Dogged By It

His fine readers may have noticed that Sydney Brillo Duodenum has not posted anything since Father Time inserted his great cock another inch into the great big fuck-all of the universe. There has been much to say on, but SBD has nothing new to say about it. The last week has been a bit like what SBD's dog has been going through of late. Some nocturnal beast, probably a raccoon or a rabbit, or perhaps a family of squirrels, has taken up residence in the cavity below SBD's den. SBD took note of this one evening while crafting his review of the Sam Adams Imperial Hallertau, as just below his feet, under a mere inch and a half of carpet and padding and another three-quarters of an inch of plywood, a great ruckus of tearing and scratching could be heard. Examination of the crawl space through a basement window revealed an elaborate construction of pulled and propped insulation, although no clear sign of its inhabitant can yet be reported. Early this week, SBD Dog finally took note, perhaps after sufficient build-up of urine and feces molecules began to penetrate and embed the thin separation of civilization from the animal kingdom. Although beyond SBD's human senses at this point, helped immeasurably by the eternally burning Christmas Cookie flavored Yankee Candle, watched over by Mrs. SBD like some Roman priestess in the Temple of Diana, SBD Dog is acting as if a raccoon pup has been duct-taped to his nose. He is now a crazed coon hound, trying to tear up the carpet and pull this vicious rodent from its hive. The dog can't even sleep, he is so worked up over it. He is up every hour, demanding to be let out so he may investigate yet again the side of the house, or he goes under the deck to investigate the spot where a foundation vent has been pried lose by near simian paws to effect access. He returns constantly to the floor vent, which unfortunately is under the desk at the feet of anyone using the computer. This AM, he ripped the vent from its housing and attempted to stuff his snout into the vent itself. In 12 years, this behavior has never before been seen. He cannot get to it and it is simply driving him mad. As he is an old dog at this point, this may be the experience that finally sends him over the edge into canine madness, senility and rabidity. And that is SBD's situation - he simply can't find the words for current events and his own internal musings, no matter how much he pulls at the rug and scrapes at the plywood. SBD has a solution for his dog, as trappers are scheduled for early Monday, but there is no trapper of ideas for SBD. If SBD Dog were smaller, he'd be allowed under the crawl space to let his inner terrier find some relief. The best SBD can offer himself is an evening scourge of push ups, Scottish medicinals, crosswords, and, perhaps, some pr0n.