Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Episode IV: The Curse of the Dog Next Door

The next page in the Adventurous Adventures of Sir Poo-a-lot comes from the recent past, lastnight as a matter of fact.

After a nice dinner on the back patio with my lovely wife, we finished our drinks (I had a Carona and my wife had a strawberry-banana margarita) and decided to open a bottle of wine and just enjoy talking and being outside on a cool, early summer's evening. I'm kind of partial to red wines, but my wife prefers white, so that's what we decided on. I selected a 2002 Columbia Crest Chardonnay.

It was a nice wine I must say. Light golden in color, mineral and pear on the nose, and on the palate: apricot, a little spice, nice balance of oak with small hints of tabacco. I'd give it 4 out of 5 tikis ;) ahh, but I digress...

After an evening of chatting, petting the dogs, and listening to exotica in the background, my wife decided that it was time for her to hit the sack. Ok, she was wasted and had to get up to go to work in the morning. However I did not! Hell, the night was young so after she went to bed, I jumped in the spa, finished the bottle of wine, and rocked out to Stan Getz, Bossa Nova. Awesome album by the way, 5 out of 5 tikis...

Around midnight I decided to head to bed. At around 3:30 am the neighbor's dog starts barking.

And doesn't stop for an hour.

This morning I felt like a got hit by a freight train. And nothing to eat breakfast-wise in the entire house, so I cooked up a couple of hot dogs. Hell yeah. Hewbrew National beef franks: breakfast of champions.

I don't know what this dog next door's problem is. I poked my head over the fence this morning to try to get a picture of the little cocksucker, but he wasn't available for comment. Anyway, my wife was all worried this morning that all of our neigbors were going to think that it was one of our dogs barking all night, and that we were the ones going to end up having a nasty note on our door. Well, thankfully no note, but I rue the day that those people and their hell hound moved in.

Never before has the following rang so true:
Fucking dog. Zero tikis for you.