They always know…(part 2: cat edition)

Today was vet appointment day; both the cats were due their vaccines and Ray needed to have blood drawn to get his liver value rechecked. Since Gregg had the day off, I had made appointments for all three at once. I figured, between the two of us we could handle it.
The appointment was for 11:00. Both of the cats had headed outside as soon as the dog door was opened but I wasn't too concerned, Juno is almost always close by and Harvey usually comes home for a mid-morning nap. If not, he will (usually) come when called.
At 10:30 when Gregg and I got home from walking Ray, neither cat was to be found. We started calling. And we called. And called. And called.
At 10:50 I said to Gregg, "You take Ray to the vet. I'll stay around and see if I can find the cats. I know that they have us booked until 11:45 so if I find them before that, I'll stuff them in the carriers and come along."
Gregg agreed, packed the hound in his car, and off he went. I returned outside and shook the treat can, walked up and down the sidewalk, peered over fences, and called, and called, and called.
At 11:30 Gregg called me.
"They've taken Ray to the back to draw his blood, are you coming?" he asked.
"No cats," I replied, "You'll have to reschedule. Just pick a day and get the first appointment of the morning. I won't let them out of the house; I'll just bring them right to the vet."
Gregg agreed. I headed outside to rake leaves. By the time he got home, Juno was here…

Heh heh heh

They always know. I should know better than to believe they would hang around on a vet appointment day.

They always know...

I was hosting a Do Day, a day when anyone with a project could come over for a couple of hours and work on it. Three people had taken me up on the offer and we were having a good time. Ray of course was thrilled because all three of the people were on his 'favorites' list, which, granted, is rather lengthy.
After enthusiastically greeting each, Ray decided to sit in the only logical place, with the only person in the room who didn't particularly care for dogs.
"How do animals always know which person in the room doesn't like them?" asked my friend, Betty.
"I don't know," I replied, "But they always do."

What do you mean she doesn't like dogs? 

Of course she likes dogs!

As a matter of fact, I'm quite sure she loves dogs!

Halloween 2014

Halloween used to be one of Ray's favorite holidays. All those kids coming to the door to see him (at least that's what he thought) used to get him really excited. Now that he's older and wiser, Ray knows that they are all coming just to get candy and he's a bit put out. He stays curled in his chair and only gets up to greet those that he knows. It's kinda sad, really. Ray has grown jaded.
Even so, Ray still does enjoy carving pumpkins. This year, for the first time, he even tried a piece to see if maybe it was edible. Apparently, it wasn't.
Because I got caught up in totally redesigning my Halloween display this year, I completely forgot about a costume for Ray. He was off the hook until I realized that I needed a few more fake candles to put in the lanterns (so that there are no tragic accidents involving combustible trick-or-treaters). A quick trip to the store solved my candle problem and, as a bonus, solved the costume problem.
Ray was as thrilled as could be. He donned his headgear and we walked around the block to visit someone that we knew would have dog treats. Unfortunately, she wasn't home.

What do you mean she's not home?

sigh

grumble grumble grumble

Are you sure this is ripe?

Here, let me knock on it for you. Let's see if it sounds hollow.

I think it sounds ok... 

...proceed

A new use for the cone of shame.
A decoration that strikes terror into the hearts of dogs everywhere. 

Free at Last

I awoke with a feeling of anticipation, like it was Christmas. The day had finally arrived, Ray was getting his staples out. More importantly, Ray was going to be rid of his unwieldy headgear. A sense of peace descended on me.

I rolled out of bed, and followed by my mobile satellite dish, headed downstairs. Ray clipped his way across the kitchen floor to the back door. It was pitch black outside. I flipped on the light to the patio which did nothing to penetrate the darkness beyond, slipped off Ray's hat, and turned the dog loose outside. He disappeared into the darkness. I waited by the back door. And waited. And waited. 

Growing suspicious at the length of time it was taking my dog to pee, I grabbed a flashlight and went in search. I found him at the farthest reach of the backyard, lying behind a bush, furiously licking his back leg. Ray had become cagier. Every time his hat was removed, he would discreetly disappear just out of eyesight only to be discovered licking his wound. And every time he did so I would wonder how he knew that he was out of sight. 

The trip to the vet went well. The staples were removed, his teeth were given the once-over and Ray was released, disembarrassed at last of the cone of shame.

Upon returning home, and joined by his shadow, Ray celebrated with a nap in the sunshine. (I would caption these photos, but cuteness needs no caption)