Charlywalker's Blog












The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,300 times in 2011. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.




I just received notice of an acceptance package into a nursing program I had applied to over a year ago. I should be elated and bouncing off walls much like my puppy’s tennis ball when in play. Except I am not.

I am having mixed emotions about continuing this venture. I am an older student reinventing another career after playing stay-at-home-mom for the past fifteen years and sacrificing my worldly goods for the betterment of raising children. I am sitting on the white picket fence now about attending this program for many reasons;

One major issue is the cost of the program. This is an expenditure that has a healthy bite to it and I am at a time in my life where I should be mimicking menopause in the Mediterranean and petting my pup while we lap up the Chianti and gnaw on biscotti;  Instead of pawing at textbooks containing fonts that even my +250 reading glasses can’t pick up. Come to think of it the only glass worth picking up should be half full of red wine.

I am an older student and am competing with young bloods. So far I have been superseding  this nouveau wild bunch, but they still act like I’m the token geriatric for the course. Sometimes I feel as though I don’t have a dog’s chance in getting through this, much like the hits I have been getting lately on this blog,….. an all time low.  Someone suggested I turn this blog into a book, she actually called me a “good writer”. I have been tauted as being funny, clever, and witty, but never referenced as a good writer. To me that was an ultimate compliment. I started to give this writing a chance but I didn’t know how to transform my blogging into an actual book.

I was out with a friend the other day driving to a bar and grill to discuss,… well, to discuss,….. um, anything.   As she drove through the maze of rural blacktop now covered in dirty snow, I mentioned to her the prospectus of making this “Bloggie with Doggie” into a manuscript. She likened the idea but pondered on the meat of the book. I mentioned my thoughts to her about” aligning my puppy perils with the coping mechanisms of menopause…… without the prescribed meds”.

She turned the green Chevy Sedan through filthy snowbanks and muttered something about…. “making it more dirty..”.

I reiterated that that was a possibility and; “I guess I could add some porn to perk up the readers libido, after all doesn’t sex and filth sell well? Much  like my over priced puppy products at Pet Smartie?”.

My friend slowed down to a speed where I could recognize and read the street signs and she turned to me laughing:

“You Moron, I was referring to the snow, I can’t believe how dirty it is”.

 So I guess trying to add “Charly-dog Does Dallas” or “Deep doggie Throat” a dog’s fun with a Cautionary Tail, is not on the menu?

Fine then, just order me a martini that matches the melting snow…..Dirty……….. stirred not plowed.



{September 4, 2011}   Mean as a Junk-Yard-Blog

One day I went to the Giant Conglomerate Corner the Market Pet Store to return a Doggie item. Two days prior I entered the store in search of a Pet Gate to ward off  my puppy displaying the evil eye to Christmas Trees methodically placed throughout the house. I walked into this  huge warehouse filled with dog merchandise in hope of getting assistance with a purchase. Three times I approached a logo appareled employee and three times I was shunned and told:  “someone will be ri-i-ight with you in aisle 300″.

I waited ten minutes until a woman wearing a famous brand of puppy chow T-shirt  saw me stranded and asked if I needed help. I explained my need and she seemed enthralled with my being a new puppy owner. She completely bypassed the fact that I needed a gate and started her pitch about; “what kind of food am I feeding my newbie?”.  Then she preceded to load me up with coupons from her company and stated that she didn’t work for the store, BUT, she did know where the gates were located and handed me a blue print of the store.

I asked another Pet Smartie personnel for assistance and was again told to: “wait, and someone will be ri-i-i-ght with me”.

At that point I gave up. I tried to find my way back to the entrance of the store and got lost, thank God for the trail of doggie treat coupons  I dropped along the way that were blowing out the door….

On my return trip I was greeted again by the Science Chow Lady balancing a tray of cookies. I was starving after being shuffled around the store and grabbed the big one with the white frosting and sprinkles shaped in a Paw print.   She could see that I had a long face probably due to the many people dogging my needs.I’m sure It had nothing to do with my gagging on the cookie that was specially baked for Dogs.(they looked so realistic…)

I must have looked lame and overwhelmed standing in the center…..alone…..with no dog to guide me.  I do not do well in giant stores. They are too big and cold. Not just the attitude but the temperature as well. I felt so alone and on my own. I felt as though I will have to make the decisions by myself on what items to get my puppy. I do not have  enough experience to do that. I am codependent when it comes to my puppy. I need guidance and expertise and be lead by the nose for my purchases. I need constant attentive care from an expert because I am clueless in Doggie conscientiousness. I like someone to get to know me and my pet on a first paw basis. I don’t like standing out (?) in the cold  warehouse knee deep in doggie-stuff.

This Science Smart Lady had expertise. She asked if I found the right gate.  (she must have recognized me from the cookie crumbs on my blouse). I told her “no”.   I had given up on the scandalous gate expedition and ventured out to the doggie-treat aisle hidden behind a life size cut-out of the Dog Whisperer holding his latest Edition.

I did ask her about doggie chews. I desperately needed a tougher chew for my  pups budding canines that seem to be navigating away from squishy toys and headed  directly for coffee table legs.  She kindly walked me over to the Raw Hide section that held 100 different varieties of chews.  The titles on the packages brought back memories of childhood TV shows. One packet of Rollem’ might Get along with my  little doggie…..

The chow woman pointed out a package of rawhide rings. Bacon flavored. She told me that these are the best chews for dogs and that other raw hides are not good for pups because pieces break off and they choke.  I asked about the Heimlich disclosure on the back  of the package.   She just smiled and stared at me like a broken traffic light. One gentleman overheard our conversation and verified her statement. He said “His new puppy just ado-o-ores these rings”.

Oh, well, then , how could I possibly go wrong.  It had the Pet Smart Public seal of approval.  I asked the Chow Specialist what these rawhide rings are made of?  She grinned: “Bull Testicles”.

Bull testicles.    My 7th month old puppy is going to snack on bull testes. Well, here’s waving a red flag in my face. Right. Ole! El Torro!  Areeeba!   Let’s feed our little darlings a catastrophic castration to sink their teeth into. Let’s recycle those balls of glory to do some good  in this recession.  I wonder if the Bull gets a cut in this New Raw(hide) Deal.  BULLY!

Just put it on my CHARGE..

spread the humor.



{April 6, 2010}   Sad as a Hound Blogs Eye

I had a visit today with the Established Vet to get my dogs nails done and to have one of the last shots that will enable him to walk amongst every other dog. That is, if he were social enough to walk with other dogs and people for that matter.  Charly-dog had to have a muzzle put on for the first time by the Vet Technician, who I noticed, had shaky hands even before we entered the office.

My dog was a little more maintained  today and only allotted himself a minute of barking per person. The Vet Technician (VT) explained that:

“Dogs do that when they have experienced trauma either in the home or out ;or heard a loud noise when you’re not home”.

 Hearing the word Trauma gave me an upset feeling in my stomach and made me hold my head  down in shame racking my brain to try to figure out when and if trauma happened in our house. There’s Drama, which rhymes with trauma, but that’s because I house teenagers.

 The only trauma/drama I can think of was when my mother- in- law last visited; but Charly was barely past infancy and I’m sure he has blocked that Holiday from his bobble head.  The only trauma this dog has experienced is scoping neighbors passing our property peacefully walking their dogs and he finds himself unable crash through the house like the Kool-Aid pitcher barking “Oh Yeah” and nabbing onto a pant cuff. 

I have  been spending a lot of time watching dog shows to the point of now being the most confused I have ever been since bringing this puppy home.  I have taken Charly-dog places, let him witness other dogs in the hood, and have had guest over all in the vain of getting my dog to a level where I can breath easy in public and stop apologizing to every person we come in contact with.

 I actually gave up today on the notion of owning a dog. When I was at the Vet waiting for my dogs toenails to shine, I found myself in a ready position to exit quickly.  My checkbook had a pre-written check with the amount due blank. When the Vet Technician delivered my dog to me shaking and suffering from muzzle shock, I  tore my check out of the checkbook and ran for the exit.

 There were many pets that entered during my puppy’s visit and Charly did not have  a nice thing to say to any of them. All I could sense around me were the glares from the dog owners in the waiting room making me feel as though I must have traumatized this dog somehow without knowledge.  It was the same feeling I got when my son was two and wouldn’t follow instructions from the pre-pre- school teacher and decided to take all his clothes off during play time and sunbathe  on the playground as if he had a VIP card to a nudist colony in Maui. The stares and whispers from the other mothers was just invigorating.

 I tried to remain as calm as the Dog Whisperer and keep my head up high and use my “inside voice” to correct Charly’s outbursts, but I yanked his collar until his bark was a spattered choke and exited in silence. I put Charly  in the back seat and tethered him to the seat belt that would not allow him within a two foot radius near me. I was seething as I drove him back home  and watched as he poked his bobble head out the back window in silence to absorb the ongoing oxygen. I did not want to acknowledge his presence in my car. I did not want to talk to him or look at him. I had horrific thoughts of his escaping through the window at a stop light and me not stopping to get him.

I drove in silence for twenty minutes as Charly RODE in silence.  I pulled  into my drive and stopped the car and told Charly to get out. I took off his leash and pointed to the vast unknown acreage and yelled at him to get out and leave me alone. At that point I didn’t care if he took off running after a car, or ran after someone screaming his barks in protest. All I wanted to do was retreat to my back yard and tend to my garden amongst my quiet Azalea’s.  

I left Charly unaccompanied and on his own in the back yard with out a tethered leash or a fence. I gave him Carte Blanche of the yard without supervision. I went to my garden and took a shovel and dug up last seasons weeds as if I were plotting his grave. I looked up into the sky and watched two vultures circle my area staring down licking their chops in anticipation of grabbing my Chaniel for lunch. I looked up at the predators and glanced back at my puppy perched on the steps watching me. I kept digging and tilling the ground without thought to anything except the possibility of having a peaceful life back and to not  turn around if I hear the yelp of my dog as he’s carried off by the treacherous talons of  these birds of prey. In that moment of  fantasy I saw my dog being carried off into the sunset and my having to explain to my weeping family as to what happened and why is there so much dog fur on the patio.

Instead, I was the one reduced to tears. I stood there wearing  oversized gardener’s gloves on my hands looking like Minnie Mouse  and crying over disheveled dirt infested with winter worms. I sat in the middle of my garden cultivating my thoughts in hopes of a revelation to inspire me to not offer my pup as a sacrifice to the vulture gods and as I sat there I noticed Charly approach me with a languish grin of satisfaction……….and a few feathers following behind him as he brought  me an olive branch that looked like a beak.

I am in dog hell and he has total control. I think I am in need of sticking my bleached head out the window for air……………Muzzle Tov!

spread the humor




Ain’t marriage grand? Don’t you just love the long silent pauses and passing each other by the bathroom like two ships in the night with only one fog horn that is actively tooting.Isn’t is amazing how twenty years can sneak by faster than gas escaping my husbands ass during an afternoon nap.  Much like I have been experiencing with my new puppy.

Charly-dog and my husband have many similarities that they don’t even know exist. They both run around on weekends  unshaven with their bed heads disheveled yawning as they transport their bodies from the couch to the floor.

 Their table manners are lax in the department  of keeping their compartments closed while they chew and finishing their meal by licking their bowls in unison.

 I have witnessed the two loitering around the stove while dinner is being prepared begging for a tasty preview.  The only difference lately that I have recorded is that I get jumped on more by my Dog…..

My parents were married for ever, and I asked my mother: “Why?”….why stay married for fifty years. What’s the point. The kids are grown and gone and maybe the things you thought you had in common aren’t  there anymore. Maybe two people have grown apart and have different desires and dreams then they did fifty years ago when they  first met. Why stay together if you are not truly elated and passionate about each other any more. I asked my then 70 year old mother these questions and her reply was:

“You marry for companionship. The companionship follows you into old age  ’til death do you part”.

Companionship? Get a dog. There is less barking and minor messes to contend with. Dogs curl up at your feet and can keep you warm and protected during the night without the snoring. They don’t have any excess baggage of extended family members. I can’t imagine one of Charly-dogs siblings phoning us for money or, God forbid, his mother calling daily to complain about the shiksa Shih Tzu he married.Dog’s make great companions, they smother you with  unconditional love even when they are faced with a rolled up newspaper above their nose.

 My husband has always traveled a lot and most of that time  for me was filled  with raising  children, I never stopped to take a breather, I just kept following the lead line.

 There can be a lot of things that get misplaced in a marriage besides your keys. For instance ,those times in your relationship where the initial spark lasted longer than  a brisk kiss goodbye out the door. Those times when a dinner and a movie meant actually getting out of the family room for a night.

Relationships fall into the hands of both parties involved and each is responsible for their part. It takes two to Tango…unless your mate doesn’t like to dance.  Charly-dog likes to dance. He waltzed over to me once in the kitchen poised on his hind legs mimicking a Cha-Cha as I attempted to tackle  a Chicken Marsala. I grabbed his front paws and we swayed to they songs of Michael Buble blasting from the Bose speaker. I picked him up into my arms and extended his paw toward that Tango path of a hallway allowing him to take the lead. Charly has the perfect emotion for that dance; he harbors a perennial grin as he exploits the pencil  in his teeth that he stole from my book bag.

Yes I think Dogs could replace  husbands in certain categories, now if Charly could just get out there and earn a buck I’d have it made in the shade. Maybe I’ll send him for some Salsa Lessons at Juilliard. Maybe I’ll just send him out for Hot Salsa & Chips to go along with my Hot flashes..

spread the humor.




I just received notice of an acceptance package into a nursing program I had applied to over a year ago. I should be elated and bouncing off walls much like my puppy’s tennis ball when in play. Except I am not.

I am having mixed emotions about continuing this venture. I am an older student reinventing another career after playing stay-at-home-mom for the past fifteen years and sacrificing my worldly goods for the betterment of raising children. I am sitting on the white picket fence now about attending this program for many reasons;

One major issue is the cost of the program. This is an expenditure that has a healthy bite to it and I am at a time in my life where I should be mimicking menopause in the Mediterranean and petting my pup while we lap up the Chianti and gnaw on biscotti;  Instead of pawing at textbooks containing fonts that even my +250 reading glasses can’t pick up. Come to think of it the only glass worth picking up should be half full of red wine.

I am an older student and am competing with young bloods. So far I have been superseding  this nouveau wild bunch, but they still act like I’m the token geriatric for the course. Sometimes I feel as though I don’t have a dog’s chance in getting through this, much like the hits I have been getting lately on this blog, and all time low.  Someone suggested I turn this blog into a book, she actually called me a “good writer”. I have been tauted as being funny, clever, and witty, but never referenced as a good writer. To me that was an ultimate compliment. I started to give this writing a chance but I didn’t know how to transform my blogging into an actual book.

I was out with a friend the other day driving to a bar and grill to discuss,… well, to discuss,….. um, anything.   As she drove through the maze of rural blacktop now covered in dirty snow, I mentioned to her the prospectus of making this “Bloggie with Doggie” into a manuscript. She likened the idea but pondered on the meat of the book. I mentioned my thoughts to her about” aligning my puppy perils with the coping mechanisms of menopause…… without the prescribed meds”.

She turned the green chevy sedan through filthy snowbanks and muttered something about…. “making it more dirty..”.

I reiterated that that was a possibility and; “I guess I could add some porn to perk up the readers libido, after all doesn’t sex and filth sell well? Much  like my over priced puppy products at Pet Smartie?”.

My friend slowed down to a speed where I could recognize and read the street signs and she turned to me laughing:

“You Moron, I was referring to the snow, I can’t believe how dirty it is”.

 So I guess trying to add “Charly-dog Does Dallas” or “Deep doggie Throat” a dog’s fun with a Cautionary Tail, is not on the menu?

Fine then, just order me a martini that matches the melting snow…..Dirty….. stirred not plowed.




I keep seeing ads everywhere for drugs that cure depression that include a grandfather clause of  “adverse symptoms” longer  than Iron Butterfly’s drum solo from In-A-Gadda-Da-Vita.  I know depression is a serious matter and not to be taken lightly, but isn’t there abetter way than to just mask it with medication?

Maybe get a dog instead. My puppy perks my dog day afternoons.  You know those days where you stand in the shower with the warm water racing down your back washing away every thought that has your mind on postponement. You bask in the warmth of the pure (?) liquid   spewing in from the underground pipes that are re- routed from a DuPont run-off.

Those days when you are begging God for two more minutes under that toasty comforter before the morning commotion starts.

Those days where you sit on the front stoop stroking your dogs back and mumble -on about hormonal heartache.

 Those days where you are laying on the floor staring at the unpainted ceiling for over an hour listening to nothing.

Those days that make you feel separated from all the rest while you face the corners of your mind.

I can see why someone would want to pop a pill to help their elevator go all the way to the top. It’s easier. Just add water.

I think a puppy is a cure for depression and menopause. There is no way that a frisky mongrel will let you have an inch of downtime to dwell on yourself. Puppies are in constant motion and challenge you to try to keep up. They force you to get out there and walk amongst crowds while they bark their bobble heads off. They make you laugh your grey mater right through the dyed roots with their obscure performances as they race around life.  Dogs make every day a good day.

I was out with ex co-workers last night and we downed decorative martini’s that hailed from the Baroque era.  While the sumptuous liquor flowed through us we laid our doggie stories on the table. They own older dogs  and have a lot more experienced with their pets than I  do.

I listened intently as they offered up some mongrel counsel  while I scribbled their advice onto cocktail napkins. There were a lot of similarities in our puppy parables especially about our dogs having to relieve themselves in sub zero temperatures.

I was thankful to hear that one friends pit-bull absolutely refused to go out into the snow and pee. This dog is well past five years and lives in the same geographical region that mine does and should be well aware of the weather conditions by now, yet this dog decided on his own to refuse to go into the winter  blizzard aftermath and plant a daily deposit.

I asked her how she handled that situation.  And she just said:

” He just doesn’t go he holds it.”

Mind you the snow was lasting well over a week. There must be something genetically altered in a pit-bulls system that allows him to hold for an eternity.

Maybe there is Camel in their ancestry.

Maybe science needs to tap into this secret and apply it to three women over 50 who are out in a Thai  restaurant  fighting for the ladies room every half hour.

Maybe The owner should purchase a Potty Patch and  place it in a dark corner of the bar.

  My other friend has twin schnauzers and they have access to a doggie door. I researched these canine stairways to heaven and they are quite the event:

First, take your special order door off its hinges then you balance it across two saw horses and use a template to sketch the measured opening.

Second: you CUT a square into your raised paneled solid mahogany door and glue the leak proof rubber flap with a one way valve onto the external margin. “Protects against weather leaks, helps with potty accidents, and keeps the bugs out”.

Right. My puppy cost me fifty bucks, my house is worth over a half a mil…the only openings I’ll make in this building is the Front Door as I turn the knob and pull towards me and send my pup outside into the cold weather, making his potty accidents on the white turf, and keeping the bugs to himself.

It’s a dog’s life and I’m sure the lack of eco-high tech Latrine gadgets to accommodate my puppy’s tinkles will not enhance or help with potty mishaps. Besides Charly-dog hates change. He is a product of routine. Introducing a new change in his daily routine could result in a negative effect. Might cause a set back and he could retract and withhold his bladder like the Pit-bull.  Might turn that incontinence into aggression. Not Charly, he might fall prey to depression and just sleep all day.

My dog is too hyper to sleep all day, even if he were to dip into his Pill-Pockets.

One time the Vet gave me a prescription of a sedative for my dog. The prescribed amount was one pill a day to induce sleepiness in order for me to be able to trim his nails without the dog snapping at me.  I gave half the recommended dosage and waited for my dog to get drowsy and flop on his bed. Five hours later this puppy was racing around the house barking at drapery patterns.

I think mixing Mutts and Meds are hazardous to ones health.



{January 22, 2010}   A Blog’s Breakfast

What in the world is in Dog food? What ingredient do they add that makes a six month old puppy’s farts smell as if something has been lying dead in a vat of sulfur.  I can hardly write because my eyes are tearing up. My dog is lying next to me on a blanket surrounded in a faint cloud of smoke from the gas that is escaping through his tiny puppy portal. We are sitting by the fire place which I am afraid to ignite given the hazardous conditions of my dog’s intestines.

I give my pup a special dog food that has the heading of Science. I was instructed by EDO’s to get a good brand of food to “help his coat” and “maintain a healthy diet” and “he will not have stinky poop”. No, just aromatic farts. Amaroidal.

I tried to find out what this dog food contained but there were no “specifics” on the bag. It just said Special Blend. I saw some bags that had the names of farm animals on them like chicken and lamb. But this was a special blend. Special. The word Special is very precarious. Often used as an adjective. Like Special Ed. Special refers to something that is different, peculiar, limited….Red Lettered. Much like the color of the title of the bag of dog food I bought. I plucked a pellet of this special blend and brought it to my nose. This pebble had the scent of something that was at least three days old and hadn’t been refrigerated in weeks.

I’m a smeller. My eyesight is lagging, my hearing is weak, but my snoz tells all. When I shop for food I will pick items up and smell them for their freshness. I can smell if Tylenol has expired. I think I was a bloodhound in my former life. One time when I was shopping at a store in Seattle I encountered an ample assortment of cheese. Cheese from all over the world. Cheese in all sizes and shapes and fragrance. I love cheese. I must have spent an hour picking up various blends of cheeses and holding it to my face to take a whiff.

 When I have come across a delightful cheese in my past I could never remember the brand or name, but I could remember the taste. And if I couldn’t sample the cheese I could remember the smell. (Well who can forget Stilton.) After I finished in this grocery I looked up and saw  that a large man had been watching me the entire time sniffing a sharp Cheddar.  I told him I was not shoplifting and to call off the security.

He smiled and commented on; “How he had never seen anyone smell cheese before”.

 I said: “I know and they all stink”.

Then we continued our tete-a-tete in the check out line.

I know you are expecting this to end with my telling you “this was how I met my husband kind of scene”, but no, this was a very large infamous sports announcer on a local channel buying dog food….. and he had an odor much like the aged cheese bin.  This guy , I had heard later, was involved with a large drug ring that resulted in a few incarcerations at Club Fed. I knew something smelled about him other than his cheap cologne.  Maybe that’s the answer to my dog’s digestive woes. He needs puppy perfume. Chaniel  No.5 or Pet-scada or Canine klein or Dog Dew…….Brut.

Needless to say none of these perfumes would hide the unhealthy bouquet radiating from within my puppy’s system.  I may have to phone the Science food people to actually find out what the make up of their kibble – n-bit is. I’m sure every thing meets with the FDA ( food & dog association) standards but they really need to work on that smell.

I’d hate to have to write them a Scarlett letter.

spread the humor.



{November 6, 2009}   Shaggy Blog Story

In the BIG-inning God created Heaven and Earth. And the earth was without form so God created Dogs.  Puppies would not sleep throughout the night so God created the night light. God let the night light shine day and night for a puppy to pee in the dark. Then God said Let there be Firmament in the midst of the waters and lo and behold  a solid stool formed. Then God laid the foundations of earth with the best arrangement of Bermuda grass. God said Be Fruitful and multiply, every hour on the hour. And God gave Dog dominion over the land and which created foul of the air. And there before the Dog like a shimmering neon shrine from the Heavens; ….God created the fire hydrant………….Eden.

Welcome to my world of Menopause, Mutts, and Mayhem with a Splash of Merlot……………..Oh Yeah, and Spread the Humor.



et cetera
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