Good Doge: Best Friend

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My parents' dear friend and former New Jersey mayor who collects the original Cadillac muscle cars with fins assures me this first CTS-V Cadillac also is a classic that will fetch low 5 figures, that's $10,000 or more for those of you like me who don't like to think as much about math as you should.  

Back in the day, my Dad would have just put a for sale sign in the window with our phone number, driven that Caddy all over our Tampa-Saint Petersburg, Florida, area, fielded buyers' calls, arranged test drives, and sold the heck outta that car. 

As Dad's not here to make this vehicle sale, I'm working on making my first. I'm not having as much fun as Dad always did. I spent six hours during the once-a-year U.S. Open Golf tournament at for once-every -century-or-so in Pebble Beach, California, one of the most breathtaking courses in America, joining my first two computer forums ever, due to the special collectibility of this car.

And then I gave up till Monday, because U.S. Open! After [SPOILER ALERT] Mr. Gary Woodland won on Father's Day,  I started the new week by returning  to my forum welcome emails to finish the last step of introducing myself as requested, only to find the administrator had kicked me off the list. I emailed this Cadillac Discussion administrator to let him know  I'd read all the forum rules and terms and etiquette before posting so I could get it right as it's my first time. But I received no reply.  Then I really gave up on Computer Discussion Groups which has been my instinct all along. That's 6 hours of the U.S. Open I'll never get back. Although thanks to TNT, I think still there were 66 or so other hours of the U.S. Open so I shouldn't complain. ... And I'm very happy for Mr. Woodland and his family and team winning their first Major Tournament. And we really wanted to watch Mr. Woodland follow through, keep his lead, and survive and thrive Sunday at a Major.

But I also wanted Mr. Brooks Koepka to win his third U.S. Open in a row. Mr. Koepka truly has not  received his due credit for his many accomplishments. Here we've liked him for a long time because we also follow the European tour, but the candid interviews Mr. Koepka gave for The Masters endeared him even more. Evidently, people who spend a lot more than my whopping 6 hours on Golf Internet Discussion Groups had been tearing Mr. Brooks a new one for losing 20 pounds. Luckily, he was smart enough to ignore all that, but what the heck with these typists thinking they know more about golf, fitness and nutrition than a professional? 

Anyhoo, this Friday I was waiting to pick up all but one of Scoob E's refills at his vet's office when two older fellows with a big Pug came in because despite her special diet, and no treats, she didn't appear to be losing any weight. The tech weighed her, and she was still at her 28 pounds. Another suggested taking off the harness and leash, but those weigh a lot less than you'd think. The most experienced tech who'd also been listening to all this while helping me asked how long the pug had been on her new diet, one of the fellows replied a week, and I laughed so hard I could have rolled on the floor laughing. The wise tech continued to work at the computer, as the two manning the scale explained a week on a diet is not going to do the trick, but the few ounces Miss Pug had lost already proportionally were a very good start. After my laugh attack, I had to add that it took me till April to shed the 10 pounds I resolved to lose on New Year's. And since then it's been a constant annoying battle against 3-pound fluctuations. Arghhhh. How Mr. Koepka managed to lose 20 pounds and keep it off with the Internet rooting against him I'll never understand, but I certainly applaud his efforts. Tried to Tweet same around Mother's Day, but the old iPhone 4S was being touchy and refused . I do not embrace the Internet as Mr. Koepka does nor do I expect I will. 

So home from errands, and during Mr. Bubba Watson's birdie run at the Travelers Championship Friday got a call from a potential buyer for my car. We agreed to meet 6:30-7 p.m. at a local beach restaurant. If you've read my WGC-Dell '19  story you know I don't date. So after Friday's Golf Channel coverage, I shimmied a skirt on over my soon-to-be-Pulitzer-Prize-certified camel-toe-free American Yoga shorts, adjusted my Big Bang Penny Ponytail, jumped in the CTS-V, and zipped over to the beach to "talk about price" because this fella' "really want that car."

I make it into the packed parking lot to find two police cars packed in as well, and a security fellow is talking to a visibly upset woman.  So I stop to ask a police officer if it's safe to go in the hotel, was there a robbery or something that should keep me out of the restaurant. Snippy no, a vehicle accident was the response, & I could find parking down the other end of the lot.  Well thank you, and I depart to find maybe one of those stupid smart cars could park in this lot, but I hate backwards and parallel parking, so I drive across the street and park. I completely forgot it was Gay Pride weekend, the hotel also has a 50th wedding anniversary party, and it's always crowded on the beach on the weekends, I learn from the bartender. I thought all snowbirds departed immediately after Easter, but no, and many come back for a weekend now and again I learn. 

Eventually my prospective "buyer" arrives and immediately orders a drink due to traffic, parking, tardiness. Oh my. I'm fine with a good view, good air conditioning and good company, I say with a smile. Pleasantries are exchanged, and more pleasantries, and more and finally I suggest we should talk about the car. And we do a bit and then again we are not talking about this precious classic and I have to ask what did he want to pay for the car. After listening again to much not ado about the car I asked again what he wanted to pay for my priceless classic.  I even offered him a cocktail napkin and pen in case he'd feel better sliding his number across the bar. 

Finally when he did give me his offer, I knew he really didn't want to buy my Caddy. Thanks fella' for noticing and mentioning how nice it is to see that my eyelashes and eyebrows all match; I was born blonde, just not yesterday. Although I'm starting to feel like there's one born every minute. When he suggests a steak and lobster dinner next week to further talk price, I remind him I don't date, who said date and it's all about the CTS-V. I counter that there will be no more car talk, because he shouldn't have worn a Cartier bracelet, told me about all his boats, his teenage grandson's Rolex and whatnot if he was going to try to negotiate me down so far. But we're all welcome to our opinions, so thank you and good night, sir, is what I say. A zippy trippy drive home and again I've missed JB's Big Rock Show on WFCF Saint Augustine, Florida, via iHeart Radio.

How am I attracting the millionaires who give millionaires a bad name? I grew up only with many nice millionaires, as far as I know. How it later went sideways, I may never know. This is why I no longer date. 

Saturday morning I get up early to give our dog Scoob E his meds, muzz wash, and walk while it's still overcast, breezy and not 90F. Upon our return home, I serve him a nice post-walk bowl of ice chips, and make his breakfast. Then I wash my face, and try on about the 9th contact lense trial since an Up & Up local eye doc complex gave me the wrong lense prescription due to clerical error last May before The Trip Of A Lifetime To The Open 2018 in Carnoustie, Scotland,  Yesterday's prescription #8 was a beautiful horror of streetlights glowing bigger than the sun in the dark, a full on furry freak show of streetlights, so of course I try the newer contact lense prescription as I drive back to the vet's for the last of Scoob E's heart meds, which came in after our errand there Friday. 

The sweet vet tech helping me tells me how much she likes my sunglasses, because they're just so perfectly suited for everything about me. I thank her and tell her I'd heard something similar last night, coincidentally. [If you too would enjoy the glamour of a pair of Tom Ford cat eye sunglasses, please email using the form below, as I have a few spare pairs, and I'll send you a $230 PayPal bill.]

A giant dog emerges at the checkout area opposite and the little girl with him says look, they have hooks for the leashes! And the bigger girl with her answers, "That's so you can have your hands free to find your credit card." I take that as my cue and leave. 

Sitting in the driver's seat, buckling my seatbelt, key in the ignition, I see the vet approaching the passenger side and roll down the window. He has Scoob E's  urine test results he'd like to discuss if I have a moment because he's just finishing up inside. Who doesn't want to talk about dog pee Saturday morning! I'd have been long gone from that parking lot not talking about dog pee if I'd been in the CTS-V. .... However, we must know how is Scoob E. 

Back into the office and a different sweet vet tech appears and asks how are Scoob and me.  

"Scoob of course is his royal charming self, and I'm doing. uhhmmm, I think I went on a date last night, and you know I don't date," I say.

"I do know, it's on your Web site," she says. The other tech says she wondered about the similar sunglass compliment last night I'd mentioned. 

I explain I'm just trying to sell my car, a rare piece for any Chevy, Caddy or Corvette collectors, and a fellow asked to meet me to talk about price. 

And both techs giggled.

"I knew it!" I exclaimed! Further, I relate, he tried to tell me steak and lobster on him at a different waterfront restaurant next week to talk more about price of course was, as he said, "not a date, who said date?"

"That's how they hook you," said the young tech wise beyond her years. And back to work she went, and into an exam room I went with yet another tech! I'm hoping that rather than bad news the Doc would just prefer to sequester my pop-in fashion, inside out, the clean side, of the tee shirt I wore last night, because I'd planned another overcast walk if possible with Scoob E upon arriving home after what was supposed to be a very brief visit. Scoob's little heart only can take short walks, Doc has decreed. 

Amazingly, I'd remembered to grab the iPhone and set it to data for JB's Americana Show on WFCF Saint Augustine on 88.5 via iHeart Radio. I highly recommend all JB's shows, as well as Mr. William's Celtic Irish Ways 11-noon Sundays on WFCF.  I'll bet if I were more tech savvy, I'd listen to more than an hour of Celtic music every week. Stupid tech know-not-how. 

JB's Americana is great for taking your mind off such trivialities, and the big ones too, like Scoob E's test results. Also good are these millennial grad student techs, who all bought their cars off Craigslist, but promise to steer any collectors to the bottom of the ScoobEDooNation page at GEsays.com. 

Finally when the Doctor appears, he asks how Scoob E's been Dooing, restroom wise. Scoob's been drinking more and going more. But as I learned at 11;20 a.m. yesterday at Doc's from the guys with Miss Portly Pug, it exactly then was the summer equinox, the beginning of summer. Ironically also it is the time we are farthest from the sun. It literally is ironic because it's been in the 90s Fahrenheit here outside for weeks. Neat. Anyway, it's summer so everyone's drinking more.

As the doctor is explaining the medical details which all sound very scary to me, I am thinking I must find Dr. Oz's anatomy guide I started speed reading the last time Dad checked into the hospital, and then just quit reading when I realized the hospital doesn't always do its job. I have low threshold tolerance for vomiting regarding all things medical, which used to drive Dad nuts. I am regretting muting JB's Americana as I listen to Doc's science and numbers on Scoob E.

What do we do to help Scoob E's kidneys, I ask. Doc checks the records to see what he's eating, and I tell him how I mix the two foods with the prescribed Omegas and Glucosamine and Cranberry meds sprinkled on top. He asks if Scoob's ever tried food for heart health, and I don't believe so, and the records indicate no. Could be because Scoob eats dry food, and this only comes in the yearlong-supply-size 50-pound bag for a 10 pound dog. Alternatively it comes in cans, but that is too expensive for us and much like Caddies, once you go canned, you can't go back. 

It's not a stereotype if it's true: Being of Bolognese, Italian, descent, Scoob E Dooby D Doge is a lover of love and of food. Bolognese were bred as palace pets, and their great at it, but Scoob E forgets his manners when it comes to love and food. If we gave him canned food and then had to stop, which seems likely since already he eats better than us, Scoob would stage a Doge Palace revolt. Undoubtedly, first he would bat at his food bowl, then knock it over, next enact a hunger strike. He's a smart, polite little guy who only barks when an alert is needed (and in his doggie dreams which is so cute), but back in the day I have a feeling the Bolognese paraded atop many palazzo dinner tables because that's what they were bred to do. 

Doc kindly shows me the healthful heart food ingredients, which I'm not crazy about because I don't eat corn, wheat or soy, and I'm not sure how pork fat can be good for a heart patient.  Doc puts his hands over the ingredients in the big book of data and asks if I read only the other portions of the two pages,  and knew the medical professional recommended this for Scoob E's heart and kidneys, would I feel better about the actual reci.pe Well of course I would! As instructed I'll call back next week to get in on that food order. 

"It's important to continue good treatment for Scoob E at this stage. ... I should get back to my critical patient in back," Doc said.

"You should have led with that, Doc," I tell him. "Your bedside manner could use some work. And you should get back to your critical patient, as soon as you finish that sentence about what stage Scoob is at."

"Do you want me to go get a chart of the four stages," Doc asks.

"No, you can simply explain, quickly please," I plead.

"Over here," Doc says as he puts his left hand down on the counter, "we have mild," and he sets his right hand down beside it and slides it as he says "moving here to moderate in Stage 1. Scoob E is moving toward moderate. In the next phase we have..."

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Doc, and say again you should have led with that," I said as I patted him on the back. "You had me thinking it was near end of days for Scoob E, and I'd eat every third day or not at all, just so all Scoob's last meals all could be canned food, but thank the Maker no need for that right now, so Yea!, Now, you go work on your bedside manner, and your critical patient, and Godspeed. Thank you again.."

Jeeeeepers! Holy Mackerel Sapphire.

It's the only time anyone from this family saw the Doc speechless, of course still smiling due to habit and necessity?! None of the grad students could nor should tell Doc to work on his bedside manner,  but it needed to be said. by someone. 

And those tech-savvy-vet-techs for whom we're so thankful are helping direct serious Vehicle collectors to this site. We'd greatly appreciate it if you'd do the same. But please don't expect an instantaneous response, because I'm taking the weekend off in regards to car sales. 

Doo Good and Have Fun, as Scoob E says. Thank you again for reading. :-)           GE

Epilogue

Careers and callings like Veterinarian, doctor, cop, police reporter, or aviator that carry with them disproportionately large amounts of death demand a certain type of a massive sense of humor. That's why this Saturday night I'm watching one of the few non-Rankin&Bass inspirations for Scoob E's 2018  Stop Motion Christmas,  "Beast From 20,000 Fathoms," on our fave @Svengoolie via MeTV, & also "Midsomer Murders" on PBS, instead of #SaturdayNightLive - because tomorrow surely I'll need that #SNL humor to help relax the house for a soothing  afternoon of exciting Sunday golf ... Go Mr. Sucher-You Can Do It! #LiveUnderPar #JustDooIt -We believe in you, Sucher, because everybody deserves a chance, and every golf enthusiast Sunday wants to appropriately golf yell Suuuuuuuuuuuuuch.. Tho' that doesn't exclude us rooting for everyone else, too - Baghdad! Go Mr. Bubba - play like you did Thursday and on 18 Saturday with that classy birdie! And go Mr. Brooks, because just like you said you wanted and deserved before The Masters, now the entire World knows You Can Doo Better! All y'all always magically Doo better at any clutch moment out of the blue, and that's why we're all thankful you're on the PGA. We'll briefly miss the guys who defected to streaming, but we appreciate those of you who stick to the principles of golf like inclusiveness, sportsmanship and respect. Go Golfers! Good Sunday to You!