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This year, for the first year ever, Cutter and Tug have managed to find a bunch of flea friends and bring them home to us so today Miss Carol and me wrestled them into our shower and gave them a bath and drowned their little flea buddies.

I did the wrestling and Miss Carol did the bathing.

Once Tug was done and sitting forlorn and wet-rat looking in the corner of the shower I grabbed Cutter and pulled/pushed/struggled him into the shower.

Nooooooooo, he pleaded, planting his paws on either side of the entrance to our shower.

Dude, I grunted, pushing him into the shower and Miss Carol.

Tug sat looking morose and defeated and Cutter looked back at me all doe-like. Please, he said.

You guys are Labs, I said, breathing hard and bent over, my hands on my knees. What’s the matter with you two?, you’re supposed to love water, I said.

Miss Carol started to spray nice warm water on Cutter and he hissed at me, We don’t.

Yeah, Tug said. It’s the ignominy. And looked pathetic.

Cutter glanced over at him while Miss Carol was sudsing him. The what??, he said.

The ignominy, Tug said again and settled back and forth a little. Ya gotta realize, he said, the first time we ever got a bath we were taken away from all of our brothers and sisters and the only nice warm little home we’d ever known and were given to you, he said.

Not that that’s a bad thing, Tug said hastily.

Cutter glared at him while Miss Carol rinsed.

Ignominy? Cutter said looking at his brother. Where’d you learn a word like that?

Tug shrugged and stood and shook the water off of him.

In another inexplicable unexplainable chain of events I found myself on Saturday saddling up to ride my bicycle 25 miles for a charity sponsored by a little church in North Carolina I’d never heard of.

My little brother and Miss Carol had decided last spring that they were going to ride the 50 mile course and somehow convinced me I needed to join them in their efforts and at least ride the 25.

In a moment of weakness I agreed.

I blame alcohol.

So I got a new chain and new tires ’cause the old ones had rusted and dry-rotted, respectively, did a ‘coupla deep knee bends, strapped on my required gay-ass helmet, plugged iTunes and headed out.

The first mile was hard and the others were harder. But the hardest thing was finding something to think about, or do, to pass the time. iTunes helped immensely but it wasn’t enough.

For a time I looked around at the homes and stuff we were passing at 12 miles an hour until I started noticing the mile markers that North Carolina has thoughtfully placed at EVERY HALF MILE along their roads.

Thank you North Carolina.

So then I looked at the horizon but the horizon never seemed to get any closer so I stopped doing that.

Then I tried just closing my eyes and listening to the music but that didn’t work very well either for obvious reasons.

Finally I just pedaled and wondered what other people doing longer races thought about.

And guess what? I won. I actually finished first.

This is what happened- only 10 of the riders took the southern 25 mile route, (Let me explain- the 50 mile course was divided into a southern half and a northern half, the northern portion being the nicer waterfront ride, the southern being the easier for my little brother to find me and rescue me when I bailed on this bullshit) and for probably the same inexplicable and unexplainable reasons that led to this nonsense in the first place Miss Carol and me wound up leading the southern routers and then with about 6 miles to go, Miss Carol got tired of my slow ass, hit the gas and disappeared over the horizon I was trying not to look at.

I pedaled on wondering if maybe I’d missed the turn when I saw Miss Carol stopped at the turn-off and talking to my little brother and his cupcake and telling them I’d probably miss the turn if she didn’t wait for me.

But I didn’t and I powered by with a primal scream and iTunes rocketing around in my head and pedaled like a madman to the finish.

Woo-hoo. I’ll never do that shit again.

I’d barely backed Little Miss Teeny Tiny into the driveway and opened her Teeny Tiny door when Cutter and Tug came barreling across the lawn and flung themselves at me.

Cutter was excitedly wagging and wriggling and impatiently licking my face and Tug was wriggling and wagging and worriedly waiting his turn.

Thank GOD you’re finally home, Cutter exclaimed between sloppy lick kisses.

He stopped briefly and looked over his shoulder. Tug whimpered and wriggled.

It’s been awful since you were gone, Cutter said, licking my face again. Awful, he said.

Tug wriggled and whimpered and looked worried some more.

Guys, I said, pushing Cutter away, giving Tug an opening to pounce. Stop, I said.

What was so bad?, I said.

Both dogs backed down and sat a few feet away, quivering.

You wouldn’t believe it, Cutter started. It was like we weren’t even there, he said.

Yeah, Tug said.

I’d bring the ball or the tug-rope to them and they’d just keep watching the big blank thing on the wall, Cutter said.

Awful, Tug said, terrrrrible.

So then, I’d sit in front of them and try to talk to them and they acted like I wasn’t even THERE, Cutter exclaimed.

Tug shook his head back and forth sorrowfully.

Cutter scratched behind his ear briefly, his rear leg pistoning, and then said, I’m just glad you’re home.

Tug nodded and panted.

Dudes, I said.

I’ve only been gone an hour, I said, I just had to run to Food Lion for dinner, I said, getting out of the car.

Hmmmph, Cutter said.

Hmmmph, Tug said.

Just then, my little brother came gliding out of the house to see if he could help me with anything. What’s going on? he asked.

Nothing, I said laughing, but it sounds like you’re a dickhead.

What a day.

I’m trying to think of reasons not to kill my driver ’cause the truck needs something else again.

Miss Carol comes home in a foul mood.

My little brother and his little cupcake stand in the driveway working out familial problems via iPhone conference call.

But.

The music washes quietly over everything, gently trying to assuage, to push back the roiling dark blackness. The music tries. But the black seeps into the evening roiling up against us and Tug and Cutter sit staring and wondering.

Miss Carol shrieks and storms.

And I bite down on fuck you, because fuck you leads down roads irretrievable.

So I try- fuck this.

And it seems to maybe work.

Old tile guys prolly would’a rocked back on their thinset smeared kneepads, pushed back their sweat-stained hats on their collective heads and said, boy-you are WAY over-thinking this.

And I was. Mostly ’cause I’m not a thinset smeared old tile guy so I gotta think things through. And through.

Tile, mostly because of it’s permanence is daunting to me. I lay it out, I re-measure and re-lay it out, I look at it from all available angles in all available lighting thinking about how long I’m gonna have to stare at it.

And then I re-lay it all out again.

This weekend my little brother and I poured the shower floors and then, on Sunday, Miss Carol and me laid out the kitchen counter tops. The tiles Miss Carol decided were her heart-throb must-haves are 12×24 big ‘ole homers so layout was even more crucial. As if.

We did it one way. Then we did it another. Then we stared at it and tried it another way.

Then we got dressed and looked at the tile.

Kidding.

Anyway. Long story short we finally got the countertop tiles laid out in a direction and combination that is both pleasing and prolly something we’ll be able to stare at for the rest of our lives.

My little brother and his little cupcake moved in with us a coupla months ago and honestly? things couldn’t be going better. We all get along, I don’t want to kill him and he doesn’t seem to want to kill me.  No rancor and lots of sharing.

It’s been fun. I think we’re actually gonna miss one another when we part ways again.

So it was funny to watch something develop the other night.

Of all of us, what with our differing schedules, Miss Carol always seems to be the one getting home last and latest. Cutter and Tug kinda, sorta, like me. But they loves, lurrrves, Miss Carol. They sit on the couch, staring out the window, impatiently waiting for Miss Carol’s car to round the corner. And when she does, they go wild.

So. Me and my little brother and his cupcake were having cocktails and waiting for Miss Carol when cupcake said, Watch this.

She turned slightly and whispered, is that Miss Carol?

Cutter and Tug went berserk, searching for her and her car. My little brother and his cupcake laughed and I thought, oh shit.

Some time and another cocktail passed and cupcake says softly- is that Miss Carol?

And the boys bolted into action again.

But this time when they came back in Cutter looked at cupcake and goes pfffffttttt. Tug lays down and glares at us.

Uh-oh.

Later on, after dinner, my little brother and his cupcake decide to go for a walk on the beach. She goes out to the florida room to put on her sandals and squeals- why are these wet?

They leave.

Dudes, I say.

Cutter goes pffffttt and Tug nuzzles him.

It was 115 degrees outside when it was time to walk the boys and they started up almost as soon as they got outside.

JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH, it’s motherfucking HOT out here, Cutter said.

Whew, Tug said.

A coupla tourons passing by on their way to more vacation fun glared at me like I was the one cussin’. I pointed at Cutter and Tug and they scowled at me.

It must be 200 degrees out here, Cutter said and Tug murmured, maybe 300.

It’s not that hot, I said.

Remind me why you do this to us every day? Cutter said sternly, looking back over his shoulder at me.

Tug just plodded along, looking forlorn.

‘Cause you guys have to poop and I can’t get you to poop in the toilet, I said.

Hmmm. What’s a toilet? Cutter said, panting theatrically.

Already anticipating it, waiting for it, I said, the big white thing you drink out of.

Cutter stopped dead in his tracks. Oh, for god’s sake, you want me to poop in my water dish?? he exclaimed. That’s just sick, he said. Isn’t there somebody I can call and report this to?

You don’t have fingers, I reminded him.

Fuck. It really sucks being a dog, he said.

Tug stopped suddenly and hunched and pushed.

Whew, he said, can we go home now?

We live at the beach and as such have a problem with parking. Mostly with people parking in our yard.

It happened again today, and before I could catch the whomever, Miss Carol and me were once again stuck with a stranger’s car in our yard. This happens a lot and I’d finally had enough so I called the police to have them ticket the stupid motherfucker.

But while I was talking to the dispatcher he told me that I could have the car towed and I started having a bad feeling about the whole thing.

I don’t like people parking in my yard, but I don’t want to ruin their whole day. Ya’ know?

So anyway.

A police officer on an ATV showed up and I walked out and met him and we talked and he agreed I could either have him ticket the vehicle, have the vehicle towed, or he could just write a warning.

He told me it was my choice so I opted for the warning ’cause I’m a turd.

Then while we were talking and comparing histories a sweat fly started buzzing his head.

If you don’t have these little fuckers say a thankeeverymuch. They’re extremely annoying, constantly buzzing your head, until they land and bite.

But they’re slow.

So while we were talking and while this annoyingly buzzy little fucker was buzzing around the police officer’s head, it landed.

I said, it’s on your head, do you want me to kill it?

And he said, please.

So I slapped a cop upside the head maybe a little harder than I meant to or maybe wanted to, and we both watched as the the little dead bug fluttered to the ground between us.

We looked up at each other and he grinned behind his RayBans and said,

I won’t call that assault.