"..to the rescue
here I am...'

-Bob Marley


I am Winston's third owner. He was wild when I got him. He still is sometimes. I think he is nearly aged nine; more than two-years older than his his initial life expectancy...and he rescued me.

I thought I might write about the dogs, since they are the reason we are all here isn't it after all, the muse and the comic relief?

Winston (aka Stone, Mr. Señor Dogs...).
English Bulldogs fought bulls, which defines their physique and attitude. W is a rescue. I'm his third owner. He was very bad when I first got him. He is still bad sometimes. I developed rules to avoid interaction with most other dogs and the occasional human who sets him off. If he ever gets near a dog he wants to fight, which has happened about four times I can think of, he is initially aggressive, but then suddenly goes into convulsions, and becomes parallelized for about 20 minutes. Mac Carter, the director of the short film entitled Dave, has seen it and will vouch for me.

At home, when he is calm, he is very funny.

Pheobe

Pugs were lap dogs in royal Chinese courts 3,000 years ago.  They would alert the royalty to the approach of anyone, serve as court jesters, and keep the royal lap warm. Pheobe is obsessed with satisfying all three urges, only not all at the same time. I got Phoebe at the insistence of a girlfriend that my pug Lucy needed a companion.

Lucy (Lucy Dog). Lucy was my first rescue dog, albeit a rescue indirectly from my sister. She had a special intelligence.