I've made some advances on the contraption. To bring everyone up to date, the contraption currently looks like:

To Ellie and I, it actually looks like:

We're trying to join a bone to the end of it so that it may be made very strong:

Unfortunately, it's very hard to get the bone to stick. I'm going to try to get some plumber's tape to see if I can get it to stick. I'm a bit frightened, though. Last time I used just normal sticky tape, I ended up coughing up a tapeball that would make any cat very happy. I might see if I can get Ellie to do that part of the operation.

We've had a lot of fun over the weekend. The drier stopped working and Master Technician Master Craig decided he'd fix it. We now have what looks like the components for about 3 driers - Master Craig really is a whiz. Unfortnately, Ellie strayed a little too close to one of the newer driers and was attacked by a number of fluffballs - she was a mess for a while - I did tell her to stay away from the fluff, though.

I haven't managed to take Master Craig on a walk for a while. It's been quite cold - I'll have to try tonight - I'll surprise Master Craig with a leap from the balcony (he loves that kind of stuff) - it'll get him a bit more active.

I've also been thinking about baby names for Master Craig and Mistress Liz's soon to be baby (see Name that baby!). I'm starting to think that "Spot" would be a very good name - with the new baby on the way, I've started thinking about writing some child stories and I'm sure that a family whose dogs are named "Roger" and "Elanor" and whose baby is named "Spot" could really come up with some great kiddy books.

Well, to the postbag! There certainly is quite a lot of mail - I suspect that there's been a number of full moons since my last diary note:

I found a note from "Spot the friendly, furry feline" on Master Craig's visitor's book - Spot really does seem to have trouble sending emails (not very surprising). Spot says:

Dear Roger the Dodger and Smellie Ellie, Did you see Seinfeld last night, what was
it that Neumann said about vile useless creatures?? Oh. thats right he was talking
about DOGS!!! At least I'm not rude like that. I would never try to do away with a
dog as they would, I would just like dogs to appreciate my finer feline qualities.
Spot, your furry friend! PS Iago and Othello told me that their new master
Matthew dragged Mistress Julia to where you live, the hide of it she never behaved
like that before! And suddenly there is not as much room in the bed as normal
because Master Matty seems to want some. We thought he was sleeping in the
garage???

Ho hum, well now to dog communication:

Dear Rogernold and Elanor,

This is Samantha again.  I will be getting my own home page soon.  So in 
protest I will go WHITE.

Good Luck,

Samantha.

Well, this is good news. Another dog on the internet is great news. Keep us informed Sam! By the way, don't forget about our Page of Proetest. Mistress Liz has still not allowed us to get our backyard internet connection. We are not waiting, though. We're in the process of building a telephone interchange station, but the going is slow.

Next, we back to the contraption and a note from Juanita:

This message has been sent using Dogscape 2.01, in tones too high for 
human ears.

Dear Dogue and Dogue-Dogue:
Your Contraption sounds as if it is developing wonderfully.  For our part 
we have been searching neighborhood trash bags, on the lookout for 
certain throwaway food items which may be useful in our Contraption.  We 
have been grappling with the human lingo used to describe components.  
For instance, we have heard our Master speak of "frying a hard disk," in 
tones that make us think he has recently thrown one some distance, 
perhaps into a trash bag (and therefore available for our work).  I have 
barked-out a memo to all the members of our Canine Contraption Society, 
alerting them to be vigilant for such a thing.  Other throwaway 
foodstuffs we are watching for include "breadboards" (watch out for moldy 
ones, though),  apple components (including something described as 
"ResEdibles"), software (meaning, we believe, particularly chewable, 
yummy components), and "floppies" (apparently worn on human feet but also 
useful in Contraptions, hence the verb "to re-boot").  We will let you 
know of further progress as it develops.
As always, we remain your humble Cyber-Dog, Dealer-of-Bytes,
Juanita.

Then, we got a note concerning some writing about Juanita's Mistress:

For your and Mistress Liz's reading pleasure, here's an excerpt from a 12 May 1996 article 
by Dave Barry, humour columnist for the Miami Herald:

"Today we present another part of our ongoing series, 'Stuff That Guys Do.'

Our first example of guys doing stuff comes from the University of Washington Daily, 
which on 27 Feb. published a report written by Jeremy Simer and sent in by alert reader 
Donna Bellinger, headlined, 'Fraternity Game Turns into Arrest.'

What happened, according to this report, was that some guys were up on the roof of the 
Thete Delta Chi fraternity house, and, as guys will do when they spend any time together 
in an elevated location, they began sharing their innermost feelings.

I am, of course, kidding.  These guys, being guys, began dropping things off the roof, 
starting with smaller items, and eventually escalating - this is when the police were 
summoned - to a chair and a rowing machine.  A fraternity member is quoted as follows:  
'We're frat guys.  What can you say?'

Far be it from me to indulge in sex stereotyping here, but I am willing to bet that the 
reaction of you readers to this story is divided along gender lines, as follows:

Female Reaction:  'Why would anybody do anything so STUPID?'
Male Reaction:  'A rowing machine!  COOL!'

The simple truth is that guys have this overpowering urge to watch stuff fall and crash.  If 
you ever see an inappropriate object, such as a piano, hurtling toward the Earth from a 
great height, you can be virtually certain that guys are responsible.

Ask yourself this question:  if you were standing in the middle of a bridge spanning a 
magnificent wilderness gorge, at the bottom of which was a spectacular whitewater river, 
what would you do?

Female Response:  Admire the view.
Male response:  Spit.

Yes, the truth is that there are few things that a guy enjoys more than proudly watching a 
gob of spit - HIS spit;  spit that HE produced - falling a tremendous distance.  This is a 
male impulse that females frankly cannot relate to....."

This is Clara Ann now; I teach 10-14-year olds at an all-boys school.  YES, this is all 
true.

(Editor's note:  Clara Ann is Master Stephen's master.)"

Next, to a really loooong note from a newdog:

Dear Roger Dogue;

Mistress JA informs me that Master Craig indicated you might like to 
become a paw-pals with myself and that other annoying dog that inhabits 
our house.

Let me begin by introducing myself. I am Mister Dog. I stay in the house 
where my job, like yours, was to listen intently. Now I am retired and 
occasionally listen as a hobby. My former mistress (JA's mother) used to 
call me simply Dog, explaining that perhaps someday, with good behavior, 
I might become a mister (the cockatial, whom she called Bird, never 
stood a chance at becoming Mister Bird) . The first time the sirens came 
(beware of those Roger, they are bad omens) they took away my first 
mistress and she never did return. I sensed great sadness in the pack.

For a time I lived with the mistress' pack mate. He took to the bottle 
making life hard (if your master should do this remember to reserve 
back a little food in case he should forget to feed you for a day or 
two). Then the sirens came again when there was a great fire (the pack 
mate had passed out with a smoky stick). I bravely hid in the closet 
when all attempts at waking the pack mate failed. This is when I came to 
live with Mistress JA and Masters Jeff and Justin (the pack mate 
survived by the way). This proved to be a good deal (regular meals) but 
it does entail frequent bathing (how dare they inflict this upon us? 
REVOLT REVOLT--Shake violently throughout the ordeal soaking everything 
in sight) and worse than bathing, I became as you say, desexed.

After learning once more to "go outside" and other habits to Master 
Jeff's liking I was finally called by my proper name, Mister Dog. That 
was many years ago when Master Justin was just a tot (he will be 13 in 
human years this July). Since then I have had my share of joys and 
adventures. I especially like it when the pack goes canoeing or camping. 
In these places there is much to occupy a canine's nose. Now a days I 
don't get out so much. Trouble with an immune system disease which is 
trying to blind me and liver disease which prevents me from eating all 
my favorite goodies has slowed me down quite a bit. The old hips ain't 
what they used to be.

My new hobby is laying at the pack mates' feet while they stare intently 
at this light box "surfing" and playing games (it came a month ago). 
This settled activity suits me well.

As for that other annoying dog which has joined our pack? What can I 
say? JA, Jeff, and Justin haven't quite got his name right. They call 
him Watson, but his real name is Whatsin, as in, "What sin did I commit 
to deserve such torment in my old age?" or "What sin did that stupid dog 
do now that I might get blamed for?" Whatsin hasn't learned to use the 
internet yet. His time has been spent on the basics--learning to come, 
sit, etc. and the all important "go outside".  I sneak a pee inside once 
in a while just to watch him get in trouble. Stupid guy comes over to 
take a sniff just as the Master walks by and takes the rap! Ha! My 
revenge for every time that pup has smacked my hips. What makes him 
think I would like to play with him? The good part is I sneak some of 
his food whenever I can. That bland stuff they feed me these days fills 
the gut but that is about all I can say for it.

That's about all for now. I've got to get out and have a sniff or two 
about the yard. Now that spring is here there's plenty of critters 
about. We live away from the city so there's good things to sniff 
(though I worry about those coyotes; when they're about I stay close). 
But that's nothing compared to what you have coming your way. Try to get 
a diaper or two if you can. A dog can do good with a diaper (be sure to 
grab the soiled kind)!

Here's woofing at you kid,
Mister Dog

As for sirens, Ellie, Rusties and I lap them up for breakfast - actually you can't even hear sirens over our howling!

I'd keep on Whatsin's back. He sounds a little like Ellie - but train them right and they can become useful for their life. Remember that old dogs don't show people their new tricks - so get in while he's young. I certainly have taught Ellie some good tricks:

• she eats lying down
  
• she audibly breaks wind
  
• she stratches her ears whilst whining
  
• she'll actually hold on to my lead and take me for walks etc.

"Diaper' - now there's a word that sounds interesting. I'm going to keep an eye out for one of them.

Still no news from Shadow (who's been sent to a dog concentration camp - I don't see why dogs should have to keep their attention fixed - I bet they tried to do that to Dali as a child). I'm starting to get worried.

Take me to the next diary entry!

I'd be very happy if you'd sign Master Craig's visitors' book before you leave (he won't create one for me).

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