A funny thing happened on the way to the polls.

My sister, Stacey, my son Justin and his wife Mellisa, have all been asking for more memories of my life growing up, in Southern California. I don't know if it is the age or if I just wanted to leave the past in the past. But here is one memory that popped up, wile driving my wife to the polls.

My wife asked me how I was going to vote on the zoo. She automatically assumed, because I enjoy making fun of people who treat there pets, like people, that I would vote no on zoo funding. I like our zoo, so I voted yes.

Growing up, we gave a few pets a shot, but none were more successful, with my Father than our cockapoo, Black Bart.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Cockapoo
The appearance of Cockapoos may vary
Other names	Cockapoo, Cockerpoo, Spoodle (AU)
Country of origin	United States
]
Not recognized by any major kennel club

A cockapoo (also called a spoodle or cockerpoo) is a hybrid dog, bred by crossing an American Cocker Spaniel (or English Cocker Spaniel) and a poodle (in most cases the miniature poodle or toy poodle), or by breeding cockapoo to cockapoo.

My mother may have brought this dog home but my it was my fathers dog. And he treated it like he should have treated us.

Don't get me wrong, I liked the dog. But you could also say that I was jealous. Yeah, thats right, a teenage boy being jealous of a nine pound fur ball. As perfect as I am now (on a perfect scale of one too ten, ten being perfect, I put myself at a solid three), as a teen, I had a lot to work out.

We had another dog, a German Shepard named Lisa. One time, my Father was working on a car and on a test drive, the breaks gave out, and my father had to choose, the house or Lisa. My dad choose the house, and gave the kitchen a little too much ventilation. Too be fare, I think alcohol was involved. There was always alcohol involved.

But my fathers favorite, was Bart. Bart would love to go for a ride in the car. When in the car, Bart would either be bouncing around, jumping from windshield to the back window, or sitting between the back of the drivers neck and the head rest. One time, my father had to be towed home, because the little beast jumped from his neck perch and slammed the automatic transmission into reverse, while on the freeway. If memory serves me right, that car was a beautiful, white, Oldsmobile 442 (ok you purist out there, I know that the 442 is not supose to have a automatic, but if you check your facts, the later years produced a few) that I don't recall ever seeing again.



How or why that dog was still among the living, I have know idea.

All these thoughts came back, because my lovely wife asked me about the zoo. Who knows what will trigger the next memory. Maybe a douhnut will remind me of the time I worked at Winchells?

So, Mellisa, don't take it personal if I tease you about your cats. It's a free nation (for now), you can dress them up any way you want (alright, truth is I have no idea if Mellisa has ever put cloths on her cat). Just remember, some day, Jackson will ask you about your childhood and I hope your animal stories are better than mine. Maybe you should blog a few and save the best for years from now.

Just remeber what Glen Beck said, any one with more than two cat's, should be reported to homeland security as a nut job.