My fur rug is back--in other words I've got my Dad's fur ball if a dog back. I cleaned the floors Saturday, picked the dog up Sunday, cleaned the carpet Monday and today. The same for the next ten or so years as the fur ball is now permanent. Charming critter that I call Taz because it was like that old cartoon with the Tazmanian devil making all sorts of rackette in that cage he came in. My Taz did all that, then exploded out of the crate, dropping fur and footprints wherever he went, my dog running for her life.

I really love that dog, but now my telephone conversations go something like this...Taz stop chewing the bottom of the rug. Taz, stop kissing the bird(don't worry he's in a cage, but loves kissing Taz). And my favorite, Taz spit that out, I haven't read that part of the magazine yet. By the way, I was reading the magazine when I said that.

Ole Taz is fast, too. Runs up the stairs as my poor, three years younger dog is heading up, where he chases her back down the stairs, then heads back up to put a dent in that nice plant I've had for a few years, along with the rug, my mattress and the cover on my bed. Taz can do all this while I'm still trying to get my foot on the first step.


Taz loves shoes too. In fact, he loves them so much that he doesn't even wait for me to take them off. He's not too bad, though, he just chews the top part of the shoe, being very careful not to disturb my nap.

Did I mention Taz looks especially good with my favorite gold chain between his teeth? The same for bottled water, my winter hat, etc, etc, etc.