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The BOMB

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 ten 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 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.)

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

The Elusive Mr. Right


The Mystery  of the Singleton Socks Continues—and it would appear the oft maligned dryer is perhaps not the culprit I have thought it to be lo these many years.  The disappearance of singleton socks may in fact have another cause,  and there is the strong possibility the culprit may have a less than snowy white innocence.  If so, the responsibility to make a formal apology may fall to moi.
Last night I saw Mr. Sock Right as I laid him out with the rest of the outfit I planned to wear  today. Unfortunately, sometime during the night  he went missing.  The elusive Mr. Right—it’s  the story of my life.  As I searched for the current Mr. Right last night, I became increasingly alarmed.  It appeared he had disappeared off the face of the earth.  At least he had disappeared from my home.
I finally found, not Mr. Right, but one of his long lost relatives—one who had slid down between the recliner and the side table. I know not how long he’s been hiding out there; however, it has been long enough to become  covered in short white hairs. CSI confirmation has not been obtained; however, the short white hairs  do not match the hair on my head;  they are  shorter than the hairs of Bandits crest; and  they look suspiciously like  they might belong to Moggy.  I do not believe in coincidence.
Although the new-found sock did not match Mr. Left,  I was running out of time, so I made an executive decision and pressed the Hairy Relative into service—at least I  pressed him into service once the majority of the evidentiary white hairs were knocked off.  
Funny thing though—on my way out the door I passed the Kitty Rocker (the same one  Moggy dismantled within minutes of being presented to him),  where I found the elusive Mr. Right. Isn’t this always the way it happens?  Once you stop searching , the object of your search miraculously appears—sometimes in the least expected place.  
Alas,  I became aware of a trend. Mr. Right was also found to be  covered in short white hairs.
I realize the location Mr. Right was  found (the Kitty Rocker), along with the short white hairs on both Singleton Socks,  could be red herrings; planted by a devious dog wanting to get his feline brother into trouble. Or the dryer may have somehow secretly transported the missing sock back to our home.  Or, these facts could simply be coincidences. However, as previously stated, I do not believe in coincidence.  Nevertheless, in the light of fairness, I must cautiously remember the hundreds of previous singleton socks who went missing prior to Moggys adoption into our little family, which I lovingly refer to as Mary Lou’s Zoo.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes has said, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”  Although I have my doubts as to the innocence of Moggy, I will endeavor to continue my sleuthing until the day I can eliminate all of the impossibilities, thereby  arriving at the truth, no matter how improbable it may seem.

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