Latest painting is on eBay here. Fitting that I would finally get around to painting her. I was motivated to start painting dogs in her honor. (Ok, maybe she was a little spoiled.)

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New painting up on eBay here.

When my brother was young, he used to really enjoy stuffed animals. He had hundreds of 'em. Now he owns a Maltese/Pomeranean dog. Really, I guess I should have seen it coming.

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New painting up on eBay here.

Professional painter Robert Stackhouse once told me that the way to make a career out of selling paintings was to discover what other painters were not providing in a given market, then produce those paintings for that market. Until I find that niche, expect something a little different with each painting.

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My beloved poodle, Chere, died today at approximately 2PM. Though the cause of death will never be known for sure, my father, Chere's caretaker and best friend, believes that Chere suffered a heart attack. [Updated Sept. 3] At least she avoided one of the most common fears of humanity: she died not alone, but in my father's arms.

She was a good dog, and I loved her.

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My brother has taught my mother's Boston Terrier, Mister, a trick. When he lifts the dog over his head and gives the command "Superman," Mister pushes his front legs forward and his rear legs back, holding them roughly parallel to the ground in a pose similar to that always used by Krypto in flight. Mister is a lot smaller than Krypto, and like all Bostons, he wears a black cowl, so he looks more like a flying canine sidekick for the Hamburglar than anything else. But its a swell trick nonetheless.

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This weekend, my father taught my poodle how to climb under fences on his ranch. My poodle immediately took that newfound knowledge and climbed under the fence protecting the chickens and ate one. Though father was very, very angry with Chere, I still think he should reward her. I mean, applied knowledge is a clear sign of intelligence.

On the up side, dad won't have to bother feeding her any more. After all, if you give a dog a bone, she eats for a night. Teach her to climb under a fence, however, and she'll eat forever!

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Today's Atlanta Journal-Constitution ran an article about a contest between dog groomers, er, "pet stylists" in downtown Atlanta this weekend. The goal of the contest was apparently to dress a dog up like some cheap Party City Halloween costume. To no one's great surprise, most, if not all, of the dogs in the contest were standard poodles. (One was painted to look like Paul Stanley, which I would think both the poodle and Stanley would take as an insult.) As much as I enjoy grooming Chere, I wouldn't dress her up like a tramp for a chance at a $500 prize. A poodle's got to have her pride.

I just don't understand the inclination to make dogs look like people. (Especially people in Halloween costumes.) Every time I don't pay enough attention, my father is painting Chere's claws. Don't ask me; I don't know why. You read stories about people who hold weddings and birthday parties for dogs. Some dogs see psychiatrists. And I'm sure that some dogs are over-medicated by well-intentioned but stupid owners. Try to get it through your thick heads: dogs aren't people, people. If dogs were people, I'd hate them, too.

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This weekend I learned how to put snow chains on my car tires. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I had to pay someone else to put them on my rental car. I'm so cheap, I avoid valet parking because I don't want to tip the valets a dollar, so paying thirty bucks for someone to put chains on my tires was like willingly participating in state-enforced highway robbery. But I watched the guy like a hawk, and should the ridiculously unlikely events of The Day After Tomorrow ever come to pass, I'll be ready!

The drive into Tahoe was easily accomplished. There wasn't any snow on the ground then. No, California likes to make sure it has you in its mitts before it tries to screw you over. The whole reason that I was in South Lake Tahoe in the first place was for the wedding of one of my oldest friends. I once swore that I would never again A) return to California or B) drive in the snow, both of which I violated for the wedding. If I've never mentioned it before, let me stress my disapproval of snow here now: it sucks. It's cold, it's wet, and it makes travel impossible. Sure, it looks pretty, but like most pretty things, it's just not worth the hassle. Some way, some how, I'll get Jason back for this.

Despite eating my own words (which, unfortunately, I've done more times than I can count), it was an otherwise eventful weekend for me. I gambled in a casino for the first time (and lost my seed money, all 50¢). I had a Coca-Cola Slurpee made from fresh, real snow (better than you can imagine). I attended an informal bachelor party with a table full of lawyers and teachers (but no strippers. It was commented that no stripper was hired because one couldn't be found who knew how to play chess). And, of course, I got to play in the deep, powdery snow with Chere. (Who goes to a wedding without a date?)

That's two weddings I've attended in three months on opposite sides of the country (Panama City, Florida and Lake Tahoe, Nevada), with another one coming up in May in New York City. Even though I don't care for the outdated and unnecessary concept of marriage, I do like free food and road trips. So it all works out in the end. Also I'm pretty sure it won't be snowing come May.

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Maybe it's because I'm a dog person, but I've always really loved Ace, the Bat-Hound. I think he's a better sidekick than Robin.

The original Ace was a farmer's German Sheppard that helped Batman solve a 1955 counterfeiting case in the caper appropriately named "Ace, the Bat-Hound!" (Bruce Wayne has a remarkable detective mind, but he lacks for creativity. I mean, he does carry the Bat theme a little far, you've gotta admit: Batmobile, Bat Plane, Bat Cave, Bat Computer, Bat-Hound, Bat Shark Repellent... the list goes on.)

Bruce gave the dog a mask to prevent anyone recognizing him and linking the Batman and the Bat-Hound back to Bruce Wayne and Ace. Trust me, while it may seem that a mask on a dog isn't really going to disguise much of anything, in the world of comic books, that's some very sound reasoning indeed.

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Whoa, Nellie! Lookout, Dawgs! It's a stampede!

Please note that no Dawgs were hurt during the making of this picture. Colorado brought their 900 pound buffalo mascot, Ralphie IV, to Athens to lead the team onto the field. (Ralphie IV, by the way, was donated to Colorado by Ted Turner.) Earlier this week UGA athletic marketing director John Bateman told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, "It's David and Goliath. But what's that old saying, 'It's not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog'?"

Bulldogs, by the way, were originally bred for -- what else? -- fighting bulls. Ralphie IV, however, is not a bull but a female buffalo. That should have been our first clue that we were in trouble.

We played like we didn't understand the game for 3 quarters, only to pull it together in the final 10 minutes of play for the victory. The entire game was a demonstration in coaching: be Dan Hawkins' play selection and execution in the 1st half, be Mark Richt's strategic determination in the 4th quarter. (Just plain be somewhere else for the third quarter.)

Colorado's excellent ball fakes kept our undisciplined defense confused. Meanwhile our offense decided to go pass-happy with our true freshman quarterback, ignoring the 3 talented runners that have won us the last 3 games. (I call this Tommy Tuberville Syndome after Auburn's similar bizarre and losing strategy with Cadillac Williams and Ronnie Brown three years ago.)

I should have taken a picture of the guy who sits next to me. He looked like he was going to have a stroke for the final hour of the game.

In the end, we won. And it was exciting. But I don't exactly want to go through this every week.

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