The Phantom Pooper

I love having a dog, but I don't always love the things that have to come with it. I love it when she wants to get close, but I don't always love the hair she leaves behind (in fairness, my wife probably says the same about me). I love it when she licks my face, but I don't love the odorific smell that comes with it. I also love that she is a good size at 50 lbs, but I don't always love that because she is a little bigger she also leaves a little "more" behind. Nonetheless, all of these things I can get through because she is my dog and I made the conscious decision to get her, so therefore, I can get through the hair, the breath, and picking up what we like to call "signature Sadie steamers."

Now, what I don't understand is why some people think they are immune to having to do what every dog owner is supposed to do. On top of that, I don't understand why one of these people's dog has determined to mark its spot (about 12 of them actually) right at the base of my stairwell. Its prime location means that when I take Sadie out for her daily duties, I have to delicately work my way through this area that is reminiscent of an Othello game board. Because of this, I have about four times daily the opportunity to under my breath visciously talk tough this anonymous and seemingly absent pet owner of whose dog I refer to as "The Phantom Pooper."

So, taking matters into my own hands, I did what any 1st-Amendment-loving-American would do: I made a sign. I took the backside of a Digiorno's box (thanks Super Bowl Sunday), a black Sharpie, a 2" x 1" piece of wood that I just happen to have lying around, and a large grocery bag, and wrote the following:

Pick up YOUR dog's poop*.
The person who has to walk over your dog's poop to clean up his dog's poop.
*bag has been included to help during economic times

Whether this will work or not, has yet to be determined, but given I don't really "work" for a living right now, I might just have to sit down there for a day--or two, or three--to see what's really going on and put an end to all of this. My guess is, I will end up getting reprimanded by my landlord for the sign, but hopefully as they walk out into this landmine of patchy snow, they will have some sympathy for the sign maker.

So if you are out there owner of the Phantom Pooper, I ask you one more time, please, do what you are supposed to do as a dog owner, because seriously, I don't think I should have to deal with this...crap.


So Long Peter Cottontail

Ahhh, home sweet home--a place where you feel at ease, a place you build memories, and a place where you can let your dog run around in the back yard to chase her tail, butterflies, and fat little bunny rabbits that must have lost a step in the winter months!

Over the last weekend, Annie and I headed down to Peoria to show our house to a potential buyer for the second time. Just to ensure the yard was in shape, we arrived at the house a little early to do some late winter raking, fallen branch clean-up, and eventually entrails disposal. As I was working with one of my many power tools I no longer get to use now that I live in an apartment (boo-hoo, I know), I hear this noise that resembles a young man plugging his nose and in a falsetto voice constantly "Bwap! Bwap! Bwap-ing" Quickly looking up, I see Sadie (our killer 4 year old, 50 lbs, yellow lab) in the corner of the back yard with her back to me shaking her head like an 8 year old refusing to eat the last bite of rotten potato salad. As she continually thrashes her head back and forth, I see little bits of cotton flying through the air and the echo of the "bwaps" coming from the rabbit that was so desperately trying to get his chubby little bunny buns through the, I'm sure, smaller-than-he-can-remember chain link fence.

Seeing this, I quickly realize what is going on--my Sadie finally got what she has always wanted: a wascally wabbit all of her own! All those years of pulling on the leash, chasing them down in her partial-woofing doggy dreams, and sitting at the back door whining--practically begging--to be let out to run one down, had finally come true. A feeling of pride rushed over my body. My little four-legged, stinky-breath, hairy baby was all growed up doing what she was supposed to do! But, no--I can't let this happen, I can't let the blood of the innocent (I just assume that rabbits are innocent) be spilled 20 minutes before the house is to be shown! With that, I take off my plastic safety goggles and hurle them at Sadie to gain her attention. It was at this moment I realized that light weight plastic doesn't fly at near the velocity or distance you might think it would. Nonetheless, as I continued to move towards Sadie I was vehemently yelling her name, "Sadie Elaine! Sadie Elaine!" as if she 1) knows she has a middle name, B) knows what it means when I call her by her middle name, and 4) would give up her dream simply because she heard the sound of 2 oz of plastic hit 5 feet behind her and my voice quickly approaching. When I finally get to her, I grab her by the haunches and try to pull her away from the rabbit. From my perspective this would seem to pull the dog away from the rabbit, but from Mr. Cottontail's perspective this only aided Sadie in tearing the rest of his hide away to now make him just Mr. Cotton.

During the furry, Annie had also come to the rescue, but now as we both held our vicious little killer back, Mr. Cotton scurried halfway across the back lawn using only his front two feet try and avoid any further damage. Over the next few minutes we continued to clean and hold our little Ivan Drago back from her natural instinct to make Apollo Creed out of the rabbit. Sadie was then put into the back seat of the car to think about what she had done, but instead, quickly fell into a deep slumber where, I can only imagine, she chased and caught more rabbits. Mr. Cotton on the other hand, continued to scuttle around the back of the yard doing what he could with only the front half of his body remaining. Finally, we were able to convince him to calm down, crawl into a blanket, so we could smack him over the head with a shovel. Okay, so the shovel was made up, but seeing that he was on his final bunny breaths, we did wrap him in a towel, petted him for a couple minutes, and laid him to rest--far away from any other killer labs. After leaving him, I moved on to console my nearly-teary eyed wife about how Sadie was just doing what dogs do, and Mr. Cottontail was just doing what fat, slow, stuck-in-fences, bunny rabbits do. Eventually, about ten minutes after his last rites, I checked on our little friend to find that his time had come and that he finally drifted off to that big Easter basket in the sky...

I guess I'm not quite for sure why I chose to write this blog; maybe I feel guilty that a rabbit's life came to an end through the teeth of my dog, or maybe this is my own little version of how nature always finds a way to take its course. I suppose it could be either of those, but likely it's because as sad as it was, I still giggle every time I picture how stupid and happy Sadie looked as we pulled her off of that rabbit. I only hope that Mr. Cottontail can now rest in peas...and carrots...and other vegetation that stereotypical rabbits eat.


This is Michael and I Approve this Blog

Hello blog reader...and someday (hopefully) "readers!"

So, just like half of the free world, I've decided to start my very own blog. This is something that I have always wanted to do, but I'm not for sure why. I always enjoy talking about my observations although I have never written about them, so this is my chance. I never really understood the purpose of a diary; why would you want to write something that no one can see? Realistically, that is what I'll be doing when I post a new blog, because even though no one will see this they at least have the chance to see it.

With that, here are the "W's" on this blog:

Michael Kremer. Just a normal guy who is working his way through the world with no more questions or answers than the next person. At the first posting of this blog I am in the midst of leaving my current job, looking at working on my master's degree full-time in approximately 8 months. I've been happily married for the last three years and our only little one, Sadie, has four legs and a slightly more hairy body than me (she will likely be in the focus of some, if not many, of my future blogs). I live just North of Chicago, love the summer months, and do not wear scarves in the winter. I'm never as funny as I think I am, I'm not as good as I say I am, and I can never hold my liquor quite like I'm convinced I can. Like I said, just a normal guy.

A blog where I get to write about what ever I want to, really. From the ridiculousness that is known as American politics to how annoying Red Bull and Olive Garden commercials are. Some of it will be more pertinent than others, but all of it will come straight from the huge melon of mine that sits on top of my neck and I'm forced to look at daily.

I would like to think that I can at least make a couple posts weekly, but given that I'll be sans job in approximately three weeks, it may start out being a little more frequent than that.

Really--you need to ask? I mean, you're already here: http://MyKremerica.Blogspot.com. I seriously thought you would have just known that...

...and WHY
Recently, I have started taking more note to the world around me--politically, socially, environmentally, commercially, and in many other "-ally" ways--and I cannot just help but speak my mind. I'm sure I'll make mistakes in my thought processes, be inconsistent, and contradict myself, so if I do (and you've read enough to catch it) call me out! I'm always up for a good debate or opportunity to find something out about myself.

So that's how it all starts out. A little about myself to get you started, but I'm sure more will come out with subsequent blog posts, possibly more than you wanted to know. Welcome to my world, The Detached State of Kremerica.