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See? I told you there wasn't going to be a segue. I hope you didn't hurt yourself there.

Yesterday, Chiggar finally made it to age two without being killed by 1) angry villagers, 2) chainsaw mishap, or 3) being stomped to pulp by angry horses. In large dogs, age two is considered adulthood, so yesterday morning my mom informed Chiggar that it was time to start acting like an adult.

Chiggar's first task as an adult? He went outside and peed on Rhonda, their slightly geriatric, completely neurotic (do you blame her?) Labrador while she was peeing.

Oh. I guess I could have made a segue. I just now realized that both of my stories involved urine. Oh well.

Not that this has anything to do with his birthday, but earlier this week Chiggar went for a ride with my dad on their latest horse-drawn buggy.

Have I told you this about my dad? He goes to auctions, buys busted-up old buggies, fixes them, crashes them and inflicts bodily harm upon himself and his riding buddy Chiggar, repairs the buggies again, and sells them. His horse Bubba has been trained by a local Amish farmer to pull buggies.

Beautiful and dignified, don't you think? Now picture this: Dad is riding with Chiggar at his side. Bubba, who hates crossing the railroad tracks, comes upon the railroad sign painted on the road. He stops dead, because he's one of those special reading horses and he understands his road signs. And when he stops, Chiggar goes flying off the seat and out of the buggy.

I would have paid to have seen that.

Oh, and my parents have a new dog. Sort of. A golden retriever puppy, approximately three months old, has found its way to their house. This isn't unusual. My parents live on the edge of town in a part of the world where people are stupid enough to take unwanted pets to the country and leave them on the side of the road. As a kid I used this to my advantage. Free pets!

They're falling in love with this pup, which my mom, in a fit of wishful thinking has lovingly named "Gone". They don't need another dog. They have four horses - two of them under a year old, two dogs - and let's face it, Chiggar counts for four dogs all by himself, and Rhonda's easily two, what with the emotional disorders and all, and a cat. The cat's pretty cool. But they don't need this puppy, especially right now, since they're leaving town on Friday to come visit us.

But Gone fits in so well! Just today, while I was on the phone with my mom, Gone brought her a possum. A flat, dried-out, crusty possum whose only distinguishable feature was his little smooshed possum face, which he carried in his mouth with the rest tossed casually over his shoulder, thus proving he's got problems and should fit right on in Ma and Pa's Farm of Misfit Pains in the Ass.

*If you're new and haven't met Chiggar yet, you might thing me callous for thinking it's funny that he fell off the wagon. I suggest you acquaint yourself with him. Like the time he bit a chainsaw. Or maybe you'd enjoy the time he lept vertically into the air just to snatch food from my mouth. If that doesn't convince you of Chiggar's vileness, maybe you should read about the time he shit a shovel. And if that doesn't make you understand the vileness, well then, maybe Chiggar should come live with you for a few days, preferably when I'm visiting his house.