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Welcome to the BOMB.

The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...

About Me

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My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my thirteen year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my two year old gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”

Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)

  • Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
  • Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
  • Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
  • Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
  • The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)

Tuesday, August 4, 2015


When I awoke bleary-eyed this morning I was in desperate need of the facilities; however, I couldn't find my house shoes. I have pedal neuropathy which makes barefoot walking very painful, so I shoved my feet into the nearest shoes I could find for the short trek into the bathroom. The shoes I found were the slides I normally wear to work. 

As I lurched in the dark toward the bathroom, I realized something didn’t feel quite right. Adjusting my foot in the shoe did not alleviate the sensation. Quite frankly, I have been having problems with the cheap shoe inserts ever since I put them in, so I thought they were the problem.   A remote second possibility, not one I wanted to consider due to the health ramifications, was that of swelling.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I turned on a light, kicked off the shoes, and did a double take—something fist-sized, brown, and furry starred up at me.

Luckily for everyone in the house, it was neither carbon-based—dead or living—nor waste product.

Evidentially one of The Boys had “gifted” me with a small floppy cat-dog toy.

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