Dog

I think there's something wrong with paco's ass.  He's sleeping at my feet
and moments ago I thought Hell's rotting flesh was seeping through the
foundation.  I actually got scared and my adrenaline started pumping like
the place was going to explode or get swallowed into the earth.  And it's
just this little animal snoring on one end and farting on the other.  I
think it's a Newton's third law reciprocal thing.

The Dentist

At noon I have a dentist appointment.  I've already flossed with a jigsaw so my gums are ready.  For people who are supposed to care for your mouth it's a bit odd that, for example, the hygienist takes after her duties with all of the delicacy of a cowboy desperately hanging on to a bucking bull.  First, she jams the floss below my gum line to just above the colon.  Then she hears a snapping sound or some stimulus that reminds her of a dark part of her childhood and out comes the dental Exorcist jerking and flailing until she pulls out food I'd actually swallowed for breakfast.  And then invariably, sweating and disheveled, she mats back her hair, takes a hit of nitris and calmly tells me I need to floss more.   My mouth is so tender I have to breathe through my nose and Igor wants me to take her practice of attacking my gums with barbed piano wire home with me.  Maybe if I need to get some plaque out of my aorta I might use her Greco-Roman style.  And then after the gum flogging, an oral probe with a tiny metal pick which I'm always sure will hook a root and pull out thirty-feet of nerve, and the Shrieking Banshee brand polishing tool caking your mouth with wet sand, they conclude the visit with a reminder to be more gentle when I brush and floss.  More gentle than what?  You mean I shouldn't use a revolver to shoot stuff out of my teeth?  So I really don't even need to go.  I can skip the bi-annual lecture and just stay home and chew on some sheet metal.  Unless of course I get a free sticker.  Although the bleeding gums and the screaming associated with eating hard foods like mayonnaise are signs enough you've just come from the dentist.

Mysterious Fortune

The grumpy waitress at the Chinese place on Broadway gifted my friend, Jay, with this profundity.  Jay says it's better than "That wasn't chicken."  

 

Head

I just got back from the dog park where I had a rather ungraceful moment with my dog.  Puppies are cute and wonderful right up until they start taking their blossoming sexual frustrations out on you.  Paco went after my head.  Since I have no male human friends who want to play football at 7am, Paco and I have this game where we race for the goal line.  He wins all the time now.   After an invigorating game of running up and down the field, one where I lost 4-0, I decided to do some push-ups.  Grunting and panting  and drubbing the ground in what must look like a very inviting submissive position, Paco went to town on my head.   He's young and inexperienced and I really should let him know that the biting and clawing didn't work for me.   But upon further investigation, I don't think I can blame Paco for being so attracted to the top of my head.  Now I don't mean to flatter myself, but from a bird's-eye view I look like a very breedable bitch.   And add that I was wearing a warm fleece with Jerky Bits in the pockets and you've got a regular dog-park Diva.  But I'm only hot from certain angles.    And a little back rub would be nice every once and a while. 

Paco Witnesses Doggy Arrest

By Jared Ewy.  Special to the Playhouse.

Englewood, CO -- Running, pooping and playing.  And some peeing.  That's what goes on at the dog park.  On any typical day there are twenty dogs ignoring as many owners as the pups provide a profound lesson:  don't be so serious, hump a stranger in public.  

But on a cold and drizzly day young Paco Dotsero had to witness something you don't want your four-month old puppy to see.  One of his playmates got taken down by the pooch Po-Po.  

His tags said his name was Ghengis and he looked like the product of something less than consensual.  His huge Boxer head seemed like it might tip his relatively smaller body.  Somewhere out there is a miniature Shelty still shaken by the experience. 

Ghengis' roughness was tempered by his enthusiasm.  Despite looking very hungry he still wanted to play.  He was very generous with his drool.   Sunny's owner wondered aloud where his master might be.  Paco wasn't so concerned as he sidled up to his new buddy. 

Meanwhile the dog catcher pulled his truck up to the park. 

Ghengis' was wanted by the law.  He turned himself over without incident.  

Paco chased after him.  With a treat I was able to lure him back.  While I praised my dog for being so good, the hood lights of the official pick-up danced in the fog until pulling away with Ghengis.  Exiting quickly and so unceremoniously, Ghengis, a dog living the street life, leaves a valuable legacy of hard lessons learned.

Mountain Real Estate

All it will take is a carelessly tossed cigarette, a drunken hunter spitting booze across a campfire or a spark from the heavens and many of Colorado's precious pines will be decimated.  Right now, surrounding some of Centennial State's most expensive resort properties, are thousands of dead and dry trees still standing but only for a refuge to the pine beetle that killed them.  The once-green and now burnt orange and brown hills of Breckenridge, Copper and Vail might inspire some passing tourist to say "ah, the changing colors of fall!"  But they might be more accurate in saying, "ah, I love a nice warm fire!"  Because very soon, no matter how long the tourist and real estate industries try and pretend there's nothing wrong, Colorado will be a giant menorah.  I don't want this to happen, but I think it needs to.  Even precious Yellowstone has had it's massive, regenerative fires.  It's what is supposed to happen to an unhealthy forest.  They burn.  Eventually, though, they come back healthier and without all of the build up of highly flammable underbrush that accumulates through years of man's desperate attempts at fire suppression.  However, I'm not here to lecture on forestry and the health of trees.  I'm hardly qualified.  I'm here to offer a list of necessities for the eventual rebuilding of Colorado's ski towns.  Having spent much of our life in the 'quaint' confines of Durango, and recently traveling the state looking for property in some of our more treed and mountainous areas (always scarred with ski runs and littered with stoned lift chair operators,)  my wife and I took note of what's necessary to make a normal, affordable town, into a ritzy, high-priced Aspen or Telluride.

While a normal, affordable town has a King Soopers or Piggly Wiggly or Safeway, when we raise the ritzy, ski town from it's ashes, we need to be sure it has a natural foods coop with a climbing wall.  An apple can sell for no less then twelve dollars.

And the list goes on.  The normal, affordable town has a JC Penneys.  The ski town will have The Twisted Prune, The Beguiled Elk or some boutique clothier named after something natural in a completely unnatural state.  Juniper is also a popular noun associated with such store names as The Happy Juniper or The Juniper Deflowered.  Practical clothing is not sold here.  You can find, for no less than 500 dollars, face scarves knitted by
Nicaraguan rebels and, for some reason, organic goat's milk.

It is also necessary for a proper ski town to have several businesses refering to themselves as a haus, with two dots over the 'a'.  In a normal town you might be familiar with the International House of Pancakes.  In the newly rebuilt Aspen we will erect an IHAUP.  And have a BeerHaus, SkiHaus and Organic Goat's Milk Haus.   

In a normal town you might find one realtor for every ten people.  In a ritzy, ski town there's one person for every ten realtors.   Look for Remax, Century 21 and the local Haus of Houses. 

However, in a normal town the realtors sell real estate.  In a ski town many of them work at any number of the Historic District's coffee shops while they await someone to pay five million dollars for a condo.  Ritzy, ski town zoning code requires a coffee shop every twelve feet.  Don't look to hard for the capitalist pigs of Starbucks.  While their will be no less than five of those, the place to go shares inspiration with the clothing stores.  You'll only want to be seen getting your caffeine fix at a place called The Steaming Bean.   Note: Underground tunnels must be dug so that  addicted locals can sneak into Starbucks. 

Finally, beer.  In a normal town you might be used to paying two dollars for your favorite suds.  In a ritzy, ski town you'll have to sell body fluid to buy the latest Pinecone Wheat Hefeviezen.  No one really truly likes beer as thick as stew but it's a tradition to at least pretend.  The good news is with all the blood you sold to afford a Hummer Tire Porter, you'll only have to drink one. 

Local Dog Steals the Show, Glory, from Champ

Jared Ewy, Special to Ewy's Playhouse

Englewood, CO -- A stroll through the park.  That's what life should be for a retired champ.  But on Monday, in an actual park, Colorado's 2001 Frisbee Champion was tripped up by an unlikely adversary.  

Three-and-a-half month old Paco Dotsero chased after the Australian Shepherd eight years his senior, and stole her frisbee.

Or should we say thunder?

"I'd just told Paco's owner that his puppy would never get the frisbee," said the embarrassed owner of the champion shepherd.   

Minutes earlier the shepherd's master, one of those guys who looks like he'd swear that 1971 was the best decade ever and that  vinyl is the only way to listen to Led Zeppelin, stepped into another one of thousand routine frisbee tosses.  Like every time before his dog took off after the disc, but this time, something else was just as interested in  catching the prize. 

The shepherd did her thing and tore the frisbee from it's peaceful hover.  She landed.  Her tailed wagged and her hindquarters shimmied in anticipation of accolades from her master. 

Paco, pictured above, is still very sorry he made the 2001 Frisbee Champion look so bad. (Photo by Sarah Ewy)

Why not?  That's the way it happened every other time.  On Monday, however, a little white dog with black spots ran under the bigger shepherd and took the champ's toy.  The very flying object that landed her in newspapers and on tv was now running away from her.  Paco's black butt dot must have looked like a license plate on a getaway vehicle. 

The champ's owner tried to laugh off the underdog's triumph.  He also said he'd like to remain anonymous. 

Paco can be seen at Jason Park on Jason Street in Englewood, CO every morning at about 7-ish and in the later evenings.  Lunchtime park visits are often unannounced limited engagements.