office when I’m napping in there. Urby is my constant companion.

Mike and Heather don’t like Urby, however, and it’s easy to see why. After I carry Urby around and suck on it for a while, Urby’s orange “fur” gets pretty slimy, much more so than any of my other toys. In fact, Slimy might be a better name for Urby. Heather won’t touch Urby at all, while Mike tried to hide it from me permanently as soon as he discovered how gross Urby was going to be (like how Urby goes “splat” when he tosses it and it hits the floor). Luckily, Mike gave in as soon as he saw how avidly I searched for it, and he gave Urby back to me: Apparently it’s my party and I’ll cry if  I want to really works. So for now, Mike tries to ignore my solicitations to play fetch with Urby, or if goaded into playing, he picks it up gingerly, with only two fingers barely touching its wings or ears.

Chloë applies mouth-to-brain resusitation.

Chloë applies mouth-to-brain resuscitation to Urby.

I’m not sure how long my total fascination with the slimy Urby will last. In the meantime, I’m planning to take Urby back into the bedroom for a nap and then leave it there on Heather’s pillow. I’m sure she’ll love me for it.

Chloë Checks for Cats

Chloë and Mike watch the leaves fall.

Chloë and Mike watch the leaves fall.

Fall has definitely fallen. Slugs and snails are everywhere, and the spiders like to come inside where it’s warm. Most leaves have dropped off the trees and lie on the ground, frequently gobbling up my purple-and-white ball and making me work harder to find it.  I’m getting pretty good at that, however; no lost balls for quite a while.

The weather has been cold and damp, and on many nights the fog rolls in and sometimes doesn’t burn off until late afternoon.  I hear foghorns all the time. Mostly I just roll my eyes, but it’s a bugger when I’m circling, almost ready to poop after finding the perfect spot, and a damned horn blast disrupts my sense of peace (and equilibrium). That’s downright aggravating.

Black Cat for Halloween

A black cat next door for Halloween

Mike and Heather must have visited his mom in Florida when they went away last week, because  when they got back I noticed a big influx of Tampa Bay Times poop bags. While they were gone I mostly hung out with Lynn and snuggled. One day Lynn walked me next door to introduce me to a new black cat, as if I really didn’t know that it’s a fake, just part of our neighbor’s Halloween decorations. I played along with Lynn, pretending to do a double-take when I saw it and even feigning a lunge at it, just to give Lynn something she could report to Mike and Heather. Lynn really eats up that kind of stuff.

Chloe on Steps-002Frankly, I’ve got too many real cats to worry about already. As I stroll up and down the block at least a couple of times a day, I have been watching and counting, and I now count eight cats on our block. Eight! Thankfully about half of them never venture outside, where I can smell them and follow their trails. These pussies lurk behind their windows, afraid to come out and face me, badass war machine that I am. Until they escape from their perches, I will be forced to stay hot on the trails of Ted and Fred, the black cats who live two doors down. Ted, especially, likes to hang around our bird baths despite my  best efforts to keep him away. One day, I will get that Ted, or at least throw a good scare into him. I guarantee it.