Don't mind me,I'm just crawling for help.

Daisy and Monty looking at the biggest dog treat in the world (er, me).

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Well, well, well, ‘tis another St. Patrick’s Day. Another excuse to drink ourselves to near-coma levels; another excuse to stuff ourselves with Irish food at unbelievably crowded Irish pubs; another excuse to pinch that cute co-worker or unsuspecting passerby who is not wearing green; another excuse to contaminate a defenseless light beer with green food coloring. I think there is a little bit of Irish in all of us, and why not use today to let it out and be merry? Hell, I even watched Walker, Texas Ranger this morning and lo and behold, in the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day, my boy was kicking the shit out of some IRA thugs. So, if Chuck Norris, All-American badass, can do it, there is no reason we cannot either. Sure, it is one of those holidays where only
1% of the population knows the meaning of St. Patrick’s Day (myself not included), but that doesn’t stop us from getting our drink on. The Irish know and love their beer. We should consider them role models in this affair.

Aside from St. Pat’s, I am smack dab in the middle of a 5-day stretch off work. The only exercise I plan on doing is showering. Maybe fixing food, too, if I cannot reach the phone to order delivery. To prove the extent of relazation mode I am in, I went to get a bagel for breakfast as well as shopping for a few groceries at Wal-Mart this morning while wearing pajamas and my UK house slippers. I didn't even notice until I was in the store.

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It has truly been quite the interesting and packed week. I got published, I attended a funeral, and we acquired a new puppy. My wife is crazy. Yes, I’ll say it here. But, I must be just as nuts (if not more so) because she gave me the final word for a change. It is hard to say no to her sometimes. I know how much of a dog-lover she is, and if a new puppy will keep her off the streets and out of trouble, I suppose it is my civic duty to oblige. I would say no to her if she asked me to do something psychotic, like murder, or take out the trash during a Kentucky Wildcat game, but I think she knows better to ask me to do such things anyway.

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Puppies are some of the cutest things on the planet, even when they are pooping on the hardwood floor. Case in point: I looked over yesterday to check on him and sure as I’m sitting here, he was crouched and grunting. I had to laugh, because if I were in his position (which I may be if we get another dog someday) I would just drop trou and do my business, too. I know what the little brat is thinking, because I can see it in his cute, little, beady eyes:

Why bother going out in the cold and wet weather to poop when I can stay in here, where it’s nice and cozy, and this big lummox is gonna clean it up after me anyway?

And they say we are the master. Yeah, right.

After the little one gets bored with defecating on the floor he’ll move up to destruction of property. Oh wait, he’s already done that.

I followed him into the living room and he stopped in mid-stride and began to gnaw on the corner of the coffee table. I better watch my alcohol and food intake today; otherwise, I may pass out and become a chew toy. It would make for an interesting blog post, though! If that happens, I promise I’ll learn how to type again with my mangled appendages and write better than ever.

The brats are chewing up the rug right now as we speak. and they are looking at me kind of funny. Gotta go.

See ya on the flipside, Kids.