The Alfie Sagas

This is Alfie:
alfie tag

This is Alfie’s dinner:
alfie's food

This dog cracks me up.

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Who’s that knocking at my door?

Argh. For the umpteenth time (I’m turning into my mother; it’s official), the Jehovah’s Witness’s (too many apostrophes?) were banging on my front door. This is how it works: I’m sitting at my computer, so I can lean and look towards the door and see who it is without being seen if I’m fast enough. I can then sit down at my computer and they can cool their heels at the door wondering, why, if there are several cars in the driveway and the door is open, is nobody answering their knock? Can everyone be in the bathroom?

They always knock twice, at least. One time, this nosy old bat actually opened my door and yelled yoohoo. OPENED THE DOOR TO MY HOUSE AND STARTED TO COME IN I LOST IT AND YELLED AT HER. Which of course made me seem like I needed saving all the more, I’m sure.

But I’m funny like that; I don’t buy anything I didn’t order at my door, except Girl Guide cookies. I don’t care if you’re ‘working in the neighourhood’, I don’t care if you have a clipboard (and tell me, since when did a clipboard become as official as a cop badge?) and want to sell me furnace crap now that the law has finally snuffed out your ability to sell me natural gas programs. Anyone notice how fast they pivoted on that nonsense?

I’m not sure how serving your religion entitles you to trespass against me. See what I did there? Maybe I need to be fighting fire with fire.

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Alfie’s first visit to the cottage.

He is on the dock. Safety first…
alfei dock

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“A little bag of meal was standard equipment in the tool kit.” – John Steinbeck

Great read, even if you’re not a car freak. But especially if you are.

“I don’t know what I did wrong but what I did was final.”

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It’s official

I’ve run out of hiding spots for the cat food. This is Marco the Brat….I’m considering applying a thin coating of oil to the range hood.
mark brat

I was away for a couple of days with Chrysler, and because it’s easier to drive to Detroit than sit around airports waiting to make a one hour flight, I asked them for something fun. They gave me this:
challenger 2
It has something called a Shaker Scat Pack, which isn’t poop. But it is fast. Very fast. It was indeed fun.

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Hey, Pop

I’m trying to do a Father’s Day thing. It would have been Dad’s 89th today. I can’t write it. I’ll just drop in a rerun….miss you, Pop.

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After a hard day of being a cat

I was working last night. This was my bed at midnight, five minutes after I got in.
But, you wonder, isn’t there one missing?
kitties plus jojo

JoJo don’t play those reindeer games.

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When commenters get nice…

Our own jmd from here made me laugh so hard….she has the first comment on my McLaren piece.

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Moab with Jeep Cherokee Trailhawk (link added under first pic)


This is Fisher Towers, just outside Moab, Utah. I just spent a few days there. It is even more amazing than it looks. This is what I was doing there (you can read the piece here):

me white

There were other things at the place we stayed:


We camped out in the desert one night. There is dust here. Lots and lots of dust, just like all my favourite westerns keep telling me in the books I keep reading. We were two and a half hours from Monument Valley and I couldn’t get there (it’s where John Ford filmed many of his best movies; if you don’t know who that is, this sentence doesn’t matter anyway) but lot of things get filmed around here, too. Hellooooo, Thelma and Louise! Anyway, inside my tent that night:

dusty boots

You would think with a room like this (those are steer horns. STEER HORNS OVER THE BED) that I would never leave:


But you’d be wrong. The Colorado River was right outside my room, and I hauled a sleeping bag outside the last night and slept on my deck:

window view

The Cherokee Trailhawk? Wow. Just, wow:

climb orange

The restaurant knew I was coming:

boot cowboy
















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Putting a burr under some saddles

My column this week is making the comments jump. Good thing I have a sense of humour.



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