Poodle with a Mohawk...
Daniel B. has left a new comment on your post "Studded tires...the poor man's alternative":
You really have a poodle with a mohawk? Mr T would be proud. At least that could be assumed, anyway.
One of the highlights of being an old fart is that nearly any comment can spark off a story. We have tons of experiences to fall back on and some of the resulting stories are actually true! Well, more or less.
We don't have a poodle with a Mohawk, though it does provoke a startlingly funny mental image. I think the idea came from an old cartoon, maybe something from a punk band. It was long ago, but the image stayed with me, a snarling poodle with a bright pink Mohawk. If I recall right, full-sized poodles are working dogs or hunters. The miniature ones, the Pierre’s and Fifi’s wandering through suburban hell on their rhinestone-studded leashes, are best reserved as bait for deep sea fishing or perhaps catching alligators. (I won't show this to Mary because I'll be reduced to eating cold food again.)
Don't misunderstand me. I like dogs, especially well-trained ones. But the 'cute' little ankle-biters don't get the training and discipline that's so absolutely necessary with larger breeds.
My friend Hugh and I decided to form the Western Pennsylvania Poodle Hunting Society one evening. We were working late and we'd taken our lunch break at a saloon down the street. After a couple of beers, the idea of hunting poodles with high-powered rifles seemed hilarious. We expanded on the thought back at the shop, where a customer overheard us and asked if she could be a member too. She was a veterinarian! She said the Fifi's and Pierre’s were the nasty, biting dogs in her practice, while the larger ones were well behaved. "If we get a group photo, just put a strip of black tape over my eyes", she said. "I don't want any customers to recognize me!" Maybe she'd had a couple of beers with dinner too.
We had a dog with a bad attitude once. Bambi was a mixed breed, mostly terrier, and like most terriers she could be temperamental. Or maybe it was just mental. One minute she'd be over-joyed to see me come home from work. Five minutes later, she'd growl at me as I walked across the room. She didn't like strangers, other dogs, or children, but her attitude toward kids changed after she found out how good life could be under a high chair. When my kids were babies, we didn't have to worry about cleaning up spilled food. Bambi pounced on it.
Right now, we have 2 dogs and a variable population of cats. Most of these animals show up on the doorstep, stare at Mary to communicate the depth of their hunger, and get invited in for dinner. Sometimes they stay for years. It kinda makes me wonder how I got in the door.
Our dogs are Duchess and Ritz, a mutt and a Boston Terrier. Duchess looks like a sheepdog, with long curly fur that is easily 4 or 5 inches deep. Ritz is a typical Boston Terrier. He adores Duchess, probably because she keeps him warm at night.
The cats range from fur-covered pillows that eat, to those with extensive mob connections. Some of the older ones would gladly spend their days dozing in the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen windows. One of the young cats, on the other hand, will steal your watch, wedding ring, and wallet if she gets the chance. She's a thug disguised as a very pretty, longhaired kitten. The cable guy was here yesterday installing my new high-speed Internet connection. She climbed into his toolbox and tried to make off with some of his tools.
I'm afraid that if anything happens to me, Mary will turn into one of those little old ladies with 53 cats running around the house, all of them with cute names. As it is now, she puts a bowl of cat food out on the porch and feeds every cat in the neighborhood, as well as the occasional dog and two 'possums. She has a well-stocked bird feeder out there, keeping the birds happy. We've had as many as 4 squirrels on the feeder too. Naturally, the birds and squirrels attract a hawk now and then.
So what I’m trying to say is that we have a bunch of animals roaming around here, but none of them have Mohawks. But I have an idea! I think Lyndsay has some mousse in her truckload of cosmetics. I could give the fuzzy, longhaired kitten a Mohawk before Mary wakes up!