Rough Night On Wilton Drive

We were out at the Dog Hour.

At this time of year, that means after 5 but before 5:30 because it’s dark that early here.

Trust me, if you ever want to get to meet people, get a dog.  They require 3 walks a day, and you will see many of the same people out there for that time for the life of that dog.  Besides, if you are wondering about what your dog is thinking, you will learn fast that they will tell you.

Rack certainly does.

I have been walking my dogs at that time since I moved here years ago.  I get to see it all, and I have seen it all.

Recently the Wilton Art group have been putting up an art installation of what looks like from the ground wrought iron pieces of art meant to resemble some aspect of living here.  I will say they catch my eye, simply because they are so distinctive.  New or not, you notice an alligator lifting a drink to the sky and saluting the crowd.

In Philadelphia’s Center City, there is a well known tradition or requirement of any new construction spending 1% towards public and accessible art.  It’s something I supported here, and mention widely when I speak to people about improving our own little Island City.

In our case, Rack the McNab SuperDog (TM) did not mind my looking at these.  I stopped to take the picture, as we paused the walk and he got some more attention.

I hear the phrase squealed across five lanes of traffic “OOOOH!  A DOG!” more times than I care to, so I made it a point not to dawdle.

Having had someone decide that my own front lawn was a perfect place to “Sleep It Off”, I think I see what they were illustrating in wire frame.

I still get a chuckle out of the local police when I mention that last episode.  I wonder if the sleeper’s girlfriend let him back in the house.  He borrowed her car, lost it and his cell phone, and curled up under the palm tree in the front yard.

So now, up and down the drive, on select light poles near you, you will see pictures and slogans of what you may see here from time to time.  Just stay socially distant, and don’t make too much noise at 2AM when the bars close, OK?

Rack, I should have named you Alexa or Your Dog Always Is Listening

Knowing what I do about Computer Security, I won’t have any smart speakers like Alexa or the rest in the house.

They work by listening to you, every second of the day, every room they are in.

Since nobody outside of the manufacturer knows what they are doing with the information, I’ll pass.

It seems to me that it is beyond creepy, like having a horror movie take place in your house and you invited it in.

We’re Heeeere!

However I realized I did exactly that with Rack, the Mc Nab SuperDog (TM).

It is amazing how many little things that our little black and white tape recorder has picked up over the years.

He learned a while ago that he gets an ice cube in the morning from me only when I have my first mug of coffee.  Not the second one, just the first.  I don’t like taking the chance that he may chip a tooth having that treat, so I do limit them.

But it is more than that.  After all, he only comes out now for that first cube, past that he has learned not to ask.

He sleeps on a pad that is wrapped in a blanket next to my chair in the living room during the day.  At night he’s on a dog bed that he ignores and sticks his head in the closet to limit the amount of noises he has to contend with.  It was a very windy night last night and lately and I have found him curled into a dogball sleeping next to my inline skates and the gear box that I keep there.  Quiet and secure I guess, dogs like smelling things, I just hope I’m not going to be judged by a wet nose by some sporting gear I have used to propel myself 22,207 miles, to date.

The stuff has to be treated with care and being next to you for all that time… well you get the picture.

The other night he was laying there as we had on the TV.  That’s normal after dinner, we sit back and watch crusty old Re-Runs.  That particular night was Petticoat Junction.  Kate was telling “Dog” “Good BOY!”.  I heard a thump.   He was quite happily asleep and wagging his tail against the floor boards.

We call that “Command Shrapnel” when a comment “explodes” and he does what he’s told.  In this case he got hit by Kate’s praise.

And it happens frequently.

Mr Dog was doing a “Perimeter Search” of the house and walked by the TV.   As he glanced up at it on his way to the door, another “Good Dog” came out of the speakers.  He smiled, wagged his tail and walked to snoop the door.

“Resource Guarding” so I don’t escape I think.  He can’t have that.

But there is a lot of that Command Shrapnel.

At 7:30 AM, the irrigation systems fire up.  The orchids have to be misted every morning and I go out to inspect them.  Yard Inspection time.  I put my keyboard on the table, rinse out the coffee mug french press and then walk out to do a lap of the yard.

It used to be just putting the keyboard would get him up.  He’s learned the Art of Subtlety.

The Keyboard was apparently not a 100% sure fire lock that I’d be getting up.  I may just be doing Me Things and had to get that old IBM Model M clicky monster from 1992 off my lap.  

Rack has learned to wait for the irrigation pump to turn on.  Not every day.  He knows that Thursday and Sunday we have three zones that turn on.  Every other day it is only the 7:30 AM watering.  Zone Three is the only one he gets up for.

I’m amused and amazed.

The third thing is that apparently my brushing my teeth on an evening shortly after dinner is a signal that I am going somewhere.  Specifically.  

Mind you, I do it a couple times a day.  I’m home, if I am in there and want to freshen up, it is not a big deal, but usually, apparently, in the evening, I wait until I leave.

If it is just after dinner, there’s the possibility of a Ride.   As in “RIDE!  IN THE CAR!!!!!”.

We’ve been going down to Dairy Belle for some of the good soft serve ice cream about twice a month.  Dania Beach is a bit of a haul, so he gets that RIDE! and gets to experience the world.  But it is not every week, it is typically on random days, and he has not quite worked out the pattern. 

So I get the campaign.  The Twin Brown Laser Beam Eyes, the erect ears, the pacing, and perhaps the whining.

If we are not going anywhere, I piece it together and say “Nope, Rack, Stay Home And Watch The House.”  Repeatedly.  Until I grab Mask, Sanitizer, Keys… you get the picture.

But since sometimes, it’s a haul for that Vanilla Soft Serve With Caramel Sauce on top, he Campaigns.

If it is a yes, I tell him “Go get your leash”.  The stupid ensues at that point.  He loses his mind in excitement.   He isn’t calm enough to go to the back room on top of his crate that he refuses to use, nor does he think he is allowed to do so.  So we get 45 pounds of black and white dog running full speed to the heavy glass door in front, then back to the crate, repeatedly.  

All the while he is speaking in tongues and trying to calm down enough to follow orders.

“Rack, you’d never make a good police dog” I tell him and let him off the hook by grabbing his harness and leash.

All this from my using a toothbrush at a strange hour.

Yes, I should have named you Alexa.

Now, if you will excuse me, it may be one of his better days, but he is still a dog.  He got it wrong.  They’re working on the duplex across the street and a truck arrived.  It wasn’t the white panel “Free Candy” van that shows, it was a pickup truck delivering two stackable washers for the units.

The places may have everything but he’s still going to ask $500 a month too much for them.

Rack Should Not Beg – Video

(Let’s see if this video works!  I think I botched it.  Thanks, Auntysocial!)


I have become Rack’s job.


You see with a dog as smart as Rack, if you don’t keep them occupied, if you don’t give them something to do, they watch you.

I do call the breed the McNab SuperDog (TM) for a reason.

He has figured out that there are certain things that I do just before going out.  

Get the wallet, brush my teeth, get the mask, car keys, and other things.

Sometimes he is right and it becomes an explosion of excitement and bedlam ensues.

Other nights like this one, he is wrong and is drafted to stay home and watch the house.

He is not destructive nor does he counter surf, we broke him of that a long time ago with a few metal bowls on top of things.  But he really would rather come with us.

This is one night that the begging got on my nerves, frankly, and I decided to do a little video of Dog Shaming.


It used to be that we could go to the big box hardware stores with him, but now I’m thinking even that is not going to happen with Covid. 

Too bad.  It was a great training tool.


Thunder And Lightning, Very Very Frightening To Rack, The McNab Dog

By this time in the day, it should be sunny.

I mean, it is supposed to be the Sunshine State.

But heck, it is also the Rainy Season.

Oh and the dog is missing.   Figuratively.

You see it just turned to “night” again.  The yellow blob floated over me, my neighbors, and all the way to the park.  It got difficult to see across the street.  The house got dark, the security lights came up full, briefly.

Meh.  I don’t have a problem with that, although I really was hoping to get to skate today.


As for the dog, he’s an interesting beast.  You see, Rack the SuperDog (TM) is an incredibly expressive and incredibly intelligent dog.  With Great Intelligence comes Great … Quirks.

He’s been a fearful boy since he was a puppy.  Absolutely hates noise, which is to say a loud noise will send him scurrying off.

I’ve noticed that his reactions have gotten less severe.  Of course they have, he’s being worn down.

Like the Grand Canyon.  Constant noises.  Two months worth of fireworks leading into the Rainy Season setting up.

Fireworks?  What the heck are you people celebrating, knock it off!

We do have a routine here to deal with some of the noise, to take the edge off.

The Rain Cookie.

Rain Cookies are a ritual.  They look like chocolate fudge, and have some weird holistic herbal things in them that should calm him down.

I think it’s partly the act of getting the cookie.  I won’t walk it over to him and give it to him.  He likes the things and he has to come out of hiding to get them.

Rattle the bag, announce “Do you want a Rain Cookie (TM)?”.

He looks.


Stand up, stretch, slink over.

I cup his face under the muzzle.

“Rack, you are a good boy!  Remember that, Good Boy!”

Stroke his head.

He seemed to relax a wee bit as I hand him the little fudge ball looking thing.

Back in his corner.


You have to meet them half way.  It seems to help.

I did a similar thing with Lettie.  She had fear of thunder and a very strong play/prey drive.

I can work with that.

You see “Make Rain Time Play Time” was the theory and it worked well.  I had tennis balls all over the house.  I’d hear a boom, she’d hear it first actually, and would bark at the sky.

That was my cue to have a tennis ball bounce indoors.   She eventually worked through it.  She never actually brought the ball to me for it but she did expect the play.

But she got to the point where she’d just handle it while trotting all over the house yipping at the thunder and the sky.

So since I just had a lightning strike on my block, that’s it for today.

Seriously.  When you hear a quiet “snick” before the lightning flash and then the house shakes from the storm, it’s time to boogie.

I mean Seriously.  This house is built to withstand a hurricane, and I have seen it go through one but that’s a story for another day.

When you feel the percussion of the thunder in your socks while you are sitting…

It’s a McNab Dog’s Life With Rack

All my dogs have been Rescues.

They have both been McNab Dogs or a cross.

Not that there is anything wrong with a Golden Retriever, they are a living hug.  German Shepherds are great dogs, but I’m a big guy and people shy away from me already.  There are a lot of Greyhounds around that need homes, and if you ever want something on your couch sleeping, they are a good bet since they are mellow and regal in their bearing.

But I have a McNab.  They’re not well known outside of their native California, except with cowboys and ranchers and farmers.  I am none of that, I did IT in my career.

Not being well known is a good thing.  The breed hasn’t been wrecked by overbreeding.

Rack is an interesting character though.

You see, there seem to be two different kinds of McNabs.  The kinds that have to be heavily and independently occupied are working dogs with a Capital W.  They’re the ones that you send out to the back 40 to round up the cows and expect them to work those beasts to better than your best expectation.

Rack is, well he’s different.

He got off to a bad start.  I expect that it was because he’s allergic to chicken and grain.  They probably fed him that and it might be why I ended up with him in the first place.

Having to pick up something that looks like Melted Soft Serve Ice Cream from the living room rug twice a day until I found out what caused it was uncomfortable to say the least.

Also he has a strong fear of Diesel Trucks and Loud Noises.  I’m guessing the first owner was either a hunter or a truck driver and fed him some KFC one too many times in the cab of the truck.

No matter what breed, an intelligent dog needs a job.  It’s true for Rack, as well as it is true for any Border Collie, Kelpie, Poodle, or Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

That last one is the only small dog I would consider.  They are in the “Top Ten” intelligent dog lists.  If I ever need to slow down who knows what will happen.

I am his job.

You see, while those ranchers won’t sell a City Person a McNab, many of these same dogs are smart enough to know that life on the farm is not for them.  They simply “up and leave”.  The dog goes missing and needs a home.

Shelters in Northern California, Reno Nevada, Fresno, and similar places are chock full of these amazing dogs.  I’ve said I want to just drive my Jeep around those areas with the doors off of the car and the roof down and if a dog chooses to jump in, I’ll have my next one.

That would take a four day drive so it isn’t going to happen.  Some nice ideas are just best being ideas only.

Those dogs were on a farm because a person thought they knew best.  Usually they do, sometimes not.

All day long, I am home.  I’m up before dawn.  We go for our first mile walk and by the end I’m being towed home so he can get water and food.  Then off to his corner where he guards against the evil delivery trucks.

He can spot a UPS truck before that thing gets onto my block.

If I get out of my desk and walk somewhere, I usually will hear paws on the pavement, toes on the tiles.  Turn around and the white tip of a tail is heading back to His Place In The Corner.

My fault, I keep half of the house blocked off because I would rather have a wet nose on my elbow once an hour than be alone here to my music on the noise-canceling headphones.

When I am finished, my rocker is next to His Spot.  I’ll entertain myself while he’s there sleeping.  Next to me, I’ll look down at the DogBall (TM) that is resting there.

Whoever said “it’s a dog’s life” never met us.

He knows the neighborhood, and will choose our routes.   I make it a point to do more than two miles a day, and a true farm dog will walk many times that.

I’m more like a greyhound anyway.  If I am not on my skates burning 2000 calories a workout, or weightlifting on off days, I’ll lounge around.

Can’t use the Bowflex with a dog nosing your toe lifts so he’s excluded.

Ironically I got Lettie, my first McNab Dog Of A Lifetime to be a companion on my own skate workouts.

She could not keep up so we didn’t take her on my trips.  I would skate 100 miles a week in peak season and we thought it best not to do that to a dog, even if I would have shortened my distances for her.The thing is that if you include a dog in most of your activities, you will find a balance, and you will find peace.

Isn’t that why our species have grown together all these centuries?


Confusing The Dog With The Haunted Poang

Having a routine is best for your dog.

They confuse so easily.

The UPS/FedEx/USPS drivers come through and I know that it happens because I hear a low grumble from Our Corner of the living room.

Rack the McNab SuperDog (TM) has gravitated to a specific spot.  Right next to My Chair in the living room.

My Chair in an All In The Family sense is where I sit.  My Spot.  So he sits there, on a pair of foam pads rescued from a long departed Poang chair that is wrapped in a blanket.  It’s right there at my feet.

We hold discussions, mostly about what I am (constantly) snacking on.  Whether he can be involved in what I am doing.  Whether he can get what I am snacking on.

I used to have the second Big Green Chair in that corner before.  It is moved for now into the middle of the living room because an Ikea Poang Chair just fits my 6’4″/193CM, 220 pound/100KG frame like a glove.

Nobody seems to like these chairs who visit us here.  I don’t understand why they all have to try them out and then bounce out to the couch or one of the big chairs either, but it works out for me.

This Poang is a new one which means it will probably live another 20 years in this house as My Rocking Chair.

I was at Ikea in Sunrise, FL with a friend who gave me the chair for Xmas because I refused to get out of the floor sample at the store.  I guess he got tired of hearing me talk about how comfortable they are “for me”.

This particular morning, I sat down in The Other Big Green Chair on the opposite side of the little table from Our Corner.  Using the electric razor I sat back.  Rack was on his bed in Our Corner happily grooming his oldest hedgehog toy.  It now looks like all the hair has been removed except a patch here and there, and he goes to that one over all the rest.

Our Boy Rack was lost in the Daddy Zone grooming that little hedgehog when I looked over at him.  He didn’t notice me as I reached over to the poang rocker.  I couldn’t see what he was up to so I moved it gently.

It was at this point where I confused Rack.  I might say freaked him out.

Chairs don’t move on their own.

Nobody was in the Poang Rocker.
Dad was in the Big Green Chair.

What was going on?


All that went through his furry black and white mind as every last bit of fur on his body went up on his body and he turned into a Looney Tunes parody of a scared dog.

He immediately forgot about his child, the mostly bald hedgehog.   Forgot about his comfort zone.  Forgot about being in the little corner with the little dog bed.

He basically ripped tire scrabbling across the floor to get away from my haunted Poang that fits my back and nobody else’s.

I had to stop shaving when I had 45 pounds of black and white dog hiding on my other side

from the weird pieces of furniture that moved on their own.

Looking down into those twin brown eyes, I had lasers burning into my soul imploring me to explain why things were moving on their own.

My own laugh was answer enough.  He visibly deflated and went off duty to gingerly walk back into his corner.

Laying down on his bed in the corner next to the Haunted Poang, he plastered himself against the far wall in that little space, returning to his old hedgehog and the morning routine.

The moral of the story is if you are going to Rock Your World, make sure your dog knows you are still in it.

Happy New Year 2020

All done with Amateur Night I see?

You have hopefully made it home safe without any ahem “legal” problems.

Yeah, we don’t particularly like it when people imbibe and drive.  It’s become less and less socially acceptable to do so during my lifetime.

I will say that the town doesn’t look like it was picked up and dropped after that party that started a block and a half away just after sunset and lasted until after midnight.

Supposedly the fireworks that freaked my dog out until he lost control of his bowels at the front door had ended around 2 AM.

He may be a McNab SuperDog (TM) but Rack is in the majority of dogs that simply don’t fathom why people need to celebrate turning the page on the calendar by using explosive devices long past the point where they ceased to be entertaining.

I’ll be doing an extra laundry today.

And obviously, this happens more than once a year.

So take down the old calendar.  My new one for 2020 is already on the door, and I don’t see that I need another one, perfectly.

Pun Intended.

If you will excuse me I have to “spatch” a chicken for lunch.  We found a Lemon Spatch Cooked Skillet Chicken recipe and apparently I am the little old lady with the technique.  Spatching a chicken is cutting it along the ribcage to be able to flatten it out.  You can do it with a sharp knife or a pair of scissors, but I think I just may grab the electric sawsall and pretend that I’ll be doing some heavy construction instead of preparing a tasty meal.

So may your chickens be spatched, your dog be not freaked out, and your new year be bright and shiny and in focus.

Happy New Year 2020, where ever you may be reading this.

Tired of Belly Rubs? Use a Sock on your McNab SuperDog(TM)

(oops, forgot a title)

Every night it seems to be our routine.

Find some sitcoms after dinner.  There are plenty both on local broadcast TV and on the web.

Wonderfully silly and surreal TV shows about Ditzy Farm Wives with a Pig that is smarter than you are.  Women who once moved to Minneapolis where it was cold and she thought she’d “Keep Better” but now is giving Noo Yawk its “Last Chance”.  RCMP Mounties in Chicago with a deaf wolf solving crimes.

Ahh they don’t make TV like that now do they?

Sheldon and Leonard or Rachel and Ross aside that is.

Being the tall and Rangy type, my arms and legs go all over the place.  I illegally put my right leg up on the arm of the couch where I have created a divot.  I really shouldn’t do that but if I don’t Mr Dog can’t get back to his corner.

That corner.  It has the foam rubber from an Ikea Poang Chair wrapped in a synthetic blanket.  It’s his bed.  He lays on it, sometimes.  He lays next to it, sometimes.  Other times he melts off the side in some weird origami pattern bent like a sausage and flattened out.

It’s the life of having a working dog in a suburban home.

I don’t think I could do this with a pure bred Border Collie.  They’re wonderful dogs, but when old Alexander McNab made the breed that I favor, McNab Dog, he bred out the twitchiness and the extreme need to be doing something NOW! at any moment.

While the people on the farms where the McNab was originally created for will scream “He’s a Working Dog!  He should be on a FARM”, I am proof that one size does not fit all.

Besides, I am constantly reading about McNabs who decided that life on the farm may be kind of laid back but not for them.

I swear I’m going to go out to California where these dogs are common, drive around with the roof off my Jeep and if one jumps in for a ride, I won’t try too hard to find it’s home.

They walk off and find their way to other farms or into homes and these amazingly adaptable creatures do well.

My own Dog Of A Lifetime has a job.  It’s Me.  Living here near the shops and the tourists, he’s able to get a lot of mental stimulation that a lifetime of chasing sheep will never give him.

The only weird affect he seems to be developing is he has chosen guarding as his job.

You see, wherever I am, I must be watched.  If the UPS Truck (or Fed E-Arrow-X) comes by he grumbles.  I’m still trying to teach him that the Postie is our Friend but he’s not buying it.

At night when I’m watching Lisa “plug in an 8” and blow out the “electricical”, Rack is resting under my hand.  I’m giving him belly rubs with that hand and he’s happy.

Dreaming happy dreams where his tail wags, maybe dreaming of running through his wormhole to visit the other realm where Rack is King of the McNabs, or just wandering behind the hedges to have a little peace away from the loud diesel trucks that are servicing the shops.

It’s all good, it’s all waggable, he’s a happy soul that rests next to his job.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But I do get tired from time to time and have to take my hand back.

That is when we discovered something curious.  I can use a sock.

No, seriously.  If he goes into that trance like state, where he’s awake but not really, I can place a sock or two across his belly that is exposed and the weight of the hosiery does just enough.

He thinks I’m still petting the belly that he exposes like a light switch lighting the dark, and I get to shake blood back into my hand and wind my automatic diver’s watch a little bit.

Yes, living in Florida with a pool, having a diver’s watch is important since you just might get knocked into the pool.  When Rack gets charging around those corners out there, he’s been known to fly over the water and into that wormhole where I have been knocked into the deep end once or twice.

Got to work on that there, Cow Dog!

When he finally comes fully aware that he’s been duped, we start that cycle again.  Arnold the Pig is grunting on the TV or we’re visiting with that Mighty Fine Woman, Kate at the hotel near the tracks.  Rack is guilting me to rub his belly again.

All are happy, all are well in our little land of domesticity.

Would not have it any other way!

Rack Wants To Grill Lunch

There’s an old line about Dogs Playing Poker that you probably have heard.

They can’t.  You will know how good a hand they have because they will show you by wagging their tail.

Rack, the McNab SuperDog (TM) is clearly one of those emotional ones.

I let him follow me just about everywhere on the property.  I’d take him with me in the car more often except businesses can get rather arbitrary as to what they allow in their stores.

Leaving a dog in a car is a definite no and since I have a soft top Jeep Wrangler, if we’re going somewhere, he’s got to come with me.

It’s a Jeep Thing.  You leave nothing that you would not mind losing in a convertible car where the windows are held on by slots, velcro, and zippers.

But at home, it’s open.  I walk around the property and he’s following me while I am doing things.  Actually, my Morning Yard Inspection, he comes out, and does his own thing until he gets bored.  He’ll keep coming back until he gets to go back inside.

I have a higher tolerance for “boring” things I guess.

I’ve told him before “Go do something, you’re just bored, I’m not ready yet” and he will wander off and snoop around the property line until something else looks good.

In this case, we’re getting ready to grill some burgers this morning, and he knew it.  Plopped himself in view of the grill and waited for me to bring out the sausages and the burgers.

Smart dog!  Have a Burger!

Besides, if I use the brush on him out back by the hedges, the fur will magically disappear and I don’t have to use the vacuum cleaner to pick up quite so much of it.

Radar O’Reilly Taught Me, I Taught My Dog Rack

Back when it was on the first time, it was a massively popular TV show.

Even today it is heavily watched on some of those channels that specializes in old shows.

The last episode of MASH was watched by half of the TVs tuned at the moment.  If your neighbor was watching something else, you were watching MASH.

I watched a fair amount of the show over the years.  I had friends who were active duty military, and one in specific that served in Korea.  I couldn’t tell you what he did over there since he closed up when he came home.  He told me very clearly that there was an ongoing “shooting war” over there at the time, but it isn’t publicized.

I did watch enough MASH to have picked up some of the jargon of the shows, and use some of it to this day.  If something looks confused I quote Radar O’Reilly by saying “It doesn’t look like Mom’s Nash”.

One other thing I got in the habit of saying was “Incoming!” when someone was approaching.  The house, me, doesn’t matter.  I’d fire off “Incoming” and usually whoever I was with would realize that we’re about to be joined.

Well.  That someone does not have to be two legged.

Rack.  My “Respect The Process” furry tape recorder who knows that I am going out to the back yard at 7:30 AM for Yard Inspection because I either move my feet from the ottoman or I put the wireless keyboard on the table.  He’s learned the secret of “Incoming!”.

Actually he’s learned all too well.

You see if I say “Incoming!” He trots over to the large hurricane glass front door window and starts grumbling if he sees someone.   If he likes the person, or dog, he’ll stand there and whine or wag his tail.

It’s become a game.   Not teasing the dog, that is, but seeing just exactly what he will go on alert at the front door with.

Sure, Radar has trained me, and I have trained the dog, but the dog has also trained us back.

I’ve learned that if I say Hello like I’m actually greeting someone at the door, he does an Incoming! alert regardless.

Too bad because I have a habit of talking at my computer as well and Rack isn’t that selective.

Incoming!, Hello, OK, Who’s that?, and quite a few others will get him up off his mat and to the door.  Just don’t use those words in conversation, especially if he’s asleep.

So the other night I was actually watching MASH.  We found it, and are watching the series from Season 1 Episode 1, at the rate of a couple episodes a week.

In the very first episode though, Hilarity Ensued.

Out on the street in front of the house was someone walking their dog, and someone else across the street.  Rack didn’t know any of them.

He didn’t care, he had fallen asleep, next to my chair.  The picture of Domestic Bliss, I sat on my big green chair in the corner of the room, and Rack snored.

As the show introduced characters, Radar O’Reilly was there, and said “Incoming!”.  As they explained on the TV what that meant to them, get ready for incoming choppers and some busy hours, My Dog Went into Action.


He stood up, and went on full alert, barking the sleep away.


I said, laughing, “Rack, Shaddap, go look!”

He ripped tires across the living room scrabbling for purchase and traction.  Four paws does not mean Four Wheel Drive sure footedness.

He collided with the coffee table, knocking a few papers into the air.

At this point we were all just kind of in shock laughing away as he slipped around to the door.  It was really only about a few heartbeats.

The Choppers were landing, Hawkeye and Trapper John were getting prepped for surgery.

Rack spotted the Interlopers, and went full stupid.

I said “Damnit, you’re a McNab not a yapper, shaddap!”

He started to calm down to a grumble with “MROWMROWmrow mlum mlum” coming from the front door.

The people on the street looked at the door from 50 feet off or so confused as to why he was being so radical, and began to disperse.

“Rack, Enough!”

He finally went quiet and off to the mat to repeat.

All this because a 30 or so year old TV show went to make a plot point.

So I’ll ask you.  If you do come by for a visit, try not to use “Incoming!”.  Or “Hello” or “OK”…

Or never mind, he’s got to learn not to overreact.

But that Doorbell?  It’s off limits, OK?