I think we're done here.

Hi folks. My name is Ben. I'm Pancho's human.

He has had fun writing this blog, but I think it has run its course.

Our best to the handful of you you have continued to check in from time to time.

He'll leave the site up for another couple weeks, then he's gonna shut it down.

Bye... from the both of us.

What the hell is this?

They're over three inches long. And at night, they're all over my patio. My human is totally creeped out.

Open door policy?

When my human goes downstairs to fix something to eat, I always follow. Yes, it sucks smelling whatever it is he happens to be cooking... but I don't want to miss anything.

But I wish I was allowed in the big house. Can't lick droppings off the floor if I'm not in there to do my job.

Ah well.

Two. Dogs. Next. Door. Must. Not. Blink.

Got into some more shit yesterday. A couple of labs are here with their humans on vacation. And they're right... next... door. As usual, my human pulled me off of them, apologized to their owner, and locked me in the house.

But now, every time I go outside, I just keep looking over there.

I know I've said often on this blog that this thing or that thing is my greatest joy... but, god help me, I love to fight. Big dogs, small dogs... I don't give a shit.

You see, with dogs, there has to be an "order" to things. Everything has to be sized up and put in its proper category. And "other dogs" are in the "beneath Pancho" category. If they don't acknowledge that quickly, we're gonna have trouble.

But, anyway... I do look good when I'm on high alert, don't I?

Directions to town.

Deer. Ranch. Trees. Trees. Deer. Guy on a lawnmower. River. Goats. Trees. Trees. Town.

I love going to breakfast. But I think that's going to stop. My human is getting rid of the truck. I doubt he'll take me with him to town on the motorcycle. At least not until I figure out how to bond with him on a molecular level.

I am working on that.

My Olan Mills Pose.

My human got a new cowboy hat and some new jeans. He's lost a bunch of weight and has virtually no clothes. Not really a problem for me... but you know how humans are.

Anyway, his dad took this photo and I like how I'm peering off into the distance like one of those portraits you humans get for your senior pic.

Nothing else. That is all.

Today, The Flies Came.

Rest in peace, my able, four-legged, ass-spraying opponent. Seems you were unable to win a battle with the humans and their superior technology (and thumbs).

But while you're up there in skunk heaven, take heart. The stench from your rotting carcass had my human buckled to his knees. Though your body is dead, your skills remain.

Toodles.

Nothing Gets Past Me.

For a couple of weeks now, me and my human have been smelling a skunk around the house. Not sure where he's been, exactly... but tonight my olfactory senses were on high alert.

As is usually the case in the evenings, my human and his parents were sitting out front on the deck. I was roaming about when it hit me. I embedded my nose into one of the cracks on the deck and didn't move. My human, noticing my statue-like pose, got up and had a look. His eyes told him what my nose had already been saying. Clear as day, he saw black and white hair rustling about under the deck.

What followed what pretty hilarious.

First my human grabbed a pellet gun and began shooting between the cracks, trying to convince that varmint to leave... or kill him... whichever. But there was no moving him. Much like the possum story (which has now become legend), his efforts did nothing but puncture a couple of holes in the beast. He wasn't going anywhere.

But my human is persistent. So out comes the 2500psi pressure washer. He set it on its most forceful, piercing setting. Then, he began shooting it through the cracks. He'd hit the skunk and it would move left. He'd hit it over there and it'd move right. Back and forth, over and over.

Do you have any idea what a pressure washer can do at close range? Ask my human? He's still got a scar on his wrist from a pressure washer injury a year ago. So I've got to believe that skunk looks a bit like swiss cheese. But he never left.

Only difference is... well, that skunk must've been spraying ass juice everywhere... because it smells like someone had a pot party near the back door... with some primo weed.

Now my human is talking about setting a trap and using the .22 once he's captured that son of a bitch.

Damn I love living in the woods.

Just A Simple Observation.

Squirrels look weird as shit when you're lying upside down. It's like theyre wearing anti-gravity boots or something. I would like to walk out that door and eat them, but this rug is very awesome.

Shame.

Deer (or "the zombies", as I will now refer to them) have gained an advantage. The empty branches which use to barely mask their movements have all turned green with foliage. My goal of catching one, it seems, has become more difficult. The long wait even has me sitting down. Sat there for 45 minutes and didn't see even one.

Tonight, I dine on my own failure.

Holy shit that thing is big.

One of my loyal readers sent me an email the other day with this pic attached.

Man, that's the biggest damn squirrel I've ever seen. Not sure I could even kill one of those.

But hat's off to you, my friends. Thanks for saving us from what is surely a demon tree rat from hell.

Look at me you ass!

Yesterday morning, during my walk (with my human), we passed a fence with the biggest fucking dogs I've ever seen.

Normally, when I cross paths with a dog, they pretty much get right off that I have the power, and the will, to show them who's boss. But not these guys. The hair on my back went up and they were oblivious. Couldn't care less.

Maybe they knew there was a fence between us, protecting them. But I have a hunch that's not the case. They didn't even look up.

So I feel curious, and at the same time, challenged. Their apathy taunts me. I want desperately to get in that corral and show them what a lean, mean chasing machine can do to their smug, arrogant attitude.

Look, I may be a dog, but I've mastered the computer keyboard. I think next, I will learn how to use bolt cutters.

Talk About Indy Films.

I've been working on a film idea. But it's kinda hard to find a DP willing to participate in the artistic dream of a canine... much less, one who could even understand me.

Then I started thinking.

My human has a "movie" setting on his tiny digital camera. I'm pretty sure that, eventually, he'll get some sort of editing capability on his computer. So why not get him to help me shoot some of the scenes? I can work out the rest in "post."

Well he's been pretty busy these past couple of days. Hard to pull him away from the computer. (and my script isn't even done, either)

But tonight, at about 6pm, I reminded him of his promise to let me chase some deer this evening. Then I told him to bring his camera.

Well, our shooting schedule went all to hell. His camera wont stay on long enough for me to find some deer to chase. Then, when I do take off running... he's not ready.

Anyway. I chased about 16 of them through the woods, but he didn't "get" that. He did get me running back after my hunt.

Oh well. He may not be good, but at least he's cheap.

Great day.

I was starting to get a flea problem. But no more. We went to the vet. I got treated. Then, my human took me to the groomer for a mani-pedi.

So now, the AC is on and I've got the bed to myself. No more itching. Nothing to disturb my beauty sleep.

I hope he doesn't start practicing the harmonica again.

It Is So On.

I'm feeling pretty lean and mean these days. I just haven't been eating as much. Some might say "oh no, what's wrong Pancho? Are you sick?"

Sure, I'm sick. Sick of not catching those goddamn deer.

So you know how when you're watching an action movie - and the main character has taken his last bit of bullshit - and the music changes while he straps on his gun and gathers his instruments of revenge?

Yeah, well that's like me. And my "instrument of revenge" is this newer, leaner body, folks. I am turning myself into a highly trained chasing machine.

Someday, when deer teach their children to fear, they'll tell them of my legend. And when my name is spoken, all will tremble.

Well. Sorry.

Tonight I had a "run-in" with another dog. Some neighbors had visitors who brought their black-hair-mutt.

I went nuts from the Eagle's Nest so my human hollars over and asks if he can bring me down to see if they'll "play well together."

(when will he learn?)

Me and their bitch met. We sniffed. And then she did something. Can't quite put my finger on it (or paw, whatever), but I knew she needed to know I was boss, toot sweet.

Bit her neck and she rolled out of it while my human pulled me off of her.

So I guess I fucked up. I don't think my human is going to let me near another dog for a while.

Oh well. It was fun.

My how things have changed.

When my human first got me, and for many years after that, he used to fantasize that one day he'd be rich and could afford to have me trained to not run away. Really. He did.

What he didn't realize is that it just takes time. When you love a dog... really love him... over time, he'll develop an almost unhealthy need to be near you. I never thought I'd be that way, but I am. Throughout the ups and downs he and I have gone through together, he has been the one constant... the one thing I could count on.

So, whereas he used to block the front door to keep me from running out... NOW, he just leaves the door open. Sometimes, the gate, too.

I've always loved going for drives. But used to be, going to Lowe's on a leash was a big treat. NOW, I ride EVERYDAY with him to town. We go to a restaurant and I either wait inside... or he opens the door and let's me join him outside while he eats. No leash, mind you.

If we're driving down the road and I have to pee, even, he just pulls over and lets me jump out with dignity to do my business.

All that having been said... if for any reason he ever touches the walking leash, I still freak out with joy. Old habits die hard, I guess.

(and they say dogs have no memory!)

I should drive a muscle car.

It has occurred to me recently that deer are, in fact, JUST like zombies. When humans go anywhere... as soon as it starts getting dark, they're all, like, "WE GOTTA GET HOME... BEFORE THE DEER COME OUT!!!"

Well, tonight we were home... when - the - deer - came - out. And I was not on a leash. I saw about 15 of them at about the same time as my human gave me the go-ahead. By the time I got into the middle of 'em, another 15 come running over the hill... RIGHT INTO MY KILL ZONE.

Actually, I don't try to kill them. They're zombies, remember? I think they can only be killed with a car.

No, I don't kill. I disrupt. I fuck with their "status quo."

Then, I piss on everything and smile.

The Art of Focus

This is how it is done, people.



Granted, I am not a filmmaker. But this gives you some idea of how great it is to live here and be a dog. There are creatures everywhere.

Notice the eagle-eye-never-give-up scan. I know they're out there. And its my job to find them.

Don't leave me, dude.

Yesterday sucked. Plain and simple. My human was gone all day. I've become so damn needy (his term, not mine) that I can't even shit when he's gone. His Dad took me out many times, but... nothin. Just couldn't do it.

So finally, when the big guy got home... well, let's just say it was a load off my mind (or colon, as the case may be).

So today is relationship recovery day.

I hope he never gets a job. Ever.