Apparently, Taco Bell is being sued because they aren’t serving meat. I saw a headline, but everyone is getting sued these days and I didn’t pay attention. Last night, I asked Cheryl what she wanted for dinner and she said Taco Bell. After dinner, she tells me that Taco Bell is being sued because you can’t call something meat if it is less than 40% meat. The “meat” at Taco Bell is 36%. Lovely. Apparently, the rest is fillers and meat by products.
What in bloody hell is a filler? No, don’t answer that – I don’t think I want to know.
It dawned on me that Cheryl and I didn’t want to feed our dog (nor our cats) anything unhealthy. We read numerous ingredients on dog food packages until we found one that didn’t include fillers and meat by products as one of the first ingredients. However; we’re fine with eating them ourselves, apparently.
How screwed up is that?
Finally, a quote I saw on the Internet: “If you are what you eat, then I am fast, cheap and easy.”
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I miss my late American Eskimo Dog, Skywalker. It has been more than two months since I took him on his last ride. It has been more than a month since I had to look into my grandsons’ eyes and tell them that Skywalker had gone to Heaven.
This past weekend, my three little guys came to visit and more than once, I had to answer the question, “Nana, where’s Skywalker?” Patiently, I would explain that Sky was in Heaven with God and Mr. Mann (our late cat).
I remember how Sky and I would play Hide N Seek. I would go outside and hide – sometimes in the front bushes, sometimes behind the garage or behind the house. Cheryl would wait a little bit and then let Sky out of the house with the command, “Go find, Mommie.” Sky would come racing out of the house, stop and quickly scan the area for any sight of me. He would cock his head and listen. If he couldn’t see or hear me, he would put his nose to the ground and begin hunting me down until he would discover me in my lousy hiding place. I’m sure that our neighbors must’ve thought we were all crazy.
On bright summer nights (and some winter ones), Sky and I would go outside and howl at the full moon. A neighbor once told me that she wondered what kind of neighborhood she had moved into when she heard Sky and I singing to the moon. I’m lucky no one called the cops.
Sky’s most annoying and, yet endearing quality was when he would bark. Oh, I don’t mean a bark or two hundred – he was an Eskie after all. Whenever he would break a rule – run away from me, not come when I called, get into the garbage; I would give him a lecture. I would make him sit in front of me and I would talk to him as if he was a five year old child and not a dog. He would sit quietly and stared – unblinking – at me. Sometimes, if the lecture went on too long, he might turn his head and yawn. When I was done with my lecture – which must’ve worked, as he wasn’t bad very often – I would turn away from him and very quietly, I would hear him go “Woof.” The little pain in the butt wanted the last word. Drove me nuts. If I turned back around, he would turn his head and look away, like he hadn’t “said” anything. I’d turn away again and “Woof.”
These memories of my smart (ass) dog came to mind while I was reading an article on Roadrunner News. The Washington Humane Society decided to conduct a