(Warning:  This may not be appropriate for young pups)

Thanksgiving is coming up this week, so it is an appropriate time to talk about my food habits.

I try to be considerate and not require a separate diet. Whatever “she’ is having is usually o.k. with me. That way she doesn’t have to bother with Alpo and Caesars and the kind of stuff that makes meals more of a hassle.

Normally we have chicken. She likes to buy rotisserie chickens and I especially like the dark meat, like from the drumsticks. What happens then is she freezes the left-over white meat.

Other times we’ll dine on hamburger or roast beef. Sometimes if “she” is having fish or pasta, I can eat the leftover chicken. I am happy enough with it as long as it has been recently defrosted. But PLEASE –I do not eat two-day old chicken from the refrigerator.

Once I finish my entrée, I head to the door of the pantry where my treats are located. This relieves her of the responsibility of having to remember about my treats, which I get after my evening meal.

Then, being a red-blooded American male, I have other appetites.

My human friend, Barbara, uses a very vulgar terminology. She calls it “humping”. Can you imagine?

I have a teddy bear, and believe me, I’m a “one-bear-dog”. There is nothing promiscuous going on and everything takes place in the privacy of my own home. Now, do you see a problem with that?

But Barbara has spread rumors about me all over Solivita.  While all I’m doing is what comes naturally.  Does Barbara think those feline babies of hers are all that innocent?

I hope all of my human friends have a nice Thanksgiving. Since my mommy is heading up to see my human brother, Eric, I am spending it with my second family, Peggy and Carl. I get really good food there, I hope I get some of the dark  meat from their turkey.

P.S. I’m taking my bear with me. It fits in my Patriots canvass bag.

It’s getting harder and harder to hold my head up these days….

You know this time of year is very stressful for me. I have a lot on my shoulders; luckily I don’t have arthritic shoulders like you know who.

But here’s the problem—the Patriots lost again last night. I am honestly not all that concerned about it, neither is mommy. We have other things to think about.

I have neighbors though, and they seem to think that I have something to do with this football thing. They ask “Well are you ready for the big game? We’re counting on you, don’t let us down”.  What am I supposed to say to that? Can’t they see I’m just a little doggie?

I am able to fetch throw and as a matter of fact I can even throw a ball up in the air and catch it. Unlike Tom Brady whom we all know can’t do that, like his wife Giselle says, “He can’t throw the ball and catch it too”.

So I will be happy when football season is over. If they keep losing, maybe I won’t even have to worry about the Super Bowl this year.  That is the worst time of the year for me. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with my mom puts that ridiculous jersey on me.

If only she hadn’t named me after a superhero my life would be easier, but then I guess I just wouldn’t be Brady.

Hello everyone. Sorry I haven’t been blogging for a while. I get so busy here in Solivita that time just gets away from me.

You know, it’s Veterans’ Day and there are  activities here in Solivita in honor of our veterans. The Village Center Drive is all decked out with flags and there is a service today.

I don’t know too many veterans but I know they have done wonderful things for our country and mommy and I are very grateful to all of them.

But today is special for another reason. Guess what! It’s my birthday! I’m eight years old today. Once you calculate things out, if I were completely human, not just smart like some of them (and smarter than a lot of them), I would be 56 years old. Wow! I’m a senior citizen. I could join AARP and get lots of senior discounts. I could even qualify to live in Solivita on my own.

I feel very wise and dignified now and hope I will receive the respect to which I am entitled.

But you know, I remember when I was just a baby and came to live here. I was born in Orlando, way on the other side of the airport, off of Curry Ford Road. I was the last one chosen in the litter, can you imagine that? As cute as I am and the last one chosen, it’s enough to give one an inferiority complex.

When mommy picked me up she brought me home in a crate which she put in the back seat. Then while she was driving the crate turned over, I was terrified. I figured I had been kidnapped by some maniac. When we got here I hid behind the piano and it took forever for me to come out. I didn’t think I would ever adjust to being in this place or the people here. I was tiny, bewildered, and forlorn.

Then all of the sudden mommy’s friends started coming over and bringing me presents as if I were a human baby. I was beginning to feel right at home. Some of the ladies came with open-toed shoes, when they did I bit their toes. I don’t know if they liked that or not but if not, they shouldn’t wear those suggestive shoes.

Now of course, I’m the man of the house and I get my way in most things. Also when we walk down the street people go by and yell “hi Brady”. They never say “hi Carol”. I think she’s jealous. And boy when I was away a little while ago and I came back, lots of people said they missed me, they even stopped their cars to ask where I had been.  It felt good to be home and see my friends.

I know what’s going on.

Jean is in on it too.

“She’” keeps going back and forth from the bedroom to the casita, taking out shoes, taking out clothes. She did the laundry and instead of putting it away in drawers, she takes it to the casita.

I didn’t attend the Doggie Detective Division of the Canine Comprehensive College without learning a thing or two.

She’s planning her get-a-way.

She keeps her suitcase in the casita; I know it is open on the bed.

Jean calls, they talk about flights. boarding passes, and what clothes to take.

Soon she’ll get out my Patriots canvass bag and load in my treats and my teddy bear along with my ball and some other toys. She’ll be loading my bed in the car before too long too.

I’ll get sad, she will too.” I’m gonna miss you” she’ll be saying. Ha, if she were all that sad, I don’t think she’d go.

Now she’s saying “Brady can I give you a bath?”  I guess she is embarrassed to take me to Peggy’s as scruffy as I look. I’m good about getting my bath. I like to be clean and I like to feel the gentle warm water all over my body. The bad part about getting a bath is that it takes a while for me to dry. I have to run in circles around the coffee table for a long time and still I’m not completely dry. Also, there’s a certain indignity to it, I have to bathe in a baby’s bath tub. At least it is blue.

So, I guess tomorrow I’ll be at Peggy and Carl’s house. I’ll be sad at first, but once my mommy is gone, I forget about her pretty quickly. I like cuddling with Peggy on the couch and going out with Carl on his golf cart. I love the food here too, Carl makes yummy  curry chicken. Peggy and Carl are really cool.

Sorry I won’t be writing any Brady’s Tales for a while. There isn’t any room in my Patriots bag for my computer.

Sometimes I hear her on the phone talking to her so-called human friends. She asks them if they can come and play. So I get my ball and small stuffed toys like the gingerbread man I got in my Christmas stocking and the raggedy old elephant I’ve had forever all together so we’re ready to play fetch.

But, you know, once they get here, they don’t  seem to want to play fetch at all. Sometimes Peggy will toss my ball or my elephant, but then she starts ignoring me again. The same with the other humans, I can’t figure it out.

It turns out they’re really here to learn mahjongg. They sit down at a table and they’re all friendly and nice. Mahjongg is a game with a card and tiles. So they’re all friendly and being kind to each other and chatting along. They help each other build walls and even trade tiles which I think is very nice.

Then all of a sudden! Yikes! Someone is told to push out a wall! I run for cover and put my paws over my eyes. Sometimes I bury my head under a pillow. The next thing I hear is crack, bam, dot, dot, dot, crack, bam, dot, dot, dot.  They push out more walls, more crack, bam, dot, dot, dot. Then all of a sudden one lady says mahjongg and the violence stops.

Thank heavens! I peek out from under my pillow. I even venture over to the table; I think it is finally time for fetch. So I manage to get somebody to toss my gingerbread man a few times; but that doesn’t last, pretty soon there they are, back building walls and being all nice. They even do the Charleston–sitting down!

It turns out one of the ladies is really there to help my mommy teach the other ladies. I guess the tiles and the card are in Braille because she says she can’t see and she can’t hear. She’s a nice lady though. I can’t tell you who she is, but she’s Roxie’s mommy and her name is Evelyn.

I am exhausted from all of the violence, so before it starts again I crawl under the table and take a nap so I don’t have to listen to it any longer.

I’m not sure about some of this, but I don’t think she likes the Yankees; they’re a team up in New York. I really don’t think she likes any of those teams up there, like the Giants and Nets (maybe they’re in New Jersey, but isn’t that the same thing?). I am positive that she does not like the JETS and the Giants. She says she’s loyal to the teams in New England like the Red Sox and Patriots. But she only pays attention to the Bruins when they’re about to win the Stanley Cup. Sometimes she even admits she’s a fair-weather friend of the Pats and Sox. If they’re not winning, we don’t speak about it.

She also gets annoyed about other things like when she goes to Publix and people pushing their grocery carts in the parking lot lanes don’t pay any attention to the cars inching along behind them. She needs to be more patient, I think. It’s not like she is always perfect in that category.

She hates our refrigerator. That’s what she is most emotional about. She wants one with the freezer on the bottom.

Well maybe there’s one other thing that she get a little more emotional about. No, make that A LOT more emotional about:  She hates to buy stuff made in China. She is on a one-woman crusade on that front. She will go to store after store to hunt for merchandise not made in China. She has a real hard time finding clothes and especially shoes that are not made in that country.

She likes to buy stuff online so she can take advantage of her Amazon prime account and get free shipping with everything delivered right to our door. But, boy oh boy, when the stuff gets here and has a made in China label she is not a happy camper.

Some of her friends are worried about her. If she can’t find any clothes that aren’t made in China, what will she do? They think we’ll have to move to the Cove. They’re already trying to find accommodations for us there. That’s another gated place for people who won’t work, and from what I hear you don’t have to wear clothes there. That would be wonderful for me, I don’t wear clothes anyway, I hate them. I even object when she puts that yellow rain slicker on me. I don’t appreciate being made to look like a Gorton’s of Gloucester Fisherman because I don’t like the sea and I won’t even touch fish.

Every time we go past the Cove I ask her to stop so I can go in and see the place and check out the Chihuahua babes there. I know I would like the location. It is right across the street from Lowes. They sell my favorite treats in Lowes, so it would be handy for me, I don’t like to run out of puperoni. But she never stops at the Cove for a visit. I don’t think she knows their secret password.

Anyway, I’m not sure exactly why she hates things made in China.  She certainly enjoys her mahjongg, loves her tai chi and even travels all the way into Kissimmee to get needles stuck at certain points under her skin to help move the chi along her meridians. Then on the way home she’ll stop and pick up vegetable moo shoo, Szechwan chicken, and crab rangoons.

And Hello! There’s something else VERY important here. It’s about my roots. My ancestors got their start in China and I will bet that they are very restless in their graves because of my mommy’s prejudice. Maybe she doesn’t even know about my heritage. PLEASE don’t tell her, O.K.?

Thunderstorms are number one in my dislike category, and wouldn’t you know it, I happen to live in what is called the lightening capital of the world. Don’t ask me who started that rumor or whether it is even true. But if you ask me, it is.

If you’ve been in central Florida in July and August, you know that thunderstorms are gonna happen and I mean every day or just about. I can hear that thunder rolling on in long before “you know who” can. Well, actually, this is when I love her the most and I really need her. I like to cuddle with her. The louder that old thunder gets, the closer I get to her. Sometime I end up in her lap. This is when I call her “mommy” and I really love her. She doesn’t admit it, but I think she likes it when I cuddle with her during the storms.

The reason I think this is because she won’t leave me during a storm. Sometimes she has important things to do like going to a dinner party or playing Texas canasta. But she just makes a call and says “sorry, I’ll be late, you can expect me when the thunder stops”. This really warms my heart and when she puts down the phone I lick her hands. I’m not sure whether she likes that, but she knows I love her anyway.

My heart bursts with pride.  I know it is hard for her to do this because it makes her friends think she is WEIRD. Well I suppose she is weird, I can’t argue with that. They also laugh at her behind her back, at least that’s what she thinks. It is probably because they don’t have respect for their babies and they just don’t understand.

Sometimes that thunder rolls in while she’s still at her afternoon water class or playing mah jongg at Maureen’s. That’s when I have to take matters into my own hands to protect myself. Here’s what I do: Instead of going into the left side of the pantry as is normal when she says   “bye, bye, sweetheart, be a good boy and I’ll be back”, what I have to do is use my nose to push open the door on the right side of the pantry. Then I stick my nose in the corner and leave my bum hanging out. This makes me feel safer, even though most of my body is out of the pantry and in the laundry room. When “she’ gets home, after she manages to push her way from the garage into the  laundry room with pantry doors still wide open and my bum hanging out I can hear her muttering something about it’s not hers to reason why. Once of these days I’ll figure that out.

There are some other things I don’t like such as when Vilma comes with her vacuum. I don’t know why she has to do that. First she calls me baby with her voice all sweet and dripping with honey, then before you know it she tries to scare the bejesus out of me when she turns on that infernal machine. What I do is escape to the garage, hop on our golf cart, and nap until I can go in and reclaim my domain.

I don’t especially like it when “she” plays the piano; Sand Cranes and ProScape are on my list too, but I’ll tell you about them later. I’ve had a busy day chasing geckos, so it is time for me to sleep.

I wake up and shake my body to make sure all my parts are still there.

Then comes my toughest task of the day and that is waking “her” up. She resists! “No Brady, its dark out. Come on, hop up, let’s go back to sleep.”

Have you ever tried to sleep when you REALLY have to go? Has she? Hey, I happen to know that she gets up a few times between 9 p.m. and six a.m.

I am gentle, first I start out with my throat clearing, kind of like “ahem” but I do it in a low-pitched, slow-rolling tempo with a big jump in octaves for my final note. Next I make teeny, tiny little whining noises; she turns over and pretends she’s asleep. But I know she isn’t. I start pleading a little louder. I kind of sound like an automobile engine trying to turn over. (una, una, una, — in a nice sing song voice)

Then she starts talking about the snakes and alligators out there, trying to convince me to be quiet. But, hey, I gotta go!

Finally she rolls over and puts one foot on the floor; she forgets that I’m in a hurry for crying out loud. One thing she does like about walking early is that she doesn’t have to put on a bra; she doesn’t seem to like wearing them. She says she’s worn a bra for 60 years and that’s long enough.

Early for me has advantages and disadvantages. I can avoid that nasty Maltese, Miss Prickzilla  or whatever her name is. Good grief Miss P. doesn’t even get close enough to sniff before she starts hissing and growling.  What side of the bed does she get up on, I wonder?

Unfortunately, when I’m too early, I also miss that spicy little Chihuahua, Enchilada. She is cute and we love rubbing our noses together. I wonder why Enchilada can’t get up earlier; she could take siestas later, like I do.

Once “she” is finally ready she puts a leash on me, since it is dark she has me wear a plastic bone that lights up with blue flickering lights. I feel silly wearing that thing. I’m so embarrassed, maybe it’s a good thing Enchilada doesn’t see me in that. I feel like I’m a walking neon advertisement for “kids eat free and happy hour”.

AND since its dark out, she says go right Brady, go right. O.K., I go right even though I don’t want to. She doesn’t even have to tell me twice. Normally right is for night, left is for morning, but she says we have to stay out of alligator alley when it is dark. I’m not really sure if those growls are alligators or wild boar. I know neither would be fun to meet face to face. She says they’re in stereo because the grunts come at us from both sides of Barcelona Drive.

Since it’s still dark when we get back home, I can’t stay out in the courtyard like I like to. So I come in and take a little nap until she’s on her second cup of coffee, then I go cuddle on the couch with her and help her do email and Facebook.

I usually take a long nap after which I undertake my next big responsibility. That is chasing geckos. There are a lot of them on my lanai and I do my part to keep my space clear of those lizards. Some times those little buggers are hard to get to, they are able to climb up on the screens, then I just bark at them until I get them down onto the pavers, then I pretend I’m a cat and pounce on them. Don’t even get me started on cats, I know a few of them, I have tales abut them that you wouldn’t believe.

After that I take a little nap. Then sometimes “she’ll” take me out someplace; but she doesn’t do that often enough. I’ll tell you about those outings sometime. My other entertainment (I mean research) comes when she has people over or I listen to her on the phone. I’ve got some interesting tales there. I’ll tell you some time. But right now, it is time for me to take a nap and dream about Enchilada.