Scabs, Scars or Scat

Happy St. Patrick's Days. Just another day on which the world thinks I should drink. Especially with a last name like Hickey.

I raise my virtual beer to all of you (all 7 of you) "Slainte!"

There is a shar pei that lives down the calle from me. I have no idea how a shar pei got to the Yucatan but it probably also has to do with the reason that all of the restaurants in the food court at the mall in Merida serve Chinese food. No matter what their name is. Mayan Temple now serving the freshest sushi in Merida. Tulum to Go is the place to go for fried rice and sesame chicken. Anyway, the shar pei that lives down the calle loves to stretch out across dirt road and survey the to-ing and fro-ing. I alternately call him Scabs or Scars or Scat depending on his demeanor and mange level on any given day. To avoid confusion, I'll just call him Scabs in this blog. Lately I've been concerned because I haven't seen old Scabs guarding the calle for a couple of months and I assumed he had crossed the Great Calle to that great food court in the sky. I shouldn't have picked old Scabs off so readily (Lo siento, I couldn't help myself). Last evening I was walking Daisy, the time share dog, when she emitted a low grown and her hackles arose. Lo and behold, stretched out regally up the road in front of us was our old sentinel, Scabs. Or so I thought. As we got closer I noticed that this dog's coat was full and lustrous without a hint of mange to be found. Was this a new dog? When we finally got close enough, he finally roused himself enough to swing his leonine head our way. I realized it was indeed good old Scabs. But a better, more improved version of Scabs. Scabs must have just got back from rehab!

I haven't been to rehab but I, too, am experiencing a new improved Kary May. Unfortunately, I have "recovered" the 5 pounds I lost post-apocalyptic binge. I really think I could market my diet plan. It's very simple. You basically just drink alcohol (any kind will do) until you can't brush your teeth or watch Denny's commercial's without gagging to the point of vomiting. All of those unwanted fat cells will just melt away along with your liver and brain cells.

I guess I'll learn to live with the extra 5 pounds or do something desperate, like start jogging (probably not going to happen). And I'll have to think of a new name for Scabs. Maybe Scamp? It doesn't fit him but maybe he'll grow into it.

So today I'm out there doing my best to stay more "Scampy" than "Scabby" and asking God, why, if he is going to provide a plethora of Chinese food in the Yucatan why doesn't he end us some hot mustard, too.