Here, kitty kitty kitty...

Went to the Sugar bowl this past week... I've never been to Naw'lins before, but it was a blast and a neat place to visit, although i'm gonna have to say its on my bottom 1 places in America to live.

The hogs loss was devastating, but I walked away from the game knowing that we have a great program and are only going to get better.  I look forward to many more BCS games in the future.  Go Hogs!

Luckily for all of you wonderful people, I got to spend about 11 hours in a car with my dad and sisters... which means we got to go over every stupid thing we've done/seen/experienced during our childhood.  I took notes, and now have a long list of items to blog about for this year.

And now for week two, I'll revisit my old nemesis, Winston.  Lets just say I wasn't the only one he took his aggressions out on... (beware, some of you may find this a bit gruesome...)


 When my older sister Elizabeth turned 12, she decided to have a slumber party.  Which means that our home was systematically invaded by about 15 adolescent girls.  Which means that our home echoed with giggles, screams, and shrieks.  Which means that Winston was pissed.

Winston, a grouchy old man, wanted none of it.  He didn't like children, he didn't like noise, and he didn't like children that made noise, let alone bushel of them.  So Winston spent the evening outside, grumbling to himself about the horrors of life with children.

Meanwhile, inside, all of Elizabeth's friends were in a circle in our living room telling horror stories.  Each would take a turn, and each time they would all scream, then giggle, then repeat.  Little did they know that their young eyes were about to witness a a horror far worse than any story they could conjure.

Outside, Winston began barking.  And barking.  And barking.  Every once in a while he would growl, then continue barking.  And barking.  And barking.

Inside, the ghostly horror stories continued.  Winston was simply a background noise in a soundtrack of scary stories and screams.  That is, until one of Elizabeth's friends decided to see what old Winston was barking about.  She peeked out the windows, and saw that Winston had cornered one of the neighbor's kittens in our fence.  What does a little girl do when she sees a kitten in danger?

She screamed.  Not knowing what she was screaming about, they all started screaming.  She ran out the door.  Not know what she was running out the door about, they all took off our the door, leaving our front yard full of screaming preteen girls, who by the time they were outside noticed the cornered kitten.

Apparently, Winston thought they wanted to steal his prize.  I can tell you what he was thinking: "Daggum stupid sreaming preteens daggum want to steal my daggum cat!  Well I ain't gonna let 'em!  By george its my daggum cat, and I ain't gonna let 'em get my daggum cat dadgummit!"

So Winston beat them to the kitty.  He bit.  It hissed.

They screamed bloody horror as Winston locked jaws on the kitten and shook it back and forth like a ragdoll.  They watched, frozen in fear, as Winston tore to shreds this poor baby animal that they just wanted to cuddle.  The could do nothing as they all witnessed their first, and hopefully last, murder.

The night was somber after that.  No more horror stories, because they had just witnessed horror itself.  The girls were devastated. 

I thought it was awesome.  Call me an animal, a monster, a brute, but there is nothing cooler to a 10 year old boy than seeing a cat get eaten alive by your dog, especially when it happens in front of your sister and all of her stupid, annoying, screaming friends. 


For that day, Winston was my hero.