Detroit Tigers Fan

Buddy loves the Detroit Tigers.

He has to.
He belongs to a family with a long tradition of being Detroit Tigers fans.

I remember the voice of Ernie Harwell on the transistor radio at my grandfather’s house in Detroit in the ‘60’s, when sports reporting was no-nonsense. There were no announcers in peach suits with matching handkerchief and ties then, just Ernie’s grainy voice telling the triumphs of Mickey Lolich, Denny McClain and Willie Horton.

In 1968 the Tigers played in the World Series and we were allowed to bring in our own transistor radios to school. As we listened at our desks, no-one really cared about doing their long division, including the teacher. The Tigers won the World Series that year – the year after the Detroit 1967 race riots. Detroit needed something to cheer about – and the Tigers gave it to them.

In the 80’s my husband and I were living in Philadelphia, but we drove down to Baltimore so we could see the Detroit Tigers team of 1984 play. They won the World Series that year too.

The Tigers are a no-nonsense team. No frills and trash talking. They are a tough playing, straight shooting team, and just like the tough Midwestern town of Detroit, they put their heads down and go do their job. Nothin’ fancy here. Just baseball.

Tonight the Tigers will play the first in a series of games against the San Francisco Giants.

Buddy and I will have our Tigers gear on tonight and will “root root root” for the home team!

The Tigers!

We love the Detroit Tigers!

Multi-National New Millennium Pen Pal Dog


Do you remember having a “Pen Pal” in elementary school?

This was a popular program in the sixties. You would look through a list of addresses of other available pen pals and then write letters to one another. Yes, you used paper, and a pencil and a stamp!

I selected a British pen pal, of course, because I had a huge crush on Paul McCartney. I also kinda sorta thought that I just MIGHT have been switched at birth with Princess Anne, and would be returned to England when I was eighteen. Thus, having a British Pen Pal would give me insight into British culture. See? I was thinking things through.

Buddy is now a Multi-National New Millennium Pen Pal Dog through his blog. Blogging takes Pen Pals to a whole new level, sort of like the Blog Olympics. I try to explain this to him, but he doesn’t understand what I am saying because when I talk all he hears is:

“Cpihshakepoininaitreatadjfoijgoforawalkapofjgoodboycookiejpoadrideinthecar.”

His map reading skills are sorely lacking as well. However when I check our Word Press “stats” that keep a record of the countries of people who read his blog, each day shows a reader from a different country. Buddy has pals all over the world!

This shouldn’t surprise me. It is all about “world domination” in the McIntyre household. My sons used to play the game “Risk” when they were younger. If you aren’t familiar with the game, the object of the game is “world domination” by occupying all the territories on the game board.

I like the concept of “pals” better than “world domination.” But anyway you look at it, I must confess, every day I check the stats to see if someone from another country has checked in on his blog.

So, thanks for reading! Oh, and if you know someone from Germany or Italy – would you pass this along?

Buddy doesn’t have a pal there.

Yet.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Chicagoans take their Halloween decorating seriously.

This isn’t the suburbs with its Martha Stewart inspired decorative gourds, bronze-dipped pumpkins and cute witches that look like they smashed into a tree on their brooms.

Oh no.
And I have to tell you, it is getting pretty spooky out there.

Buddy has been a little reluctant to go for a walk recently.  This is a dog that is afraid of plastic bags for Pete’s sake, so the ever expanding array of ghosts, goblins, zombies and other spooky creatures that are taking over the neighborhood are enough to scare ME let alone a little sixteen pound wimpy dog.

Before we even get outside he has to navigate past a pretty creepy looking “butler” that is currently residing outside of our next door neighbor’s apartment and it pretty much goes downhill from there.

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Winter Is Coming

“Winter is Coming”
Stark Family Motto from Game of Thrones

Buddy just might think he is a squirrel.

I am basing this observation on his recent behavior of “hiding” dog treats. He thinks they are hidden; however they are in plain sight. I am not going to bring this to his attention, because it might embarrass him.

Everywhere I turn around I happen upon a little doggy treat, in the corner of the room, hidden behind a plant, under a pillow on the bed.

This really doesn’t bother me except for one thing.

I think he is doing this because winter is coming. Of even greater concern is the fact that he hasn’t done this in the past.

I am afraid that he knows something on an instinctual level that, yeah, WINTER is coming. Not the somewhat-warm kind of Chicago winter we had last year, but the frozen eyebrow, up-to-your-knees-snow-hang-on-to-your-hat-windy kind of winter.

I think you are right, Buddy.

Winter is coming.

Listen

Buddy tries SO HARD to understand what I say to him.

I think when he hears me talk, this is what he hears:

“Cpihshakepoininaitreatadjfoijgoforawalkapofjgoodboycookiejpoadrideinthecar.”

With apt attention, he turns his head side to side, trying to decipher a snippet or catch a phrase.

Somehow, we communicate my Buddy and me. Even if it only means to him, “If I turn my head side to side when she makes that funny sound, I will get a treat.”

Awww, that’s OK Buddy, do you want a cookie?

The Great Mum Challenge


Buddy, like most dogs, feels it is his responsibility to pee on every Mum plant.

He doesn’t take this responsibility lightly, and on walks around our Chicago neighborhood, seeks out and delivers on the promise on every mum plant he happens upon.

He may have met his match though, in the long row of mum plants in front of our building. The plants stretch out, seemingly forever, three deep, two hundred plants long.

Buddy has taken this on as a personal challenge, some kind of doggy endurance test. Every morning he starts at the end of the plantings, ready to give it his very best, but sort of runs out of steam half-way down the line.

That’s OK, Buddy. You gave it your best. I will give you an “A” for effort.

Maybe tomorrow.

My Little Stalker

I think I have a stalker.
My dog Buddy.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love this little dog. But sometimes he can get well, a little creepy.

Sorry Bud.

He watches my every move. He follows me everywhere, even into the bathroom.
I am the object of his undying affection. He looovvvvves me.

When I wake up in the morning, there he is, paws on my chest, staring at me.

If I head to the kitchen, he is at my heels.
If I sit on the couch, well there he is, right beside me.

Oh, that’s OK Buddy. I love you too.

Blessing of the Beasts

I may not be really good at explaining theological concepts to dogs and children.

When my younger son was in kindergarten, he blurted out to me one day, “I don’t want to go to Heaven.” When I asked him why, he replied, “Well why would I want to go there? The place is full of dead people.”

I gave him the whole spiel…streets are paved with gold….reunited with people who have passed before you…be with God. But he wasn’t buying it.

He said, “Face it mom, they’re dead.”

Perhaps I will get farther with the dog. We are going to bring our dog Buddy to church on Sunday for the annual Blessing of the Beasts.I tried to explain this to Buddy but he doesn’t understand spiritual matters, because when I speak to him all he hears is: “Cpihshakepoininaitreatadjfoijgoforawalkapofjgoodboycookiejpoadrideinthecar.”

I tell him that God won’t bless the stinky and that I am going to take him to the groomer. After all, they say that “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”

So here he is, trying SO HARD to decipher what I am saying, clean and ready and at his “Sunday Best” for the service, which is two days away.

Let’s hope I can keep him from rolling in something stinky until then.

And let’s also hope that my efforts on both my son and my dog’s behalf will prevail.

Sock Weather

It is early October in Chicago and temperatures have tumbled recently, especially along the lakeshore. On an early morning walk today it was the kind of damp and windy weather that left my teeth chattering and my brain wondering WHY I live here.

There is no escaping it. It is time for “sock weather.”

I am not one to rush into wearing socks. Once they are on, it is a long slippery slope that only ends in winter heartache; snow, slush, ice and freezing winds.

For the short term, I don my long down coat with my clogs without socks. Like a ragamuffin child I head out the door for a walk with Buddy. OK, I know this is not a fashion forward statement. Actually, because I am short it is difficult to discern which end is up when I wear this coat but avoiding the cold trumps appearance; no matter how ridiculous I look.

And Buddy?

Buddy has a sweater with a hood. My sons think he looks ridiculous in it. I think he looks adorable, but it really doesn’t matter what he looks like, because he gets cold too.

So off we go for a walk, no socks yet. I am holding out for awhile.

We may look a little odd, but we won’t be cold, my Buddy and me.

“Cloudy
The sky is gray and white and cloudy
Sometimes I think it’s hanging down on me
And it’s a hitchhike a hundred miles
I’m a rag-a-muffin child
Pointed finger-painted smile
I left my shadow waiting down the road for me a while.” Paul Simon