Posts Tagged ‘mongo


Scenes of Carnage and Devastation From the Great East Coast Earthquake

Before you scroll down to observe a photo revealing the cruel power of Mother Nature once again unleashed against some poor, defenseless Fobots, let me set the stage for you.

It was nearly 2pm yesterday afternoon, and I was hard at work in the Fobotorium. What little of my brain that was not focused on the task at hand–namely, drilling holes into a “Ben Hur” cayenne pepper tin–was thinking about the approaching hurricane. Hurricanes are a fact of life here in North Carolina, and with the exception of Hurricane Fran 15 years ago, have little effect on those of us living so far inland. Unless you count the swarms of people at the grocery store depleting the shelves of bread, milk, and eggs. What is it about natural disasters that makes North Carolinians crave French toast? But I digress. The house started to shake. First thought–the washing machine is off balance. Second thought–I’m not doing laundry. Third thought–I’ve left the bench grinder on. That always makes the room shake. Fourth thought–no, it’s off, and anyway, even though it’s powerful enough to make Mongo flee the room in terror when it’s on, it’s not this bad. Fifth thought–this feels a lot like the earthquakes I grew up with in California. Sixth thought–oh my god, California’s having an earthquake, and it’s so big we’re feeling it all the way out here.

It took the local news media several minutes to respond to the breaking story, but when they did, they obsessed about it like…well, like Mongo trying to pull every last bit of stuffing out of Squeaky Skunk. I mean, a slim chance of a hurricane hitting us AND an earthquake in the same day? Local newscasters were wetting themselves.

I bring you now to the scene of devastation I found when I searched for damage:

Mongo didn’t even wake up.


The Puppy Ate My Hard Drive

OK, he didn’t actually EAT the hard drive.  But a week ago, Mongo took time out of his busy schedule (redistributing my socks and panties to previously panty-free parts of the house and yard, peeing on stuff, humping photographers) to test the edibility of my laptop’s adaptor cord.  Good news!  It’s not edible!  But the test left a little needle-toothed hole in the cord which shorted out the hard drive.  It’s toast.  I had backed up most of my pictures and documents, but my email and mailing lists are gone forever.

SO–if you have emailed me an order, or asked to be put on the Fobot mailing list, please send the information again to .   I swear I’m not ignoring you, I just don’t have your address anymore.

And since I hate to post without a picture, I thought I’d add a picture of Mongo.  Oh, too bad, all the pictures of Mongo were lost in the old hard drive.  So here’s a picture of the GOOD kind of puppy.  A Fobot puppy.  No teeth, and my laundry stays in the bedroom.

Scottie Scottie Robottie


In Raleigh, She’s World Famous!

photo by Shawn Rocco, News and Observer

That used to be my favorite joke when referring to a local theater legend–“In Raleigh, he’s world famous!”  And now, it applies to me.  A wonderful article about the Fobots appeared in the Raleigh News and Observer this weekend, and while I’m not exactly being chased by paparazzi and hounded for autographs, it’s still pretty sweet being recognized at the grocery store.   Here’s the link;

My thanks to writer Diane Daniel, who interviewed me by phone as we drove home from Coconut Grove and managed to take over two hours of my disjointed ramblings and craft a smart, funny article that even I was interested in reading.  And hats off to photographer Shawn Rocco, whose gorgeous photos didn’t come out blurry even though the whole time he was here a hyperactive puppy was trying to climb up his leg.  Or hump it, I’m not sure which.


“Quite the Time-Suck”*

Meet the reason productivity here at Fobot World Headquarters has dropped to near nothing since Monday night.  His name is Mongo.

The lovely and talented Phil and I have been talking for a while about getting a companion for our sweet Welsh Terrier boy, Ozzie, who’s 12.  We’re looking at more travel in the coming year (new addition to the Fobot art fair calendar: Des Moines, Iowa, June 25-27), and don’t want the old boy to be lonely.  Plus, as much as it pains me to say it, Ozzie’s getting old, and we need an emergency back-up dog.   And it would be nice if Ozzie could train his replacement.

But Welsh terrier puppies are not the easiest dogs to find.  We’ve been looking for several weeks, hoping to have one by Christmas, so we could get him settled and have the house-training done by the time we left for the Coconut Grove Art Festival (February 13-15) and the Winter Park Art Festival (March 19-21).  Hell, we would have driven hundreds of miles to bring home the right pup.  And to all of you out there saying “Why don’t you rescue a dog from the pound?” I say “Don’t you judge me!”  I know what I like, and Ozzie is the most perfect dog that ever lived, and we want another just like him!  So there!  Sorry.

Back to our story.  Monday afternoon I was taking a little break, and went to one of the websites I’d been haunting, looking for puppies.  And there he was.  In @##$*&! Roxboro, NC, only 50 miles away!   From a litter of three, he was the sweetest, mellowest, happiest guy in the bunch.  We took him home Monday night, even though we swore we were going to wait until after I got home from the “Ugly Betty” trip this weekend to pick him up.  I mean, c’mon, could you leave that little face behind?  I think not.

In a perfect world, Mongo and Ozzie would be best buddies by now, sleeping in the same bed and sharing squeaky toys and dating tips.  Alas, Ozzie is acting more like a spoiled only child who’s Mom has just brought home a pesky little brother who wants to play ALL THE TIME.  But he’s getting better, and a few well-deserved growls have flipped the puppy over on his back in a submissive posture faster than the crack-heads at our local IHOP can flip a pancake.

So, my life is now an endless cycle of trying to wear Mongo out so he’ll sleep, and then standing outside in the freezing cold, hoping to witness the miracle of puppy poo.  A miracle that occurs, far too often, indoors. 

As far as the name goes, just watch “Blazing Saddles” and look for a big guy.  Who farts.  ‘Nuff said.

* From the movie “Juno”, in reference to babies.

June 2018
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