Over the course of this last year of blog-a-palooza...yes, it has been nearly a full year which should serve as startlingly strong evidence that the interwebs are just plain too inclusive...I've mentioned our family dog, from time to time. His name is Casey and he is a Golden Retriever. He has a number of idiosyncrasies which would qualify him to appear on the canine version of Jerry Springer, which would probably be called Jerry Springer-Spaniel, and, unfortunately, not be considerably different from the human program. Although, there maybe less sniffing and drooling and the dogs maybe more civil to one another.

First of all, in the appearance category, Casey has a cone-head. From certain angles, he looks like a majestic example of man's best friend. Then, he turns and becomes one end of a horse-shoe pit. He is wearing a furry dunce cap. If necessary, you could use his noggin to open a bottle of pop. The point of his skull is so prominent that we wonder if, somewhere in his family tree, there might be a unicorn. He also has a prominent swath of dark fur which leads him to, officially, be a Mostly Golden Retriever.

Speaking of the Retriever part of that title, Casey won't retrieve. You throw something and he'll run in the general direction the first time, before he loses interest and comes back. He always has a big smile on his face, as if to say, "So, did you enjoy throwing that ball or whatever it was? Ahhh, good. Now that you have that out of your system, let's get something to eat." He doesn't like water. He is a RETRIEVER and he hates the water. If he saw a duck fall from the sky into a pond, he'd call 911 and then look at the hunter, with a smile, and say "Hey, got any sandwiches left in that basket?"

Then, there is the matter of his toilet habits. He learned by observing our old dog. She was a she. So, you guessed it, Casey tinkles without lifting his leg. He has no interest in marking his territory. He looks a little embarrassed when he is doing his dooty...I mean, duty. Maybe he senses that he should be doing this basic thing differently. But, he's eight years old and that's that. All the fire hydrants and trees in the neighborhood are safe from Casey.

That brings us to his latest ripple. There are breeds of dogs which are prone to what are called "hot spots." Little areas that get irritated for some reason and then get chewed and licked by the dog him or herself until they become painful sores. Casey has always had such a sensitivity. In fact, like his father before him, Casey has allergies. When he was a puppy, he would go out in the yard during pollen season and come in, minutes later, looking like a hairy granola muffin. The only part of the news Casey watches is the air quality report. That, and traffic. He's too lazy to chase cars but he does like to stay current on the models. Well, lately, he's had a couple of very unpleasant hot spots as well as a complete lack of self-respect or discipline when it comes to keeping his teeth and tongue to themselves. It got so bad that we finally had to resort to getting one of those big plastic collars. He looks like some sort of alien. Not ALF, but ARF. In the past, when I've seen other unfortunate pups wearing these things, I imagine that the dog is quite embarrassed...like the contraption is the Scarlett Letter...or like one of those odd rulings from a judge where someone who steals something has to stand on the corner wearing a sandwich board confessing to the crime. No self-respecting purebred, mutt or mongrel would want to be seen in public wearing something so humiliating! Right? Well, not in Casey's case. He actually seems to like wearing it. Is he so smart that he knows it is helping him? "Please, save me from myself!" Or, does he think it is the latest in hip doggie fashion? Is he just too exhausted from sleeping 22 and half hours a day to care? Whatever the reason, he likes it.

It does seem to be working. And, I've figured out a way to make a little extra money with Casey and his bright blue no-bite collar. With the chute-like design of the item, plus the previously mentioned cone-head protruding from it, Casey is a walking carnival game. So, for a quarter, you get three rings to toss. Make just one and you win a used chew-toy or something. Casey won't mind. He'll just look at you, smile, and say "Okay. That was great. Now, did I see a funnel cake stand a little further down the midway? Whattaya say, we grab one?"