A salute to who he was then: The Price Is Right.

Thank God. Specially padded bra saveswoman from nail puncture. And she's from lovely Frankenmuth.

I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who took the time to let me know that the world's greatest Game Show host, Bob Barker, has celebrated 30 years hosting the Price is Right by signing on for another 5 years. You can count on Amy and I heading down there for at least one more taping!! Congrads, Bob. You rule, even if you did tell my audience that you don't wear underwear in the summer.

Alice's Horoscope: Old habits die hard, and this week you are encouraged to finally rid yourself of a bad habit that bothers others in your home. Maybe you haven't noticed how it bothers others, but somebody will explain the situation to you now. Take heed. You can expect three wonderful days from Tuesday to Thursday this week.

Does that mean she'll stop getting into the trash?

Something my Dad overheard:
Don't be afraid to try something new; the Ark was built by amateurs and the Titanic by professionals!

Snow cones: 2, Gang Green, 8, my leg: -1 Not the best night in hockey history.

Here's our Rainie when she was just a few weeks old. Today, she's 5 months old, weighs over 30 pounds, has a full set of adult teeth and is quickly becoming the biggest dog in our house. And we love her.

My dad, on those pictures of me playing hockey:
Wow! I wouldn't want to face you!

Last night we went out for Chinese, my choice. It was a fine meal until I woke up quite ill at 6:19 a.m. It's just a day of feeling like crap.

My rebellious friend chatted with a puppy mill owner. Note that the breeder wouldn't let her get in touch with the original breeder or meet the dog's parents. Also for some reason, Missouri is the Puppy Mill capitol of the US.

Please folks, get your pets from rescues or reputable breeders.

If you don't have a copy of Life Is Good Now as told by Floyd, you must get one! I laughed out loud at the pic of Floyd begging to be picked at the shelter. Buy one today and see what I mean.

"There were all these 20-something kids doing HTML and making, like, six-figure salaries. Nobody doing HTML deserves that."
Yup, the Golden Days are over.

Scenes from last night's hockey game: me in hot pursuit of the puck, me doing something involving crouching and a stick, my butt, in a new jersey that fits much better and my left leg, feverishly guarding the point.

Final score: Snow Cones 2, Mercury Rising 9. You can't win 'em all.

Because it seems like a good time to repost this, I will. If you've ever considered buying a dog from a pet store, please think again, chances are it came from somewhere like this. Also if you buy a dog from a breeder, make sure it's a repuatble breeder. What this means is that they will always take the dog back, even in 10 years, that you can meet at least the mother, that the dog lives in clean conditions and the place isn't overrun with dogs and waste.

A REPORT FROM A PUPPYMILL AUCTION

"I do not believe I will ever look at the world in the same way again. This weekend was worse than I had imagined, worse than I had even been told to expect. I attended my first puppy mill auction in Missouri Sunday, determined to bring home every last Cavalier on the auction block. Lucky Star was successful. We got all six Cavaliers being sold. Hoorah!

But that was only 6 dogs out of 200+. I wanted them all. I wanted to run, ranting like a mad woman through the dirt isles of stacked cages, a screaming pied piper, opening and releasing every last one of those imprisoned souls. What I saw behind those latched doors broke my heart, and made it almost impossible to maintain my equilibrium or my sanity, much less the undercover role I was expected to play. Every 15-20 minutes my husband was at my side, asking if I was okay, telling me I could do this, HAD to do this, for the dogs. For the dogs....

Periodically, I had to escape the nasty atmosphere of the barn for a gulp of the cold Missouri air, hoping the frigid gusts would calm and fortify me.

Some cages held one-eyed dogs, others held dogs with recent cuts, and old, ugly scars, dogs with toenails an inch long, dogs whose hair was one large mat, pregnant bitches close to delivery, dogs missing ears, legs, teeth.

There were no wagging tails, no yelps of delight; no bright, trusting eyes or barks of playful banter. Most cowered in the farthest corners of their cages, two or more huddled close together, as if their closeness would bring them some measure of comfort in dealing with their shared misery.

Dog after dog was auctioned to the highest bidder, often with such sales pitches as: "Missing an eye, but sees well enough to hit his mark": "This girl is only a year old, but she has earned her keep by already producing one litter - now she's got another on the way - a bonus for you"; "This bitch has had 19 pups in a year and a half - just the kind you want"; "If you just sell one of this pregnant bitch's puppies, you will make more than you've paid for her"; "Bitch only has three legs - big deal, she won't be passing that on." And on one male dog, who refused to stand on the table because of an injured foot, the auctioneer remarked, "Don't let that bother you, he can still get it on."

Dogs were often held high in the air for all to see, tails lifted to gauge whether they were in heat, mouths probed roughly to check their bites, and abdomens poked and prodded to check for pregnancy because "this one's been running with Jax - could give you a surprise."

The Cavaliers were one of the last breed on the block. My heart stopped, and my eyes welled when I saw the first, and only two females brought to the table. Their eyes remained downcast, their tails tucked, their bodies postured with fear. "Look at the coats on these beauties," the creepy auctioneer said. "These ladies have produced some gorgeous pups." That sealed it -- I wasn't leaving that place until I had every single cavalier in my possession.

Our babies brought the highest and liveliest bidding, with bidding often reaching feverish levels, the bids coming so fast and furious, I was afraid I could not keep up. I hated bidding; I hated NOT bidding.

When I got the highest bid, the auctioneer said, "Which one do you want?" "I want them both," I replied. "Great," he said, "You're saving me time, little lady." When we got the final bid on the puppies, the last to be auctioned, I breathed a sigh of relief, and said a quiet thank-you to the man upstairs.

While waiting in line to get the dogs, one man approached us, and asked how many of "those Charlies" we had. I said I only had three. "Well," was his response, "you are certainly in business now." Yes, I told him, you better believe it.

Rescuing just a few is worth the effort, worth the heartache, and worth the dirt, stench and barren, desolate miles my husband and I endured. Six are safe, but so many more are not. Rescuing from these sleazy breeders is a necessary evil. It is only a drop in the bucket, I know, but it is SOMETHING. It certainly is not enough, and we must work diligently to try and save them all.

A number of people I talked to before leaving on this trip knew nothing about puppy mills. They know about them NOW. Educate. Please educate. Tell everyone you know, and people you don't know, what puppy mills are all about. Relate my horror story, and the stories of other rescuers. We CANNOT shut down the puppy millers without the education of the public.

Before I sign off, let me tell you about MY bonus. I came home with seven puppy mill dogs, my seventh being a male, 2 year old Lhasa Apso. He was placed on the table and the auctioneer opened the bids at $150. No bids came. Down to $50, still no bids. At $25, the auctioneer said, "Come on, folks, he's worked his tail off in his short life - been one busy little guy. Worth a heck of a lot more than $25. If you don't want him, I'll put him back to work for me." At $15, my husband saw the sadness in my eyes. "Toni," he said...too late.

The auctioneer said, "Well, do I hear $10?" My hand shot up before I could stop it. "Sold, to the little lady for $10." "Got yourself quite a bargain," was the auctioneer's parting shot.

The Cavs hadn't even come up yet, and I knew we had a long way to go. "Sorry," I told Chris. "I couldn't help it." "It's okay," he said. "By my calculations, using the luggage rack on top, we could probably haul back another 20 or so." He was joking, of course, he simply understood that this business was deplorable, and resigning these dogs to a pitiful existence was heart wrenching.

Find it in your heart to get involved with rescue, in whatever way you can. Attend an auction, donate your money, foster a rescue, or just encourage and advise those of us who are just getting our feet wet. You won't be sorry. Your heart may break, your eyes may be red-rimmed for days, but I promise you, you will be forever changed." -- Toni Webb, The3Cavaliers@aol.com

Yes! This is the way it should be: Dot-Commers To Receive Unemployment Benefits In Form Of Stock Options.

I am so very very very sad to report that Ben, my favorite 15 year old beagle, died today at 12:15. He was there for me when Ellie died and was a loyal pal to his mom, Sharon, for almost 16 years. I'm so glad I saw him on May 2. I'll miss you always, sweet Ben.

I admit it, I'm mad for Jimmy Luxury. It's the music I've been waiting for my whole life, lounge tunes with a backbeat with rap over all of that. If I made music, it would be like that. Or at least I'd want it to be. But don't just take my word for it, buy your own Jimmy Luxury CD today.

We've got sod! Andrea got to our local Home Depot early enough on Saturday to score what we thought was enough to cover the whole yard. She loaded her poor car with 24 rolls of the stuff, it was so loaded down that she bottomed out and her rear tires looked flat. After carefully backing the car into the driveway, she covered it with a tarp so the sod wouldn't dry out. It was quite a classy sight.

As of today, most of our backyard has grass and there's an in-ground sprinkler system in the works! Woo hoo!

The world's largest basset. Here's hoping that our ever-growning Rainie Roo doesn't get quite that big!

I realized yesteday that losing Ellie broke me, in a way. I had so arrogantly thought that I'd be able to handle loving her with all my heart, even knowing that one day soon she'd be gone. Somehow, I was invincible, as if my ability to see the beauty in her gray face and badly disfigured leg would be enough to help me bear her death with ease and grace. I thought I'd be ready for her death but I wasn't, not by a long shot.

When it happened, something deep inside of me broke and whatever overconfidence I'd had was gone, along with a lot of my confidence. I started a new job just 8 days after she died and haven't been myself there. I've become very shy when it comes to standing up for myself and showing my talents and now I'm in serious trouble, on the edge of losing that job if I don't go out of my way to show them how damn smart I really am.

All because of a sweet, silly girl who loved her bone and McDonald's and when I wasn't looking, broke my heart and changed me forever. It will be a long time, if not forever, before I'm overconfident like that again. My humility was Ellie's greatest gift.

My good friends with Arizona Basset Rescue recently came into some beagles. These guys are from the same puppy mill where Ellie, our Rainie's mom, was from. At least that place is slowly shutting down. If only they'd all go out of business.