The Ballad of Frito Joe

Well, okay, I’ll come back. Stop complaining! CodeDependent thinks I’m afraid of success, and since I’m so universally popular, I’m hiding my light under a bushel. Hmmmmph. I prefer to think that the news, and every thing that I could conceivably comment on, is so obviously stupid already that it’s hard for me to make snarky comments to point out how stupid it is.

So, a couple of brief tidbits:

I, nor anyone in my immediate circle, cared who Deep Throat was. And we’re all awfully depressed that the free press that existed thirty years ago during Watergate is nothing but an historic relic. If you’ve been watching or reading the mainstream press, you probably don’t know that Rep. Conyers will be holding a hearing tomorrow to raise questions about the Downing Street Memo, which proves that President Bush intended to invade Iraq all along, and lied to the American people. Since Terri Schiavo’s autopsy results are in, and Michael Jackson has been found not guilty, there is a SLIM chance that you will hear about this tomorrow, but don’t forget – there’s still a missing white woman in Aruba, and the media LOVES missing white women! If she’s found tonight or tomorrow, you can bet that’ll carry the news through Monday.

Anyway, I’ve been obsessed with finding out every thing there is to no about dogs, which brings me to Frito Joe, our new little foundling. Jet and I saw him about two months ago, when we were looking for a baby brother for Dino, the sweetest dog that ever lived on the Earth. Frito Joe is a homely little thing, and when we first saw him, wasn’t housebroken, and hadn’t been bathed very frequently by his foster family. We filled out paperwork to start the adoption process, but realized the housebreaking thing wouldn’t exactly suit our busy, on-the-go lifestyles. So we withdrew our interest.

Several weeks later, the SPCA helpfully emailed us information on a different prospective new baby brother, which we traveled to see at an adoption show. And there was Frito Joe, still dirty and unadopted, but (as hastily pointed out by his foster mother), housebroken at last.

So, we indicated a renewed interest.

This was a on a day that I was en route to Atlanta, to attend the Council of Science Editors Annual meeting.

Regarding Atlanta, what’s the big deal? The highlight of my stay was finding that there’s a Dairy Queen adjoining the Hyatt Regency.

Regarding the Council of Science Editors – lots and LOTS of justified open hostility toward the Bush Administration I the scientific community. They are under attack, and they know it, and they’re not going to take it lying down. And they’re THIS close to figuring out how to clone. If I were a Republican, I’d be watching my back.

I did have a delightful Thai dinner with my cousin Dang, recently divorced from wife number two and on the prowl for number three. Though he’s no longer the strapping, golden-haired youth he was, oh, about 30 years ago, I still have a clear-as-a-bell memory of Dang’s brother, Jame Gumm, taking me out in the woods when I was a wee thing, and leaving me there. Not being one to be left, I set off to find my own way back and promptly found myself stuck in a thicket of briars with bees swarming all around me. Wherupon strapping, golden-haired Dang strode through the underbrush and plucked me up to safety.

So, I came home from my restful stay in Atlanta to find that not only had our renewed interest in Frito Joe been renewed and acknowledged, but that he had been delivered to our tasteful suburban home and been in the sole care of the harried Jet for two days.

Not only that, but Dino didn’t seem to like him very much. Probably because, never having heard the word “no” in her whole life, she was now hearing it all the time, loudly, and likely had no idea that it wasn’t directed at her.

Plus he bites her. All the time.

So, we decided Frito Joe would go right back to his foster mother, no questions asked, and we would go right back to our peaceful, idyllic lives with Dino.

This was on Wednesday. The foster mother agreed to pick him up on Saturday.

If not for the constant crying by Jet and I at the prospect of spurning him again, it probably would have worked.

But, alas, Frito Joe is ours now, and likely will be forever. Dino is grudgingly beginning to accept him, and as soon as we teach him not to dig at the lining of the water feature, I imagine he’ll be a delight.

Well, hope springs eternal.

Back soon – in the meantime, Floozy Flingland wants you to read all about the Lost Boys, Fundamentalist Mormon boys who get kicked out of their homes when they come of age to be competition for the elders. Grim stuff, if you can take it!