Sir Bitey Biterson

The Earl of Bitemore.
Knight of the Bite Table.

Soundtrack to Cooper

Fight The Power
Its So Easy
Debaser
Smokin In The Boys Room
You Gotta Fight
Loser
We're Not Gonna Take It
Lick It Up
Hey Ho Lets Go
Welcome to the Jungle
Insane in the Membrane

Intrepid Cowgirl Teaches Zetta To Get Out Of Her Damn Head

I've always loved animals. I've been an animal sympathizer since I was a wee little girl, listening over and over again to my LP record of Black Beauty. Those kids on the playground, galloping like horses? I was one of those weirdos. Oh yes, I watched Grizzly Adams and thoroughly identified with the man. I've always had one or two beasts living right with me. Lately, though, this living among animals has changed for me--it is deeper.
My friend Jackie is a born trainer. She started with dogs, but now she trains horses, and she is devoted to her herd in such a way that people take notice. Her horse vet told me once that when she dies, she'd love to come back as a horse--so long as she could be one of Jackie's horses. The farm has 11 horses, give or take a few, some barn cats, and 3 dogs. When I am there, we add one dog who takes up the energy of two or more. Lots of animals on the farm and few human beings. I'd say we all like it that way.
When I got Cooper, I had no idea about how to train a dog, let alone train a dog whose sole motivation in life is world domination. I'd put him on a leash and he'd pull and bark and roll around on his back, but when Jackie came around, he's stand up straight and be a good boy. She told me, "It has to come from your heart." As far as I could tell, I was really feeling it in my heart that I wanted this dog to behave, but lo, this dog was b-a-d. And then Jack would show up and furrow her little brow at the whelp and he'd win the national spelling bee. I'd take him home and he was smoking crack with all his homies in my livingroom all day long while I was at work.
Little by little, she taught me basic training skills. She always told me that I was a "pushover" and that what we had here was not a dog problem, but a confidence problem. I was still completely bamboozled as to why he was a perfect angel for her, and then turn into my bright and shining arch nemesis. One day a few weeks ago, Cooper was loose in our back yard in the city and acting like a total asshole and definitely not coming to me when I called him. I stood there in my bare feet and my pink fuzzy bathrobe in the early morning sun and thought about my friend Jackie and all the things she had said to me over the months about training this damn dog. He happily gallivanted around me, bounding to and fro, just out of my reach, the little bastard.
I thought: This dog respects me. I'm the damn leader! This dog does what I ask him to do. And for the first time ever, I allowed myself to feel that, to make it a bodily felt sense. And then?
My arch nemesis came to me and he sat down. I finally got it. There is so much more to the thing than a command and a reward. There is expectation, communication, and a good boundary--just like dealing with human beings. Except your animal friend can know your heart, and that is what he listens to, not your words.
What a magical lesson my intrepid lovely friend Jack has given me. It is her nature, so she can't figure out what took me so long. I'm sure glad she waited for me to get it.

An Open Letter To My Dog

Dear Cooper,
Jackie says that I do not have a "dog problem", but that I have a "confidence problem."
Since she is the Cesar Milan of the Farm and all within (including you and me) I had to bow my head and agree with her. You know, to like, get out of the room.
Here's the thing. You are just like someone who went to catholic school. You look good. You look good on paper. You'll perform when the head nun is watching. But I know the real you. The you that is making out with public school girls, and getting them to give you blow jobs. The you that is selling cocaine to the freshmen. The you that has the calculus exam answers written on your hand. I know you are out there running away from me, gorging yourself on horse poop, and getting the neighbor's dogs on the other side of the fence all riled up.
I will expose you for who you really are. I am onto you.
Love,
Zetta

I wonder what kind of googlers will find me today

Things Cooper has recently stolen:
my wallet
my camera
all of my pens
placemats
linen napkins
my socks
35464849 of my shoes
some of VBM's shoes
my Rx sunglasses
a leaf off of my palm tree
a binder lifted out of my bag, which was on the couch
my calculator
the offboard shutter release I haven't even used yet
my pajama bottoms
a couple of my shirts
one of VBM's cycling shoes
maybe a few of VBM's socks
some of my mail
pretty much whatever he can find that is mine
VBM's fancy scientific calculator

Dishes we could make out of Cooper if we decide to kill and eat him:
Dog au vin
Dog Tartare
Coopsoullet
Roasted dog loin
Dogs benedict
Braised dog with ancho chiles in adobo
Macaroni and Coop
Dog parmesan
Cooper picatta
Flourless chocolate dog
Scrambled dogs
Dog grois
Dog legs
Dogttata
Fried dog rinds
Coop scampii
Dog confit
Dog shawarma
Moo shoo Coop
Fried dog wans
Coop cacciatore
Dog chowdah
Curried samoyed dog
Corned dog and cabbage
Cooper meuniere with browned butter
Dogs mignons
Linguine with dog and cream
Poached dogs in red wine
Twice baked dog

Dogs is dogs

Cooper teaches me many things. Today he teaches that while he is a charmer, he cannot be trusted and he may very well be sent to the catfood factory to be ground up for food.
Up until yesterday, he hadn't destroyed anything. But yesterday, the very day after I wrote the glowing post about how great and beautiful and smart and cool and awesome he is--he went over to the dark side.
He chewed up the back seat of my car. That's right. My new car. The one that has been driven less than 2000 miles. The one that has a dog strainer in it and the one I WAS DRIVING WHEN HE DID IT.
This morning I googled "upholstery portland oregon" and found a place in SE. I called the number. When the guy answered, I said this:
"I need help."
He said this:
"Uh-oh."
I told him of my travails. He said "Bring it in and I'll take a look at it. Dogs chew up cars all the time. Dogs is dogs."
When I arrived, I had to find the door. Once inside, I surveyed a vast mess. A scrawny man emerged from a hole in the wall. I told him I was the one with the dog problem.
He came out and looked at my back seat. "Ah, " he said, "that's easy. 95 bucks." I almost wept with relief. " No shit?" I asked. "No shit, " he replied.
We walked back into the shop to settle things up. "I love dogs," he told me, " They sure chew up alot of cars."

Do overs, puppies, and incredulities

I'm braising a pork shoulder. In green chiles, garlic, onion, lime juice, and chicken stock.
Later, after all the collagen in the meat has melted, I'll pull it apart with a fork and make enchiladas out of it. What began as a routine pork puddle assembly went very far south this New Year's Eve, people. It started going south yesterday morning at the grocery store, when I mindlessly selected some jalapeno peppers to put in my sofrito. I will say now that those peppers, which looked and felt like jalapenos, were not what they seemed. They were, in fact, the hottest peppers from Dick Cheney's garden plot in Hell, which is in an undisclosed location known all over hell for producing the hottest peppers ever.
I would like to add at this point that my dog is chewing on a short length of climbing rope. He is doing it ON THE COUCH right next to me. Ahem.
So this morning I browned that beautiful marbled hunk of swine goodness and then set about softening an entire head of garlic, which I had peeled with the nifty little silicone peeler that Fudge Christine gave me for my birthday this year. I mused over Fudge Christine and wondered how her Prime Rib Christmas went last weekend and noted that I sure do like that Fudge Christine. I halved the evil little jalapeno imposters from Dick Cheney's secret hell garden and seeded them. I chopped them right up and threw them in the pot with the garlic and onions. I added a can of mild green chiles. And chicken stock. And lime juice. Just as I was about to throw the the pig into the pot, I had this little urge to taste my sofrito. After it got in my mouth, I had a sensation like my tongue had just been blown into the center of the sun. Fuck! I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to cool that shit off so I started over.
While I was peeling yet another bulb of garlic, I reflected a bit over the last year. I thought a little bit about how screwed up the government is, which is one of my favorite pasttimes. I mean, really, we could all think about that for a good long while, couldn't we? So I set that aside, if only briefly. I remembered our beloved late dog, Loki. I see her sometimes, walking out in front of me, waving her tail like a feathery flag. It was heart wrenching when she got sick. We have the munchkin now, and lo, he is a pain in the ass. I am very glad for his white big dog teeth and his healthy newness. I am, however, baffled at how it came to be he is at this very moment resting his jowls on my arm as I type this.
Because I am on the couch. And we had a rule. About the couch. About the big purple overstuffed couch that is the first couch I have ever bought and the first couch I have ever bought that is not a futon. The rule was: no dogs on the couch. On Friday we took the little munchkin/fru-itt of the devil to the V-e-t in order to have his little nuts chopped off. We reckoned he'd be a bit nonplussed, maybe even kind of low energy in the days immediately following the surgery. Well. We didn't sleep at all Friday night because he had the lampshade hat on, which clearly does not work for him, and he was whining, AND he was bashing his hat on everything. In. The. World. Yesterday I lay down for a nap, leaving the VBM (who, I might add, is the big Rule Follower, even though we both heartily agree to No Dogs On The Furniture) to soothe the rugrat. We had given the whelp a benadryl in hopes it would dampen the whining. I was actually able to nap, which is almost unheard of. I dreamed about whining dogs. When I emerged from this once in 2006 nap, what did I see?
I saw the dog. On the couch. With the VBM. The VBM had this to say about it:
"He would not settle! I had to let him up here! He wore me down!"
Or something like that. He wore me down was definitely in there.
Okay. WTF.
Also in 2006, my mother retired and is now enjoying her first days as a snowbird. The VBM's lovely mother also quit going to work on a permanent basis and she seems to be consistently delighted whenever I see her. I became a part to half time mountain woman. I made new friends. I lost a good friend. My grandmother died. I bought a new car. It has heated seats! My business grew. I got snowshoes. Lots of miles were walked. And there is a dog. On my couch.
Happy New Year. May we all grow, get more flexible, eat well, love eachother, and discern more carefully the peppers.