The Writer, Wolves and the Woodsman

 Dog Non-chewable Items are Like Cheetos for Humans If you need an amateur (apprentice?) wire stripper, then you can rent the Doberman. Fees include: everything. Sigh. General observations here.  Humans shouldn't eat Cheetos or Old Dutch Ruffle Chips with Top The Tater Dip  (ahem Woodsman). In the same vein, dogs shouldn't strip wiring, eat underwear, bedding or shoes. When they have access to ample toys and the occasional Warlord Squirrel you know something's up. I've come to the conjecture* that chewing "wrong" things isn't necessarily about attention. Nay, I think that bedding, shoes and table legs have a distinct — and nuanced — flavor. Think about it.  Hoo-mans love our delicious snacky foods as opposed to chicken and salads. So how are canines any different? Cats and boxes have a similar theme (rolly-dingy-ball-thingy). If you've ever had a feline, then you know what I'm sayin'.

 A.I. Is Darwin Incarnate Be it so known!  I, the Writer, went there . I work in SEO / E-commerce Marketing, so I am far too familiar with AI. I know how it is used, should be used and how it is misused. But overall, it is like an F4 twister sucking the creative right out of you. Once upon a time I was a copywriter. Now I edit bot driven dribble for a living instead of creating organic content. I freaking hate AI.   The only good news is that whatever Darwinian version of "Evolution" you subscribe to will likely take its course.  Some recent examples? Google AI gave some dangerous and wrong answers  along the lines of "eat rocks, run with scissors and then get in the unmarked white van with a stranger's offering of sweet candy". Okay, the last part was mine, but you get the pointy part — of the scissors. Be that as it may, that kind of "advice" should weed out more than a few... persons.  Morbid? Sure.  Reality, definitely . AI is trying to kill some

  Have you ever made your own wine? It's actually not that complicated. It is three things: alchemy, math and patience.  I'm not about to give away any formulas, but I'll just say that you need not stomp grapes yourself.  - Writer

Well, if you ever had a three headed doberman (Go Cerberus), then you know having your hands attached after it's done with the teething / chewing stage would be a feat of the gods. The Chew Monster is also known as the Poop Machine, the Bottomless Pit of Food Consumption, Needle Teeth and a few others. She’s doing really well. I have to admit that I have been around some really not so smart puppies, but she is pretty amazing so far. She knows how to sit and hold. She comes when you call her name, and also most of the time gets out of the garden when you tell her to. She’s developed a shrill bark that beckons her big bro to come play zoomies, and get anyone's attention at anything  about to be shred to pieces. The German Shepherd is not so impressed. Arna prefers to hide in her closet cave (yes) to stay clear of Needle Teeth. During the day, she’ll sleep with the other two.  We discovered that buying smaller raw hides Cowdog Chews (dubbed chewy’s) is the way to go. The little o

  When the Doberman breeder reached out to me about a red and rust female, I couldn't resist. Meet Ruby. So, after a horrendous "marriage" and equally as troubling divorce, I had to leave a lot of things behind. This included two dogs. I didn't even get what I legally asked for (and it wasn't much). Try going halfsies with a narcissist. It won't work.  I fled with the Belgian Malinois, aka Sabot (pronounced Say- Bow), but left my precious Doberman puppy, Raguel and the aging German Shepherd.  It cracked my heart. The last night I spent in my "cage" I slept on the floor of my office with Sabot and Raguel. The next day, while Giant Violent Toddler was on yet another one of those "hikes" all three dogs were with me. I packed. I think they all knew something was about to go down... but instinct told me to take Sabot. He was the dog being abused most, after all. I calculated, and figured that the other two were big enough to protect themselves.

"Hey, look at the geese gathered on the island in the pond.  What are they doing?" Woodsman uttered as he peered out of the window. "It's a Quackternity meeting. haha."  Replied Writer, tired and bored with day four of product and schema pricing updates at her remote job. Woodsman looked at her, then back out the window, facepalmed and shook his head.  A little while later he said, "Wow, now there are ducks sitting there with the geese: four drake mallards and two wood ducks."  "See, it's a Freatheren. Like brethren... because frats are, you know..." Writer chuckled anticipating another facepalm from the Woodsman.  Instead he kissed her on the forehead and said, "I love you. Did the waterfowl just foul?" "Now there are four geese. They're multiplying and not even by making goslings." Said Woodsman. "That does it. I'm not going outside without a golf club — or murder puppy." Replied Writer. The joke: S