Ask the Maui Monster

Dear Maui Monster...
I hear your new bedroom faces east. Mine does, too. How are you dealing with that oppressive morning light? I gave up and set up shop on the kitchen floor for the summer.


Thanks,
Crumbs in my bed


Post-Dawn Disruption is a problem that affects 1/4 of us, CIMB. I honestly thought it'd never be me, mostly because I never thought Dan and Tiia would ever choose an east-facing bedroom. It's been six months now, and I'm learning to live with it. The curtains they put in are helping; as is having my own bed.

Um...

That's a pretty big chunk of cheese you've got on that cracker. Splitting it with me would be way easier on your jaw; and less cheese means more appreciation for the wheat and barley accents of the cracker.

Really, I'd be doing you a favour.

Hello, old friend.

Talk about a silver lining.

A couple of years ago, I used to eat a dry/wet mix. Dan used to say that eating just dry food was tantamount to eating dry toast. At the time, I took his word for it.* Then, almost out of the blue, the peeps decided to discontinue the melange, opting to serve only kibble (albeit, very tasty kibble).

I learned to supplement with food I'd find on walks; there are fewer restaurants on our new routes, but way more good home cookin'. 

I've also become a very skilled at begging – although "getting Dan and Tiia to fork over some of their dinner" is "taking candy from a baby" in canine. 

That leads us to earlier this week, when Dan gave me some undercooked chicken. In all fairness, he also gave it to himself – although I'm sure he's not seeing it as very fair. After a few days of nothing good at all, we went to the vet, who prescribed...wait for it...MY WET FOOD!!!

The key is gonna be getting it back long term, which is already looking like a problem because I'm feeling way better. I overheard rumblings of Cobb Salad tonight, though. The dream lives.

* I've since eaten dry toast. It sucks.

The last days of 35 for us both

This is my Auntie Bec. She's an Auntie because her last name is Yurman – not because her first name is Becky, as she'd probably argue. We both have birthdays coming up. I'm probably getting another elk antler. She should be so lucky.

Bec and I have been hangin' out at Craighurst Estates for the last little while. It's not that dissimilar to when I go there with Dan and Tiia. The air's a bit cleaner. The streats are a bit yummier. The couch in the front room is still the place to be.

There are definitely some differences, though. She's in the OLP camp (On Leash Peeps). Dan and Tiia are NLPs. Also, Bec likes the guest bed. Hey, it's fine by me; she's the one giving up space.

A vote for Maui

Dear Hawaiian GOPers,

I'm Maui Yurkenbaum, and I want to be your 2012 write-in candidate for President of the United States this Tuesday.

Some of you may have a problem with me not actually subscribing to many of your views. But here's why I don't think that should matter: you've got four options now and none of them has a hope of taking Obama down because they don't have the advantages I can bring.

• I can get the inside scoop on Obama 2012 from Bo. I've been holding on to a brick of Gruyere for just this kind of bribery.

• I can court the gay vote. I don't mean to brag, but I was somewhat of a star at the 2010 Halifax Pride Parade.

• I'll never be the subject of any cockamamie 'birther' scandal – the statute says that "no person not born in the United States will be eligible for the presidency". So there.

• Mauimania. It's real.

Life as a blonde

Tiia's friend Cathy came by not too long ago and let me try her fairer locks on for a moment. I gotta say, I had more fun...but I'm sure that had more to do with the company. Cathy's got some seriously positive energy going on – she actually makes the room brighter. I wonder if that's how her hair got that way. Can people do that? It'd be cool if they could. Heck, it'd be cool if I could do that. I wonder what colour I'd want my hair to be. I like the Porty White, but it's hard to keep clean. Doodle Brown is okay, but a bit common. Maybe a deep grey? Like a Hawaiian sky before a storm. See what I did there?

It speaks for itself.

Dan and I stumbled across this the other day in Chatsworth Ravine.

We interrupt this program for a special announcement...

This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Should there ever be a worldwide shortage of cheese, you'll see me in front of you just like this. That'll be your sign to go to the fridge and get me whatever you've got left. And remember to be thorough – it's an emergency after all.

Ask The Maui Monster

Dear Maui Monster...

Like you, I watch the Superbowl with my family every year. I can usually count on enjoying bits and pieces of the feast what with all the dropped food, but I got completely shut out this year. I think I need a new game plan for XLVII. Any thoughts?

- Giant Letdown

Dear GL...

Tough loss, for sure – there's nothing quite like a Superbowl smorgasbord. Here are three schemes I employ during the big game. I normally run them concurrently, but you can focus on one at a time if you want.

1. Read the room.

Take stock of who's around you a few minutes before the game. You should be able to identify who's cheering for which team by their conversations or, if you're lucky, by their clothes. What you want to do is hang around the people supporting the team that's ahead in the score, as they're more likely to be standing, cheering and talking smack; hence, more likely to drop stuff. Be careful not to get fooled by people wearing a jersey of a team not playing in the game; there's one of those at every party – at least, every one I'm at.

2. Spot the mismatches

When the food starts coming out, you'll see who the experienced buffet-style eaters are, and who's prone to spills and drops. You'll want to get a good view of the room, so best to take a step back and survey it all.

3. Look for weaknesses

There's always someone who wants to give you their food. Find them and exploit the hell out of them. I got Lasagna with remnants of smoked salmon, chicken wings and some sort of yummy dill sauce. A super bowl indeed.

A three hour tour

Now that's more like it!

My lord, it'd been a long time since we went for a walk like that – about four and half years by my count. It used to mean we were hosting a party later that night and the peeps wanted to tucker me out. Now that we're finally in our house, perhaps it'll mean that again? I've heard rumblings.

Anyway, Dan and I explored the new 'hood, and I gotta say I'm pleasantly surprised. I'd met NoBlo (north of Bloor for the out-of-towners) dogs before, and they all raved about the parks. At the time, I payed little attention because my home field was Trinity Bellwoods, and in my mind there was no real competition. In retrospect, the evaluation was premature.

The peeps lost two frisbees in six days. I think that's a record.

This is my new red one. The over-under is nine weeks.

Junior the Newf, one of the two dogs we met in Forest Hill Memorial Arena Park. He's 175 pounds and moves like it. He had no real chance of taking the disc from me, but it was fun watching him try.

Harvey the Dane, the second of the two.

After some spirited cardio, it was time for a little lifting.