Snowy Writes (Alternate Title: the Blog Dog)

I’m headed to Greenville today for a doctor’s appointment so I don’t have time to write a long post; however, you’ll be happy to know that Snowy has volunteered to write a post in my place. How exciting is that?

Before I go, let me give you a preview of the Hurricane Stories that are still to come.

You may remember this picture of Sarah and Taylor, taken at Sarah’s birthday party—two happy friends celebrating a happy day.

Well, Sarah and Taylor have recently learned that real friends stick close to together in happy times and in tough times—one of those tough times being the fact that Taylor’s family was one of the many families flooded out of their home by Hurricane Irene. Over the past few days, they have gone through the process of throwing many of their their ruined belongings away and completely moving everything else out of their home into storage.

Sarah has stuck right there with Taylor through it all—their friendship growing sweeter and stronger through this hardship.

I’ll have more stories to tell about Taylor’s inspiring family in the days to come.

Also, some of you may have seen this picture in national news coverage about the hurricane. (Sorry, I have no idea who took it.) I have a story about that picture, as well.

But for now, I am headed out the door to yet another cancer follow-up visit, leaving you with a blog post written entirely by my intelligent and highly verbal dog. Snowy, take it away!

Hi. Snowy here.

I thought I’d go ahead and write a blog for my mom since she is very occupied right now with goin’ hither. And yon. And other places not included in hither. And also yon.

So. What does one blog about when one is taking over for one’s blogging mom? Hmmm . . . this is not quite as easy as I thought it would be.

Oh yeah. I know! I know! I’ve got something! Oooh, oooh! Pick me! Pick me!

Have you heard the news? Word on the street is that my big brother got married a month ago. Yep! He sure did! Isn’t that so incredibly exciting?

Oh wait. You heard that already?

Oh.

Sigh.

Well, that’s okay, I guess. I don’t really like talking about the subject much anyway because (this is painful for me to admit), I did not even receive my own personal invitation in the mail. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, as hard as this may be to believe, I was not even invited to Nathan’s nuptials.

But I’m not bitter. Much.

No, instead of giving into bitter doggie feelings, I have opted to take the high road. I have opted to dedicate myself to worthwhile and laudable pursuits such as blogging to give my mom a break. Such as examining the front porch for signs of yummy food items dropped by unsuspecting Smith people. What can I say? I’m a busy dude.

Speaking of which, I also stay quite busy surveying my domain for signs of neighborhood drama—you know, like boisterous birds and sassy squirrels and such.

By the way, does this pose make my . . . um . . . behiney, look . . . er . . . chubby? (I seem to have put on a few pounds since reaching the sunset side of middle age.)

It does make me look chubby? Well, how embarrassing is that? Ahem. Let me just, um, whip around and try to find a better side to present to you.

Whipping around . . .

Still whipping . . .

Ahhh. Is that better?

Wait. What’s that you say? I have ended up right back in the same position where I started?

Oh dear. This is so humiliating. And right on that world wide web thingie, and everything. Whatever are Mom’s readers going to think of me now?

Give me just a minute to reconnoiter. And also reconsider. And also reposition my cute self.

There. How’s that?

I always feel that one can’t go wrong when one is displaying a flattering view of one’s fine flank, especially when the aforementioned flank view features a preponderance of magnificent, rippling muscles.

What’s that, you say? You don’t see any rippling muscles?

Well, la-de-da. Let me just stand up right here and tell you a thing or two about muscles. I got muscles, I tell you. I am ripped! I am ripped with rippling muscles! I am the envy of all pit bulls and German shepherds! And also, um, toy poodles.

Look at me! Look at me from this angle! Look, I say!

And also this angle! I am a muscular macho doggie from every angle. Do you hear me?

Macho, I tell you! Hear me roar! (Um. Sorry for the odor. I forgot to brush my teeth this morning.)

Okay. I’m done now.

But let me just add that roaring is a lot of hard work. Ripplin’ and roarin’ is not half as easy I make them look. I mean, look at me. My tongue’s hangin’ out, and everything!

But it’s okay. I will rise above!

Or sink below, as the case may be.

At any rate, I really think that I should just forget all that ol’ roaring, ripping stuff and take up blogging as a full time profession. I seem to be really, really good at it. In fact, I am so good, I think it’s time for me to have an official promo shot. What do you think?

I don’t know about you, but I personally think I am one good lookin’ dog!

(Did I just say that out loud?)

Aw, shucks.

Well, anyway, even though it’s been awful nice talking with you, I’ve got to admit that all this thinking and writing and blogging is hard work for me. And also displaying my muscles is hard work. And also lying on the porch in the sun is really, really, um, hard.

So I’d better go have a nap.

This is Snowy. Signing off.

Snowy Plays Dead and Comes Back To Life and Styles His Own Hair In An Amazingly Impressive Fashion

Hi. Snowy here.

This is a really big day for me because Mom (who is a wee bit worn out from the past frantic-esque week )has assigned to me the job of writing today’s Smithellaneous post. She said that she was just way too tired to help me and that it was going to be entirely up to me.

So. Today? I am the Blog Master! I am the King of Smithellaneous! I am the Dog in Charge! Listen to me ROAR! (Or, um, bark, as the case may be.)

Even though I hate to admit this fact (since I am an independent, self sufficient, manly man sort of doggy) my blogging style has really been influenced by my mom’s example. I have sat in the recliner next to her and helped her write countless blogs and if there’s one thing I’ve noticed, it’s that her blog posts usually feature lots and lots of pictures.

Also, I’ve noticed that historically, her best blogs have featured numerous pictures of,well, moi. (I’m trying to be humble here, but it’s not easy.)

And so. Since she is my Blogging Person Mentor, I certainly wouldn’t want to mess around with her successful modus operandi. (Whatever that means.) So today’s blog will be entirely comprised of pictures of, well, you know who.

I thought up a really great and descriptive title which I have put at the top of this page. I hope that you were suitably impressed by my massive intellect and creative titling skills when you read it.

And now, here is my very own post . . .

One day last week, my mom discovered a natural spotlight in our house and plopped me down in the middle of it so that I could (rather against my best judgment) pose in a distinguished manner.

And then (hard task master that she is), she told me to stop posing and to roll over and play dead.

I mean, really, really dead.

I had to peek a little bit to make sure I was doing it correctly. There’s a lot of pressure to succeed in this cut throat, playing dead business.

Once I finally came back to life, my mom told me I had done a good job. All I could say was, “Aw, shucks.” Beneath this studly exterior, I am actually a very humble dog.

But then? There was a crisis! A messy hair crisis! Let me tell you folks, being dead really plays havoc with one’s hair.

Since my appearance is of utmost importance to my overall blogging image, I had to immediately launch into a few emergency hair styling maneuvers. You may think it’s easy to do one’s grooming with no opposing thumbs, but I am here to tell you that it takes ingenuity and contortionist contortions to get myself looking this handsome.

Most of my hairstyling technique (you can take notes, if you wish), involves the act of rubbing my head vigorously against the carpet. You should try it sometime!

Let’s see. Head rubbing done. How do I look?

Naw, this look is no good because it hides one of my beautiful black eyes.

Let me attempt a re-style.

Ahh. That’s better.

I’m a good lookin’ dog, if I do say so myself. And I do. (Um. Say so. Myself.)

Okay. I’m done.

And I’m now off to report (very humbly) to my mom that today’s blog has been written. And published. And enjoyed by thousands.

I am so wonderful.

This is Snowy, signing off.

How A Pastor’s Dog Deals With Temptation

Hi. Snowy here.

So. I’m in the kitchen. Strolling back and forth. Forth and back. Bored to tears.

And so I do what all bored kids do. I look look up and say, “Mom? I’m bored!”

I then take a few steps into the hallway to see if anything exciting might be happening out there.

Nope. Still bored.

“Mom?”

Mom (bless her heart) decides that she shall leap fearlessly into The Fray of Boredom and do something quasi-exciting in order to enhance the momentousness of my existence. This consists of opening the front door just to see what I will do. (My mom is easily entertained. I love that about her.)

Hmmm. Is this a trick?

Um. Mom?

Sniff. It sure smells good out there. I am catching all sorts of whiffs of all sorts of things and all of them are calling to me, “Snowy! Come outside! Come join us in this wonderful whiffing outdoor world!”

A little closer to the door. A little closer to temptation.

Note: May I just add that as a veteran pastor’s dog in good standing, I feel compelled to inform you that this is not the highly recommended method for the efficient handling of temptation. As a rule, I believe that the widely accepted idea is to run really, really speedily in the opposite direction. (However, do not look at my mom near a tray of brownies as an illustration of that point. Just sayin’.)

Sigh. I’m really sorry to have to report this to you, but temptation finally won out. I have passed beyond the point of no return.

I have crossed the line.

I am heading out into the Great Beyond, the Great Unknown, the Great Pee-ing Expanse of Land That Stretches to the Horizon. (Did I just say “pee” out loud?”)

Ahh! Deep breath! Freedom! Fresh air! Sunshine on my shoulders! (Cue John Denver.)

My very own patented Alert Doggie Head lowers just a tad in order for me to better sense the sometimes scary scents wafting by. One can’t be too careful when one ventures out into the Outer Outside World. (Especially when one normally resides in the Inner Inside World.)

I make doubly sure to keep a close eye on the little bird that is walking across the lawn a few feet away. I always say that one can never be too careful around birds because one never knows when they might turn into violent, rabid, awful monster-esque creatures. (Or something like that.)

I dearly hope that my dear mother is taking note of the fact that I am just standing obediently on the porch instead of frantically running into the street or chasing those (violent, rabid) birds. At least I am proving myself able to resist a wee bit of temptation!

Oops. Saying “wee” just reminded me that I am outside and that I have to go, um, well, you know.

(My mom has decided to spare you the picture since this is a family friendly site.)

This is Snowy. Signing off.

____________________________________

P.S. Mom didn’t want to mention this for fear of embarrassing me but I will just go ahead and admit right here that I have gained about two pounds in the last month. I think that means that I’m eating good and feeling great.

And since the doctor told me in December that I was about to die? I think gaining two pounds instead is pretty okay with me.

Snowy. And The Chair. And The Tongue Test.

Hi. Snowy here.

It has occurred to me that some of you may think that since I help Mom a lot with her blog writing, I am not open to lending my capably impressive assistance to the other male guy in our house. And so today I have decided it would behoove me to present a couple pictures to you as irrefutable evidence to the contrary.

Shall we begin?

Here are Dad and me working together on the family budget. As a rule I do most of the thinking and he does most of the typing so we make a really good team. (You know, sometimes I really just wonder how this family ever got along without me back in the day.)

It was pretty fun hanging out with Dad. He’s not quite as “cushy” as Mom is but hey, no one’s perfect! I just sat right there right beside him and whenever he needed any advice he’d just consult me because, as we all know, I am an informational whiz from way back. (Since I’m on Mom’s Blog Payroll, and everything.)

And just in case you don’t know this little Thinking Secret? I’ve found that it helps to tilt one’s head back and raise the nose just slightly when doing serious thinking. It tends to allow the massive stores of knowledge and wisdom that are resident in one’s brain to have more freedom of movement as they roll around the cranial cavity.

You can thank me later.

So. All was well. And good. Not to mention great.

But then? What’s this? Where did he go? The Big Guy disappeared! He left me!

As I stared forlornly after his departing figure I wondered, “Doesn’t he understand that the very essence of my canine being is encapsulated in the moments of time when I can offer my able mental assistance and stellar, exemplary advice to all members of the human race who are in need of said input and insights?”

(Um. Does anyone know what I just said?)

Sigh. Well, if there’s anything I’ve learned in my eleven years of life it’s that when life hands you lemons you, um, sit in a chair and stare out the window.

And after you have stared out the window for a sufficient amount of time, you should then stare downward just a little so as to appear pensive and intellectual in order to impress Mom with said pensiveness. (And may I just say? It doesn’t take a whole lot to impress Mom so a little staring straight ahead goes a long way.)

But then? After a while? I started to get a little lonesome. Not to mention bored. Not to mention completely overwhelmed by the buzz of ideas that were whizzing around in my (small) brain, ideas which desperately needed a Human Type Person to impart them to.

Before I knew it, dismal distress and distressing dismay had descended upon my tiny heart.

What’s a guy to do, I ask you? What’s ahead for me? Where is my life headed? Am I being downsized? Outsourced? Am I no longer needed by The Smith Humans? Are my writing/consulting days over?

These are hard questions to face in the sunset years of one’s life.

But then?

I finally got sick (not to mention tired) of being all morose and melancholy and I quite sternly issued myself the following orders, “Get a grip! Life isn’t over! Your humans still need you! Think positive! Buck up! Take deep cleansing breaths! And above all else? SING! Sing your cares away!”

And when you’re done with verse one, then by George, move onto verse two! Sing until you can sing no longer! Let your soul soar on the wings of song! Raise your voice to the sky!

Whew! Wow! That whole singing thing turned out to be a lot of fun. And it also helped to dispel that dratted dismal dismay down in my heart. However. I still had the challenge of entertaining myself since no Human Type Person appeared to be returning to the Snowy Chair.

Let’s see. Hmmmm. What to do, what to do. . .

Oh, I know! I’ve got it! I should do a little little experiment to find out just how long my tongue really is! This is something I’ve been wondering about since I was just a wee lad, er, pup and it appears to be the perfect time to do engage in a bit of empirical scientific research.

So . . . let’s see.

Whoa! Pretty long, huh?

WHOA!! Really, really long!

You know what? This is truly impressive! I think someone should contact the White House so that I can be hereby lauded as the Canine Tongue King! I ROCK!

Did I just say that out loud?

Sigh. I’m so bored.

You know, I seem to recall that some wiser Dog than I once said, “If Human Type Persons do not come and sit with you after 12.5 minutes of waiting, then you should go find something fabulous and fulfilling to do elsewhere.” (Or something like that.)

So. I guess that’s what I’ll have to do. However, first I need to give myself a little shake to get my fur arranged back into its usual attractive style. All that thinking, singing and tongue analyzing can certainly wreak havoc with one’s appearance.

And then?

Then I’m outa here!

This is Snowy. Signing off.