Hobart, Tasmania – Recent scholarship has unearthed the letters and early photographs of early Australian fashionista Bill Thompson. These new findings have turned on its head the normally heald concept that Tasmania in the nineteenth century was peopled only by the island’s famous devils and the scheming ancestors of Marvin Hamlish.

Thompson plied his trade in Australia as a consultant to the most influential prisoners of the day. His use of gold-colored chain changed the long-held preference for the color of blood splatter. This revolution in design sparked off an arms race that lead to the 1890′s fad of overly large chains, some as big as a draft horse (when adjusted for inflation, naturally).

Historians, however, are most overjoyed at the finding of Thompson’s writings, which are numerous. He regularly corresponded with the pinnacle of Australian society. Unfortunately, since all Australians of that age were named Yahoo Serious, putting these letters in context has remained a difficulty. But his penmanship is breathtaking.

Today we can see Thompson’s influence in the elfin beards of bluegrass musicians and pedophiles alike. Chains worn jauntily from the waist are sported by rafts of PBR swilling hipsters, their mother’s credit cards safely secured in their fashionable wallets. Lady Gaga herself said it best when she was overheard commenting “Neck weasels and birkenstocks.”

Indeed.

Update: This was written just before we found that Walt’s new knee was all screwed up. So much for the nicey-nice words below. One day, this time when we are well and truly through this, I will write about it. Think of it as the worlds most boring cliff-hanger.

The time has come, the surgeon said, to speak of many things. Well, not many. Firstly, the left knee is healing well. Second, the right knee is deterioratiing. Third, boating season is upon us and I need some work done and those damn folks down at the marina always find find a way to inflate the bill to twice as much as it appears going in. Therefore, four, Walt’s right knee is ripe for slicing. So, Walt went under the knife on the Friday before the Memorial Day weekend.

I kid. The surgeon seems like a fine guy, he obviously does great work and I would highly recommend Dr. Vogt and the rest of the staff at Cleveland Veterinary Referral.

A few days after the first surgery, the doctor’s office called to check in on the boy. He was doing swimmingly. His wound was perfect, his coloring was perfect, he was eating well and moving around alarmingly well. The vet tech then said something interesting: “Well, in situations like this, it always seems the second surgery is the problem one.” And she was right.

Okay, alright, this second knee wasn’t that much of a trial but there were a couple bumps in the road. All of them stemmed from Walt’s wound getting infected. This lead to much angry swelling, painful walking and an interminable course of antibiotics.

Walt is a big boy (although he is actually getting smaller as he is down to 134 lb. now) and big boys need many much antibiotics. The prescription was for four pills, twice a day of pills normally reserved for entire tribes to share to save on shipping. And this is in addition to his three pain pills three times a day, his three pills of joint medication taken twice a day and his two monstrous anti-inflamitories taken once a day. Normally, getting Walter to take pills is not difficult. Wrap it in small bits of plasticy cheese and he is good. These pills are so big, however, that they require a bigger piece of cheese. And so then comes the chewing and the inevitable chomp on a capsule sending horrifyingly nasty tasting particles about his mouth. Then he looks at you funny, retreats to the other side of the room and meekly refuses more treats.

That leads you to try all kinds of other things. Peanut butter, potted meats, hot dogs, really stinky cheese in any and all combinations. These work for a while although he is now on the lookout for those pills. But then the chomp happens again, he bites into a pill and the search for a winning combinations starts anew.

Next to try is a competition theme. “Walt if you don’t eat this stuff then I’m giving it to Jasper. Look! Jasper likes this stuff!” This works… for a while. Then another chomp on the pill and he just comes to the conclusion that Jasper is insane and he can have all the stuff he wants. Shoving the globs further back into the mouth does seem to work a bit better but then you are shoving your hand in a well slimified area of a treat ready Newfy and, well, it quickly becomes gross.

I mean, I deal with Newfy slobber all the time and it really doesn’t bother me. It normally wipes up well and… it seems to make him so happy to launch a bit of slime through the air and watch it gracefully land on your newly pressed shirt. Think of it as Newfoundland Dog Performance Art as it is practiced in the modern style. But that amount and type of slime–remember you’ve been giving him hot dogs covered in peanut butter and mystery meat–is of a quality that really can affirm one’s belief in the Cthulhu mythos.

Eventually the pill bottle is empty and the ordeal is over. Last night was the last batch and my elation was palpable. All this over pills for a dog. Thank God I lead such a boring life that these are my trials.

A few more weeks and then the first checkup comes and all will be found well. He is already walking very well–too well. He ran at full gallop across the house at me yesterday, his squeak toy dangling from his mouth. He is ready for action after months of boring, boring, boring. Unfortunately he has a few more weeks of this. August will be here before he is free to roam again. Then starts the walking to build up some muscles that he probably never had very developed to begin with. Some work awaits us. But I welcome it as long as we can stay away from those pills.