“Oh, the weather outside is frightful
I gingerly turned the doorknob of the front door of my mom’s house, trying to be as quiet and sneaky as I could be.
As you read this, I should be 30,000 miles above ground, sitting on an Alaska Airlines jet headed to Washington state.
I stood inside an exam room at the Kodiak Veterinary Clinic, grasping Gizmo close to my heart, trying to keep him from seeing the tears trickling down my whiskery face.
Gizmo is in the dog house.
I had this week’s column figured out, that was until I forgot to cover the event.
Let me squash the rumors right now. I am not going anywhere. You, the readers, are stuck with me rather you like it or not.
Every guy with a lady human has been in this situation: stuck in a store while she puts her sole in shoe after shoe.
Last week in this space, I wrote about Pepper Jack’s early-morning walks. This week, let’s talk about his late-night outings.
As a sports scribe, 7 a.m. does not exist. I go to bed late and get up late.
WHEW. That was the sound of me exhaling.
I didn’t plan on spending part of Thursday afternoon chasing a ferret around the Clarkston Apartment, but there I was caught in some kind of game with Otis.
Opening up the mailbox and finding a white jury notice postcard is a mood killer. I received mine during the summer and, since I coach baseball during that time, got it shifted to January and February.
I have my nephews to blame for the song that keeps popping in my head.
There was no Loyola-Chicago in this year’s American Kennel Club’s most popular dog breed rankings.
The past two weeks have not been merry at the Clarkston Zoo.
I didn’t realize how physically demanding ringing a bell was until last Friday.
It’s been a depressing week in the Clarkston apartment, despite the fact that the Seahawks won and my fantasy football team is still kicking.
A thesaurus is needed when picking an adjective to describe the Kodiak High School boys’ 15 consecutive Region III cross country titles.
Good morning, or should I say good afternoon or good evening depending on when your newspaper is delivered.
Sitting in a comfy chair in the spacious living room of the Engvalls’ Rezanoff Street home, Bill Foster gazed in awe at the lady resting comfortable on a couch directly across from him.
Christopher Kavanaugh has a nose for Wint-O-Green Life Savers. He sniffs them out like my dog Gizmo sniffs out week-old hot dog buns.
With a wooden paddle in his right hand, Perry Paige smacked an orange whiffle ball that landed softly in a net and came to rest on the plastic flooring covering the Baranof Park Ice Rink.
During the decade I’ve been in Kodiak, I’ve interacted with hundreds of people.
The residents of “The Rock” have gone batty for rocks.
Alaska high school basketball coaches should lose their voting rights.
That was a dud of a weekend.
The end of 2016 didn’t end well and the beginning of 2017 hasn’t been any better.
Pepper Jack is not fond of the fluffy white stuff that covered the ground this week.
For the first time in years, the Apple Cup means something.
In the 2005 movie “The Ringer,” actor Johnny Knoxville pretends to be a Special Olympics athlete in hopes of rigging the games to solve his financial problems.
I’ve turned into that guy.
When I moved to Kodiak a decade ago, I knew zilch about swimming.
For the 16th year in a row, the MLB postseason started without the Seattle Mariners.
Whatever happens this weekend, it has been a fun ride.
Disclaimer: This is not a sports column, but one that all animal lovers will like.
I’m back.
Expect the waistlines of Kodiakans to shrink over the next few months.
Nothing beats getting pummeled by a dog after six long days on the road — not even right-out-of-the-oven-melt-in-your-mouth cookies.
Gizmo had a surprise family reunion this past week.
The three Ichiro bobbleheads on my desk were dancing on Wednesday.
Whew. It’s finally time to clean off my desk.
It’s been a historic week for pitchers in Major League Baseball.
Scoreboard watching in May. You better believe it, baby.
Three days until the greatest day in the year.
Disturbing news hit the wire this week. Heartbreaking really.
What does Peyton Manning get for winning the Super Bowl?
Do the football gods believe in storybook endings?
Quick, name all the quarterbacks participating in Sunday’s Pro Bowl?
Sunday is going to be weird.
I’ve been accused of not being balanced in this space — I’m not giving enough love to the other pets that live in the Clarkston apartment.
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