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Author: Hank


Fear of Thunder, Love of Sticks

A video my oldest son Matt sent me of his 16-month-old son, Cole, eating a stick, reminded me — for maybe the thousandth time — how similar little kids are to dogs.  And I’m not the only one who’s

Kemba The Decorator

We can hear him going at it, even though we’re in the kitchen.  Scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch!  That’s Kemba, scuffing at the large, flat cushion on the living room couch, as if he were in the dog
Kemba couldn't come along, so had to make some new friends: Finn and Gigi

The Dogs of Santa Monica (Part 2)

In my next life, I want to be a dog living near the beach in Santa Monica.  Quite the sweet deal they have going there. Their ubiquity, their visibility (and the assumption that they belong!) at

Hello Kitty Gets Decapitated

Kemba’s making me throw this stuffed Hello Kitty.  He won’t chase a ball — ONLY hello Kitty . . . Thus begins a text from Elise, my dog sitter — and it doesn’t surprise me.  My boy can be pretty

“What Kind of Dog Is That?”

I’m not gonna lie.  I think my dog is gorgeous.  The thing is, I’m not the only one — not by a long shot.  Every day I get stopped about Kemba’s appearance.  Just yesterday, while we were walking

The Perfect Day

Jumped out of the shower just in time to see The Man in Orange make yet one more preposterous, self- congratulatory speech — Straight Outta Fantasyland — before jetting out of Dodge.  A good start to
Pack C

Kemba and Friends

From time to time, circumstances force my hand and I have to leave Kemba with dog sitters.  This pains me, because I’m sure he can’t be totally happy when he’s not in my company.  My logic behind this
The one-and-only classic Chuckit! Ball Ultra

What Kemba Got for Chanukah

Last night, on the first night of Chanukah, Kemba got an orange-and-blue Chuckit Ultra Ball.  This is by far his favorite kind of toy.  He used to be content with regular tennis balls — he’d fetch

The Dog Ate My Homework

Heading out to dinner last Friday night.  I began scooping up my things — car keys, phone, reading glasses, mask — but I didn’t see my wallet in the drawer by the front door where I usually leave it.

Reverend Beagle Man

“We interrupt this blog about dogs to bring you some breaking news:  The House Formerly Known as Camp Herman has been torn down . .” That’s how I started my mid-June post (“Glory Days”) about the