Okay, how pathetic is this? The WSJ did arrive this morning -- we just didn't see it until a few minutes ago. When I finished mowing the lawn. After more than two weeks. Of rain and sun. And heavy growth

Yeah, it was way overdue.

I thought ahead this time and brought out my mp3 player with me. As I mowed I listened to some ancient techno from the Pet Shop Boys. Please, from 1985 (I think). The heat of the air and the smell of the grass put me in the mind of those unbearably humid and impossibly empty evenings of 1986 -- wandering around the Purchase campus, listening to my music on cassette tapes, contemplating... so many things. I spent that summer painting dorm rooms by day and stalking the corridors of the residence halls and campus centers by night. Funny how music can take you back. I remember it all. They even gave me a barely-operational two-way radio so I could communicate with the security department. And a set of master keys that I wasn't sure the purpose of so used them at will.

And I remember walking the roadways of the giant campus in solitude during hot humid dusks like the one outside right now.

I never did need to mow a lawn back then. Took me until age 40 to have to do that.

Here they are, sitting on the stoop like a couple of mooks. And they can't even agree on the weather.

Woke up early this morning; Alane brought in the newspaper from the driveway before getting in the car to make the drive to Cleveland city proper... It seems they gave us the wrong paper today: instead of the Wall Street Journal, I'm stuck reading the Plain Dealer.

Not even amusing.

Da Chimps are at their summer camp and I'm surveying the pile of work-related stuff that needs my attention. Time to dig in.

It's one hundread and three degrees on the prairie today but we may get some rain this week.

First I must convey my heartfelt appreciation for the many who, in ways small, immeasurable, or somewhere in between, helped in any way they could in our moments of need. You may never know how much you helped but you are are nevertheless appreciated. In fact, at least one local friend watered the garden and pumpkins, squash and tomatoes still seem to be growing.

This trip also solved the nearly five year-old question of whether I'd ever be able to face Ground Zero. Enroute to the burial we passed right by it on the West Side Highway. So much pain, so little time.

My return flights were "classic LaGuardia Airport" fare, and I should know (ask Mojo!). Flying to NY we circled for half an hour due to the weather in Queens but still managed to land on time. My outbound flight more than made up for that. Using a Vito-sized portion of planning I got to the airport at 4:30 to beat rush hour before my 7:30 flight. Little did I know that I could have returned to the castle for dinner. The plane needed for the 7:30 flight diverted to Lanaster, PA for more fuel because it circled so long waiting for the weather to clear. Eventually, my 7:30 flight took off at 11;30, which was within minutes of the actual time my conecting flight took off for Omaha. I napped overnight in the Minneapolis airport and caught the first flight out the next morning.

A woman in a "Guess" t-shirt was on both of my return flights. My guess? 36DD. In the immortal words from the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail, "I'm not dead yet."

It's one hundread and three degrees on the prairie today but we may get some rain this week.

First I must convey my heartfelt appreciation for the many who, in ways small, immeasurable, or somewhere in between, helped in any way they could in our moments of need. You may never know how much you helped but you are are nevertheless appreciated. In fact, at least one local friend watered the garden and pumpkins, squash and tomatoes still seem to be growing.

This trip also solved the nearly five year-old question of whether I'd ever be able to face Ground Zero. Enroute to the burial we passed right by it on the West Side Highway. So much pain, so little time.

My return flights were "classic LaGuardia Airport" fare, and I should know (ask Mojo!). Flying to NY we circled for half an hour due to the weather in Queens but still managed to land on time. My outbound flight more than made up for that. Using a Vito-sized portion of planning I got to the airport at 4:30 to beat rush hour before my 7:30 flight. Little did I know that I could have returned to the castle for dinner. The plane needed for the 7:30 flight diverted to Lanaster, PA for more fuel because it circled so long waiting for the weather to clear. Eventually, my 7:30 flight took off at 11;30, which was within minutes of the actual time my conecting flight took off for Omaha. I napped overnight in the Minneapolis airport and caught the first flight out the next morning.

A woman in a "Guess" t-shirt was on both of my return flights. My guess? 36DD. In the immortal words from the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail, "I'm not dead yet."

Ah, Sunday... A day to give thanks for all God's gifts. A day to indulge ourselves in the embrace of family. A day to eat meatballs and macaroni. Today at Berea-Rose, a rough division of labor has emerged. Seems I was the only one awake early enough so I attended 7:30 Mass alone; now that I'm back Alane is in the kitchen making the meatballs; and the boys are indulging (what else is new?).

It's a warm hazy morning, but still cool enough for the not-quite-half-mile walk to the church. Da Chimpz are assembling the wooden train track set in their playroom. Maybe later I'll get them into snapshots or videos so I can put something new online. I'm on the sofa and I don't expect to move from it anytime soon.

Finally back at the Berea-Rose homestead. Alane got me from Akron airport (of all places) and I got to see the boys with their spanking new crew-cuts. They sure look cool.

From the car I called The Castle; RoseAnne had been cleaning up old papers and told me how she had just found some 40-year-old invoices/receipts related to -- my being born! Among the services rendered: circumcision, a bargain at $15.

I think that's what the boys' crew-cuts cost.

Coincidence? I think not.

I blog from the castle. This is my second trip to New York and likewise, the second time I have met Vito. I wish it were under better circumstances, but we are doing just fine in our adjustment.

It has rained three times since I arrived in New York. I hope some of this rain follows me back to Omaha. Joe tells me that the garden, herbs, and flowers have all succumbed to the heat and drought while I was away and unable to water. I will just have to content myself to enjoy the 'city that makes its own gravy' when it rains (Jomaha's saying.)

I, too, applaud the sacrifice that Vinny and Marie made to come to New York. It took real courage and it makes me proud to know such fine people. I am honored to be counted as one of a family that shows such dedication and loving concern to each other. I have tears in my eyes as I type this which is not unusual anytime I think of the FLorida contingent of the clan.

Supper time beckons me to do my thing at the stove so that John and Vito have a family meal. Tonight it is chicken and homemade noodles which I will blog to the table after I return to the prairie.

My love and prayers are with you all.

My aunt is better than your aunt.

I have to elaborate on the post I made last night because the world needs to know the extraordinary action Marie took last week as she arranged to attend the funeral. Obviously, she requested time off. When her employer denied her the annual leave she would need to travel, she offered to take the time unpaid. When they continued to refuse she explained the importance of being there for the family. And when they still failed to budge... she resigned.

Isn't that awesome? Does she not rock?

In the Encyclopedia Mastandrea, the entries for "Love" and "Loyalty" are not just adjacent alphabetically -- they also share an identical definition. See above.

Shout it from the rooftops: Aunt Marie is boss.

Guido said it best: "Aunt Marie is my new hero."

Yes, and then some. She has raised the bar in a way that has left me speechless. Her and Vinny's presence at my mother's funeral meant more than I can ever express with mere words.

We like to think we're finalizing stabilizing the situation here in New York. That's easy for me to say -- I spent the night here in Yonkers with Alane and the boys; Joe and Ellie are down at the Castle 1526 tending to Don Vito.

What a week.

That apartment, that neighborhood, that parish -- all had changed so much over the years; and now changed again.

Anyway, I'm catching my breath at Guido's place. Later today I'll hop a train and head to Brooklyn because there's a lot of work that still needs to be done.

I talked to Frylock last night as I drove from Brooklyn. He promised to stir the sauce on the blog in my absence. He's up to it: he's a guy who's never at a loss for something to say.

It is a proud moment when those who have chosen to join and be a part of your family not only those born into it are with you through a tough time. Our thought and prayers are with you. And as the wagons circle a small faction will depart from Spumoni to support the new regime at castle 1526. Kahuna will be arriving with his mechanized supported division tomorrow. Keep us posted for any reinforcement needs.

Appropriately, yesterday July 20th, 2006 the Mastandrea Macaroni Dish went dark. Its a priceless comfort to know our family remains the same single powerful unit through tragedy that it is during celebration. Spumoni sends an outpour of love to Uncle V, John, Joe and Roseanne and their families. Spumoni, Nebraska, and Berea-Rose will all be going to the the mattresses...but you can be certain through the rough days ahead ... we will all be okay.

I blog now from the Castle 1526. Spent the afternoon at the house that Moses Maimonides built and came over here a little while ago to see if I could find something to eat. I'm exhausted; I'll head back over there in the morning.

Today's money quote from the man hooked intravenously to a computerized Heparin pump: "I don't even think this fuckin' thing works. That's what I mean: this place is all fucked up."

He was genuinely pissed off! (And needless to say had no reason to believe the pump was malfunctioning.)

Anyway, everything seems to be status quo for right now, so I'm going to try to get some sleep -- maybe make up for last night's sleeplessness.

Being a part of our family is a blessing...it means you can always know that during a crisis, you have the complete loving of support of every member. Right now the troops are mobilized... so General Sfingi and General Joemaha say the word and we are ready for action....Admiral Kahuna will be leading the invasion.

Oh well, since I did bother to watch the game, here's the best game summary I can find. "Sissy European lisp thingy!" is what the boss said to Harvey Birdman, and I suspect Zidane would agree.

Anyway, for some strange reason I was thinking about Beatles music this week. I recalled that my earliest exposure to their songs came from a record album my father would occasionally play when I was quite young: "The Chipmunks Sing the Beatles." So to me enduring classics such as "She Loves You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah" were always meant to be sung in a helium voice. And when, years later, I finally heard those songs rendered properly, on actual Beatles vinyl, it sounded all wrong. Still does.

And that explains a lot about Mastandreas, I suppose.

When we started house-hunting earlier this year we went with a local realtor agency called Howard Hanna -- a name that sounds way too much like the Skip Rooney character Hula Hanna from the Uncle Floyd Show. So of course, no one was able to mention the name of the realtor without causing me to reflexively start singing the Hula Hanna song:

"Hula Hanna hoo-la hoo-he hoooo..."

It got to the point where even Alane was saying Hula Hanna when she meant Howard Hanna, which I thought was really funny (especially when she did it in their offices).

The video clip is so painful -- representative of all their shows. Floyd did a "Don Ho-Hum" routine at the Knights of Columbus show we went to last year; his schtick has improved since his UHF days (some might say that wouldn't be tough).

"Put that on a bus to Kearny!"

(And speaking of reflexive singing, Cookie has lately been singing the old Michael Sembello tune of the roaring 80s "She's a Maniac"; it's just that Cookie doesn't know the real words... he only knows what he's heard... and that's just a prescription for trouble.)

Well, I did say that I'd post the MLB's reply -- I suppose that would also include non-replies. Here goes:

Thank you for bringing this to our attention. Your e-mail has been
forwarded to the appropriate department.

Please feel free to call our toll-free Customer Support department at
1-866-800-1275 for information or assistance. Thank you for taking the
time to write!

Regards,
ATM, MLB.com Support

Meaning? Who knows. It came in last night, which puts their response time at about 48 hours (not unlike the hold time people report on their customer service number). Alane and I watched about one inning of last night's exhibition: she wanted to see David Wright at the plate. I sat through it with Vito-like disgust. Then I was doubly-disgusted: I heard Chemical Brothers samples on a Budweiser commercial. That's wrong! When you hear "Galvanize" the visuals are supposed to be clown krumping -- not bad-beer!

Yeah, I'm getting more Vito-like every day. Have another beer, Torre!

I don't know what possessed me to watch this old Bananarama video just now, but I did. I didn't realize until just now that the video was shot in Brooklyn -- I used to think the area looked more like Hell's Kitchen circa 1985 (captured much more effectively in this Lisa Lisa video of the same period).

Yeah, I spent way too much of the summer of 1985 on the west side.

Frylock and I are in agreement: it is funny how I smashed up my foot at the town pool yesterday. It was the waterslide, a great little attraction for the kiddies -- if only they were tall enough to use it. Well, if they couldn't use it, I would. And so I did.

Of course, I'm too old and too fat for such exploits but that wasn't going to stop me. I went down the chute a few times, splashed into the water and bounced not-lightly off the bottom of the pool. The last trip down I picked up some serious speed. And when I hit the botton my foot got wedged under my fat ass: instep scraped the floor and the fatness of my ass sprained the whole foot. I've been hobbling around for the last 24 hours. No penalty-kicks for me today. Just as well -- soccer is a silly game.

How serious am I about my baseball grudge? Well, right now I'm watching soccer. And this morning? Tennis.

Lame? You bet. But I did go through most of the 1990s not watching baseball. And I'm pretty sure Wimbledon never found steroids in its locker rooms. And soccer? Those sissies need all the halp they can get.

Cheese-eating surrender-monkeys are already up 1-0 over the Eye-talians (who really shouldn't be expected to concentrate on a Sunday -- shouldn't they all be home eating meatballs today?)

Further web searching reveals that baseball is (what a surprise) a scam on steroids.

Oh well, scanning YouTube is probably more fun than watching baseball anyway. (And it's only a matter of time before Sling and Orb become as easy to use as YouTube -- at which point all bets are off for legacy entertainment industries.)

I got a huge pot of gravy simmering on the stove -- floating with this week's batch of meatballs are some big fat rib cuts. In a few hours, all the meat will have melted off those bones and broken up in the sauce.

And that's when it's time to eat.

UPDATE: I was bored so I decided to write again to my new pen-pals at MLB.com. Below is what I sent (putting it here is my way of noting when I contacted them and what I said -- because I'm looking ahead to when they auto-renew me and hit my credit card like they've apparently done to the other poor bastards who tried to cancel). I retained my composure and refrained from heading my message with "Dear Asshats":

Just to follow up on yesterday's message -- your site still says the mlb.tv subscription will give access to "EVERY out of market game." You really need to change that language -- it's a false claim. And I do expect a refund. And I want confirmation that you will not charge my credit card for any auto-renewal.

Who's doing PR for MLB these days? The NFL?

Having read other ex-fans' tales of woe, I have no expectation that I will get a response. Did I mention that I finally cancelled my Discover card? Us Mastandreas really know how to hold a grudge.

Remember about a month ago when I characterized Major League Baseball as overpaid and undeserving? I should have gone with my gut instincts -- the MLB.tv package is a scam.

Joe-maha had it half right when he forwarded me a news article about the arbitrary and capricious local blackout rules. I read it and breathed a sigh a relief -- in Cleveland only the the Indians get blocked for local network reasons, so no biggie. I'd always be able to watch the Mets.

What I didn't realize until today is the national blackouts are even more ridiculous.

Early this afternoon, I put on the television and flipped through all the sports stations: ESPN, Fox, etc. I saw some game being played with designated hitters in some foreign ballpark -- not really baseball at all. No Mets. So I went to my computer upstairs expecting to catch the game there. After all, the promo for the MLB.tv package does say you can see "every" game. Indeed, I saw the Mets are playing this afternoon. I tried to put on the game through MLB.tv, but no dice. National blackout. So I called. Twenty-something minutes later (must be a lot of unhappy fans out there) someone answered.

"Hey, blackout means there's some other way to catch a game," I patiently explained. "The Mets game is not on TV at all around here. It can't possibly be blacked out online."

My very polite but very unhelpful customer service representative had no sensible response.

"Fox has the right to that game. Take it up with them."

That was not the right answer,

"Take it up with them? You sold rights to bury a game and I should take it up with them?" was the essence of my reply. She then informed me that MLB.tv was separate from MLB, which sold the rights, and that's when I realized this whole thing was a rip-off. I told her I wanted my money back. She said refunds were only available in the first 10 days of a subscription.

Which leaves me pretty much where I was in the mid-90s -- extremely pissed off at MLB, its owners, players and distributors... and unwilling to ever shell out another greenback to support their enterprise. It's a shame, because the league is so close to something big here. "Putting content out over the Internet direct to the viewer is the promise of the future," is what I opined last month. I still believe that. But the MLB exec who signed the contract allowing a network to bury even one of its games -- that guy should be fired... Immediately... For alienating fans... And people like me who want to be fans again...

I sent a follow up e-mail explaining the traditional meaning of "blackout" in the sports-broadcast context... I'll let the blog know if/when I get a response.

In the meantime, tell everyone to stay away from the MLB.tv package. It's a pile of crap that not worth fighting over.

UPDATE: Is MLB driving fans into the gray-area of Sling and other unofficial viewing methods? Maybe MLB honchos should consult with music industry execs -- ask them exactly what happens when you cling mindlessly to an outdated distribution model. A few weeks ago, I wanted to see MLB.tv succeed; unfortunately, it is now clear that it deserves to fail. Miserably. (I generally don't buy music CDs either.)

I once recieved an urgent message from steve on my nextel. He was traveling on P.G.A. Blvd. and in the oppoisite direction went the infamous Weinermobile. It was not making any stops or appearances, just cruising west. I saw it and i was in awe as well. The Weinermobile and the Zamboni are things objects of urban legend. 2 vehicles i have always wanted to drive. I imagine the zamboni is quite slow but that weinermobile is quick. Can you drive in the HOV lane? How many passengers can a weinermobile carry?

Now Joe I remember that bag of fireworks vividly and i remember how long that joke has lasted.

We did throw something big at Spumoni South 1 year that was insane. My dad's house looked like a bomb went off.
This was the first wave. Then we hit Phantom Fireworks and we somehow got a hold of some gunpowder and actually made our own.
That was interesting. We set the entire thing to music. We wore coordinating attire and we painted our faces red white and blue. It was well coordinated. At one point we buried a 3 foot pvc pipe and loaded it like a cannon. It went off with a 6 foot blue flame and blew a dozen mortars into the air. Somewhere there is a video. Pyrotechnics. Ahh give me something flammable and ............nevermind.

I didn't catch the Weinermobile segment but did see the Domino's Pizza promo that followed. Domino's Pizza is rubbish, of course, but what struck me about the segment was that the Weinermobile was parked nearby -- and two onlookers were perched atop it's bulk watching the ridiculous pizza-making contest unfold on the street below.

Y'know, not too long ago I'd pass no fewer than three morning shows on my way to the office each morning: Al Roker's on 49th and Rock Center, Fox's on 6th Avenue, and CNN's a little further north on 6th (until it moved to Columbus Circle). I always hated those outdoor spectacles they held -- blocking the streets, attracting gawking tourists. But today's, with the Weinermobile? I'm sorry I missed it.

Earlier this morning, I was green with envy as I watched Foxnews's Brian Kilmeade seated in shotgun of the Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile. Quite an informative segment, I learned a great deal about the vehicle which in the last decade has become my personal "Moby Dick". For the first time I enjoyed a close-up view the majestic interior with its plush leather couches and blue sky painted ceilings . I also learned the truth behind a few of its long held myths: ex.: although when stopped for promos everyone is entitled to two hot dogs, the hot dogs are not continuosly cooked on board. The Weinermobile must be parked and another vehicle must join them before hot dogs can be distributed. The Weiner-mobile cannot stop at a red light and hand out hot dogs to nearby vehicles and pedestrians...under such conditions they may only hand out "Weenie-whistles". As you can imagine, after hearing this my fascination not only failed to diminish, but instead grew even larger. I imagine myself driving up to a church on Sunday morning and welcoming the exiting parishioners to the vehicle, as my voice booms over the loudspeaker: "Parents and children alike step right up for very special gift, its a weenie-whistle...now I want you all to stick it in your mouth and blow!!" I know....I need therapy. By the way loved Berea's first skully board, I noticed another difference from the Brooklyn version: the absence of broken glass and dogshit. Those were obstacles we always opted to leave in the game...as part of the challenge. Is Berea's version easier? Perhaps. Better smelling and less bloody? Absolutely.

I was thinking glass "bottlecaps" until you mentioned filling them with wax. "How would you get wax into a glass ring?" I asked myself. then I realized that you were using the metal cap, not scraping the bottletop against a manhole cover to release the thin, glass ring.

I heard about the fireworks incident that you mentioned on my favorite nationally-syndicated morning radio show on Wednesday morning. My mind immediately went to that fabled Fourth when Frankie dropped the sparkler into Otto's full bag of fireworks, prematurely launching hours' worth of fireworks in under two minutes. Too bad there wasn't a video camera rolling!

That's our rain you're enjoying out there! It was the fifth driest June on record around here.

How many other men crossed their legs when Frylock described the odor of the well water at Kahuna's? The description brings me back to the partial score, "Canoe 1, Balls 0" in the middle of the first inning.

Now here's something you don't see a lot of in Berea: an honest-to-goodness skullsies game. Just like on the blacktop of 38th Street! Except there's far less traffic on my driveway. And no broken glass. And I drew the board with real chalk instead of strips of drywall heisted from the tracks behind Kings Material building supply on 15th Avenue.

And those weren't the only differences.

I had to drink two whole bottles of beer just to get the bottlecaps (in the old days, we'd look around the curbs and gutters for what, two or three minutes?). I even melted crayon into them -- so Cookie and I could tell our gamepieces apart. We played a short game because it's bedtime; no spinsies, rollsies or killig each other from the sidelines. Cookie liked it and wants to play again.

It's gotta be well over 30 years since I played that game. And I can feel it. Mostly in my back. Ouch.

Ah, Independence Day -- when we celebrate our human desire to throw off the shackles of tyranny... and eat 53 hot dogs in 12 minutes. Can't one of us fat Americans win this thing, just once? What would Vito say? (Nevermind: we know what he would say.)

This is also the time of the year we like to play with combustibles until we reqiure hospitalization -- kind-a like these blokes across the park from us.

Stuff like this never happened in Brooklyn, right Frylock? I mean, stuffing a cinderblock with sparklers sounds about as sane as pouring gasoline over the sidewalk and lighting it. Nobody does stuff like that!

John forgot the most important part of the 4th of July parade. The appearance of our most admired and respected congressman -- Dennis Kuicinich. There are many things that astound me about him -- not the least his striking resemblance to howdy doody. I also ponder how the man that drove the city of Cleveland in to default could seek and attain higher office. Ohioans are a very forgiving lot or something.

Not too long ago, our local shelter had an adopt-a-thon. I took the boys over because I would eventually like to get a pet and a rescue dog would be nice. We actually played with an adorable dog named Boomer that was part hound and something else. He would howl and wasnt a jumper. We also spent time looking at the cats and kittens. I had been planning on doing some volunteer work and had seen that they needed some to walk dogs. So I asked to speak to someone about volunteering. So some woman comes out and is like "well we should have a better orientation. I don't like the way it is done. And too many volunteers just want to be with the animals." Now at this point, I want to say -- You all posted the request for dog walkers. But I'm so shocked by her attitude that I just stand there. I'm also thinking that I would hope the volunteers want to be with animals. Long and short of it-I decided to volunteer where I was wanted. I did want to tell someone that maybe they should have someone else do volunteer intakes.

We are now on the way to the historical society's ice cream social. Trolley rides are promised.

Damn, we sure are getting a lot of thunder-boomers here -- seems like we've gotten more than our share over the last month.

I guess I should feel fortunate that it's not snow.

Berea had its Independence Day parade last night in the town square. It was like a cavalcade of officer-holders and office-seekers. As they made their procession their faithful but distracted minions tossed small pieces of candy on the ground in front of grasping children.

There's a metaphor in there somewhere, but my mind is still too busy trying to piece together the bulldog/wildlife connection. (Someone came to the parade last night with an English Bulldog, causing Alane to make a rude ancestry comment.)

True or False: as Mastandreas evolved from the bulldog, breeders paid particular attention to temperament.

What would Vito say?

Are breeds ever manipulated to maximize mandible strength? Appetite? Bowel capability?

I'm starting to think the bulldog thing is real.

Molly! GMTA We agree with you totally about adopting pets from the rescues and shelter animals. I just wish our local shelter would lower their fees so that more animals are adopted. Here the cost is $200 for a dog, $75 for a cat. Other animals have different fees that don't encourage adoption. They euthanise a lot of animals. Plus the fees don't include microchipping (required), tags, licenses, shots or a health guarantee of any kind other than if the animal drops dead in 24 hours you can pick out another one but you still have to pay all the extra fees for services that you have to have for the new animal.That adds up to more than a $100 in addition to the adoption fee and you have to pay it twice if the animal dies.

All the animals are spayed or neutered even if they are microchipped, licensed and later claimed by their owners. No exceptions. The AKC (or it's feline equivalent) clubs and owners who breed and/or show dogs were aghast at that policy as it immediately ends the dog's/cat's show career.

In addition, anyone who allows a dog or cat to have a litter of puppies or kittens has to pay $100 for a license to sell (each litter.) I like some of the provisions of this law becauses it encourages spaying and neutering but some of the provisions just plain stink because they hurt animal lovers while the puppymills continue to churn out poorly-bred animals that end up in the shelters unwanted because of health or disposition.

I believe that all dogs who are going to be bred should have their CERF eye certification plus an OFA certification for their hips and elbows ranked good or excellent because hip and elbow dysplacia is so devasting for the animal and the owner. But maybe most of all, the sire and dam should have a disposition that makes them suitable to have offspring.

Breed rescue will often do temperment testing of the rescued animal and make recommendations based on their findings. We know we are very lucky to have Tarka since a number of shelters euthanise large dogs as a matter of routine rather than get to know them as individuals.

I've wrestled all weekend with the question posed by Steve. As usual, I expanded the question: not only do I wonder if Mastandreas descended from the bulldog, I wondered aloud what other animals hang on the not-to-distant branches of our family tree.

Alane volunteered the mule.

"Aaggggh, yer ass," is something I might have said in reply.

Of course, Cookie and Mojo have very distinct simian characteristics -- and when we take them to the pool (as we did last evening) they display some of the traits of sea mammals. Even as a baby, Cookie made a strange hum up in his nasal cavity that made me think of a whale's oil-filled head (unlike Alane, I have read Moby Dick).

And then there's Steve with those coyote legs. Are coyotes closely related to the bulldog?

We went to the batting cages again yesterday -- yes, I have regained my confidence. And my schwing. The boys did pretty well too on the slow-pitch softball. Then they went on the bumper-boats.

Later in the evening we went to the local outdoor pool. Cookie and I practiced jumped off the diving board while Mojo and Alane treaded water in the main part of the pool. I like the pool -- the water in it tastes better than the gel that oozes from the household tap.

English Bulldogs you say? Always pushing the rescue organizations.

I have to say that the family having descended from the English Bulldog might explain the chin thing.