What Can BrownDog Do For You?

Hi. I’d like to introduce you to a friendly face. His name is Brownie.





Yeah, his owner didn’t work too hard on that name. “Why, that dog is brown. I know! Let’s call him Brownie!”

What his owner (a neighbor of my best friend) lacks in creativity, he makes up for in being a pretty nice guy.

Unfortunately, that good neighbor has fallen on some hard times. His small plumbing business had success tied to the housing industry. When things were good, Brownie’s owner was doing good. When the economy laid down and didn’t get back up, the business struggled.

Sad to say, those good folks had to sell their house, horses, and fleet of nice cars.

And that leaves us back at The Brown One who is an Australian Shepard. He has papers to prove he is somebody, and a yearn for herding in his blood.

Brown Dog is bunking down with my best friend’s family these days. Brownie was largely ignored for most of his early life, so the attention of a whole family and other dogs to play with makes him super happy.

You see, Brownie is a special dog. Or, speshul. One would think that The Brown One isn’t very smart because he leaps and rolls and bubble heads his way around the world. Sometimes that dog makes me shake my head. And my fists. He can be so dense, really.

Brownie is the kind of dog that will come along with me when I take a walk, not that I have any say in the matter. He’ll escape his confines and come along no matter what I think on the subject. And further, he’s the kind of dog who will run ahead of me on the banks of the irrigation ditch, then down in the bottom, will roll in the muck, then run back and jump on me.

And when I holler at him, he wags his tail and that tongue lolls out and he looks at me and says “what?” in doggy-nacular.

Damn dog.

There is only one human in the world who really understands The Brown One, and that is The Good Man (who I happen to believe is part dog, if you must know). The Good Man will take Brownie outside and throw the ball and play doggie games and Brownie gets WAY over excited.

For his trouble, The Good Man comes away with bruises and small bites up and down his legs. See, Brownie will get himself worked up and then try to herd everyone as is true to his breed. Brownie is a jumper so his “move it along” bites can go as high as the butt region on the well over six foot tall Good Man.

Ow.

All of the rest of us, we holler at Brownie. “Damn it Brownie! Brown Dog, DOWN! Brownie, stop!!”

The only human he’ll actually listen to is The Good Man.

What Brownie really needs is a job. He’s got this strong innate drive to herd cows or sheep or something herdable. Sad day for him, Brown ain’t got no herd to herd. Right now, Brownie would be a huge liability to an actual herd of animals because he’s not well trained. But with some work and some time, Brownie could be a damn fine cattle dog. He’s got more in that brain bucket than first meets the eye.

Instead he herds a group of humans who may or may not be his permanent people and those people yell at him all the time. Brownie just wants to run. He’s a country dog and knows no borders. He’s the sort of damn dog who will run at a car.

*sigh*

Poor Brown Dog.

But don’t cry for me, Argentina. Brownie has it all right. He’s landed with a family that gives him regular kibble and my two soft hearted goddaughters pull ticks and fur knots off of him and love on him and coo in his velvety ears.

And when he’s really lucky, Nina Karen brings The (Good) Tall Man to visit and someone finally understands.


Testing That Hypothesis

“You learn a lot about our society, who we are and where we are headed…and you learn a lot about yourself when you board a Southwest Airlines flight.”

Bob Fitzgerald, on his Feb 14th afternoon KNBR radio show.


To which his partner, Rod Brooks responded, “There’s a lot of truth to that.”

To which I replied, out loud, to my car radio “There’s A LOT of truth to that!!!”

Today I’m going in there for the sake of science, entertainment and friendship.

Yup, I’m testing that theory.

I’ll be boarding a flight headed for the garden city of El Paso. I gots me a social engagement in Las Cruces and some godkids to hug.

I hear there’s some green chile that needs eatin’ too. I’m on it.

Watch out New Mexico, here I come!!

Whoooo!






Photo Copyright 2007, Karen Fayeth. Taken just outside of Deming, eastbound on I-10.


International Monetary Policy

Did you know that if you go to Google and type in Pesos to Dollar, that a nice little converter will come up?

Yep! You just enter the amount of pesos and *boop* it will tell you the corresponding amount in US Dollars. You can then take that amount and cut and paste it into a nice tidy PowerPoint presentation and ship it over to your demanding and agitated boss for his presentation later today.

And when you send that off you feel so gosh darn smart and efficient.

But there’s more.

Did you know there is a rather large difference between Mexican Pesos and Colombian Pesos?

Let’s show by way of example:

6 million Mexican Pesos is equal to:

$470,105 US Dollars


6 million Colombian Pesos is equal to:

$3,356 US Dollars.

Further, did you know that the difference between asking finance for 470k versus 3k on a pretty little PowerPoint slide is, well, significant.

Um. Whoops.

Pesky ol’ currency conversion.
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(Thankfully my BossMan caught it before the meeting and we fixed it. I’m now being teased unmercifully. Ugh!)




Image from flagpedia.net



Has Anyone Seen Karen?

Quick quiz: What’s this?





That, my friends, is the far corner under my work desk.

Why am I posting this?

Because my boss, the one eight time zones away, is running me ragged today. All day.

Me.

Today.

Friday.

Isn’t Friday supposed to be an easy day? Put your feet up and coast?

My fingers are tired of entering numbers on spreadsheets.

My wrist is acting up from all the mousing around.

My eyes are weary of creating transitions on PowerPoint.

And I’m tired of hearing my phone ring. “Karen, that’s great! Perfect. But now could you take all the data and make it look like something entirely different??”

Ugh!

At one point today, I actually said to my BossMan, “Chief, it’s like that old Finance joke…what do you *want* the numbers to say? I’ll make ’em tell any story you want.”

He wasn’t amused.

Then he asked me to make another PowerPoint slide.

So for the rest of the day, if anyone other than my boss is looking for me, that’s where I’ll be.

Under my desk. In the far corner.

Would someone bring me an order of fish and chips from the cafeteria downstairs?

And a cookie?

And a beer?

And maybe some vodka.

Thanks muchly.

(Happy Weekend)
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Conveniently, this week’s Theme Thursday is: corner


I Think I Can

My lunchtime walking friend, known to regular readers as Worm Girl, has gone and done it. She has coerced convinced me that on cold rainy days (such as today) we shouldn’t just avoid our lunchtime walk all together. We should, instead, go work out in our company’s fitness center.

My god how I hate gyms.

Hate them hate them hate them.

I conceded the points that we need to mix up our workouts, and we need to continue to work out even if weather doesn’t permit. So today, I followed her into the fitness center where we took up residence on two separate treadmills.

I lumped myself up on the walking deck of a shiny new machine and poked and prodded at the buttons and geegaws.

To the left of me, a tall, young, lithe brunette woman running all out on the treadmill. To my right, a shorter, tiny blond woman with loads of attitude. Also running.

I didn’t come here to run. Hell, at this point I wasn’t even walking because I couldn’t get the machine to start. After punching at the up arrow key, the belt started up but it was quite slow, so I didn’t get on it. I kept jabbing at buttons and “hmmm’ing” and “ummm’ing”.

Blondie snapped at me “You should just get on it!”

I thought how easy it would be to insert my foot into the middle of her tiny stride and send her flying. “Whoops! Did I do that? Sooooo sorry.”

See, when I walk on the walking trail, there’s no turning it on. No fiddling with buttons or a recalcitrant machine. I simply walk.

Also, on the walking trail, snooty Blondie would just jog past me and our association would be over. But no, I gotta stand next to her for the next hour feeling inadequate and awkward.

Did I mention that I hate gyms?

In addition, Worm Girl further convinced me to sign up for the company’s annual “fitness challenge.”

Over the next eight weeks we have to get weighed and measured, attend classes, and participate in physical challenges.

Today’s challenge was to log our fastest time to run or walk a mile.

So I warmed up a bit and then cranked up the machine and galumphed my way along.

Blondie and Brunette looked in askance as I became the little curvy engine that could. I huffed and I puffed and by god when it was done, I had turned in a respectable 16:04 minute mile.

I couldn’t sustain that pace, so I did two more miles at a seventeen and a half minute pace.

And now my legs ache.

Did I mention I can’t stand gyms?






Image found at Bottomless Mimosa.