Nutty Nunzi Tall Tail Tales

The nutty adventures and thoughts of an odd and overly friendly dog named Nunzi and the human who hears him


Just Right

My my my, what a mighty fine morning. Not too warm, not too cool, not too breezy, not too unbreezy. Not a cloud in the sky and lots of fresh ocean air to suck in and savor. Yeah, a Goldilocks—”just right” morning.

And best of all, my best furry friend was enjoying it with me. Yep, me and he had a realization that this average morning moment in time is one of those terrific times I figure I’ll probably conjure up on my death bed as the life flashing before my eyes thing happens. Though nothing extraordinary, just our usual walk and fetch routine, I bet it’ll be in the greatest hits playback and I’ll be grateful to have had it queued up.

So I turn to my best beast and say “Hey Nutty Nunzi, I think this is a stupendous time and place we find ourselves in so let’s shoot a slice to remember it by.” Arf! He was in complete agreement and I pressed the record button and we got rolling.

So here are a few moments of me and my shadow prancing along the beach. And you get a big bonus of witnessing the BEST DIGGING DOG EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE ENTIRE WORLD (Nunzi kept gnawing my ankles until I hit the caps and wrote that)

Even when I’m not under gnawing duress, I can honestly say I’ve never seen a better excavating beast in all my days and dogs. Maybe Nunzi’s mom had an affair with a gopher?

Nunz says he’s not just digging a hole–he’s creating a wolf den like he’s seen his brethren do on TV. All he needs is a tree to fall over his hole, which will act as the roof, and presto–a pro wolf den!

And as befits his name, Nutty Nunzi is adamant that he is really a Wolf-Dog. Not a regular dog. Nope. A strong, brave, mighty and very scary Wolf-Dog.

Well anywho, if you can spare a few minutes, then come along with us for a relaxing saunter along the shore. On a morning when for some reason it was—”just right”.

Toy Treasure Battle & Simple Doggy Economics

Canines don’t seem to have a firm grasp of complex economic principles. And since they rarely use cash or even credit cards, their perception of the worth of products and services is fairly weird. But although they lack knowledge of the various subtleties of economic theory, and supply and demand, they got the basics right.

They know demand. If they have a toy in their mouth, and somebody wants that product, then it indeed has value. And the more that somebody demonstrates their desire for that product, be they a furry or a fleshy creature, then in the eyes of said canine, the value increases a bunch.

Demand, demand, demand. Value goes up, up and more up! Simple doggy economics.

Come to think of it, it’s not that different from our own supposed sophisticated economist’s theories. Anywho, let’s take for example a dog such as my Nutty Nunzi. Several times a day, he’ll come over to me holding something in his mouth. In this instance, I was sitting at my desk and Nunzi came over with his Tuffy Ring toy.

He likes that toy and views it as having some value. But if he thinks that I like it too, he perceives it having a higher worth. Now if I start to show the slightest interest, something verbal like “I see you have the Tuffy Ring. That toy’s a good one.”

Soon as he hears “good”, his tail starts a wagging and he’s quite ecstatic he possesses a valuable product. He’ll now twist his head this way and that so I can view the full visual scope and splendor of the treasure he owns.

Then if I show the slightest inkling that I may wish to possess it, escalating from verbal to physical, just rising from my chair, Nunz gets all kinda twitchy. He’s thinking, “Oh yeah, you want this. Oh yeah you do! I can tell!” Sometimes he’ll even do a twirl or two to tease me, demonstrating how much fun and joy can be had by anyone who has this treasure.

As I often do, I did my best to play along and act like I surely did want that toy and my life would be so perfect if only I had it. This time, I did a great Oscar worthy performance, if I do say so myself, then I took one step toward him.

Wow! Nunz perceives his toy is worth at least a thousand bucks, aka, bushels and bushels of duck jerky. And he gleefully prances out of the room, and races away at high speed with his hot sought after consumer good snug in his mouth. And I chase after.

As you can see in the video, the cunning canine was doggedly determined to not lose what must be one of the most valuable products in the world. We ran all around the house, fiercely battling for the toy. Possession changing hands, and mouths, several times with much intimidation and yanking and trash talking spewing forth.

After a while, my beast decided he had enough and was going hold on to his super precious Tuffy Ring come hell or high water. Which is when this video clip started. As you can see, Nutty Nunzi is willing to fight to the death to not let go of his “wealth”.

I think even if I dragged him for a mile, he would still be hanging on to the treasure. And how could he not? The market conditions are obviously putting the value of this consumer good as being more precious than gold.

The value is sky high. Through the roof. Woof! Simple doggy economics.

Same-Old Same-Old or Super Duper Special


You get tired of the Same-Old Same-Old? I sure do and did. I was tired of going to the same old dumb beach. Yearned to be somewhere more exotic like Tahiti or something. Yep, I tired of the same routine. Like watching my dog Nunzi dig yet another hole in the sand—number 483? As you can see in the video.

Though Nutty Nunzi claims he’s really a Wolf-Dog, so his “holes” are really wolf dens (which are dug under fallen trees and crafted for wolf puppies and mom). Nunz says all he needs are trees to fall on the beach some day and he’ll show me. He also wants to hook up with a girl Wolf-Dog and make pups and wants me to start searching online. Tinder for dogs?

Though Nutty Nunzi claims he’s really a Wolf-Dog, so his “holes” are really wolf dens (which are dug under fallen trees and crafted for wolf puppies and mom). Nunz says all he needs are trees to fall on the beach some day and he’ll show me. He also wants to hook up with a girl Wolf-Dog and make pups and wants me to start searching online. Tinder for dogs?

Anyway, sorry I digressed. But I do indeedy get tired of the same-old mundane stuff over and over. Nothing special. Routine rut after rut. Day after day. Ho and hum. Yep I bet you can relate too. It all might even be an essential aspect of the human condition?

But I’m here to tell you a way to not be bugged by the rut. How you can tire out the tiresome.

Some deep wise philosophy I’ve developed. Hah! That’s hysterical. Nope, I just stumbled upon something the other day. I’ll give you a hint with this question–what if your same-old same-old mundane life vanished before your very eyes?

Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time…

…there was Blind As A Bat Day. That’s the name I came up with to refer to the events of last Thursday. Why Blind As A Bat Day you wonder? Well my left eye was having some blurry vision problems, and I imagined it was getting worse, and would get worser still, and I went to see an ophthalmologist Thursday.

At the ophthalmologist’s joint, my eyeballs were tortured, uh, I mean “examined”, with various potions squirted in. Death rays from menacing machines were blasting inside my poor peepers too.

Then I heard one discouraging initial prognosis/guess/hunch type word.

That’s all it took.

And my overactive imagination took over from there, logically figuring what the left eye had would soon spread to the right, and then both will get worse, and then, bingo, sight be gone. Blind As A Bat Day is here!

“Hypertension” was the word I heard. Eye hypertension???

How the hell can eyeballs have hypertension? Are they going to trigger a heart attack or a stroke? Or do eyeballs themselves get strokes? Explode? None of this makes any sense. But my boiling brain was certain of one thing—sight begone!

I gulped and hesitantly inquired about this hypertension conundrum to the guy examining me, Kid Ophthalmologist. Yeah, this fellow looked like he was still in high school. Then I found out he wasn’t even a genuine big-cheese ophthalmologist yet. Just an intern.

And he wasn’t giving up much as I grilled him about the H word. Kid kept saying, “the Op will consult with you soon”.

The only thing my strong interrogation of Dr Kid was able to extract was that my pressure number was 23. Oh, and one other minor detail—there’s no cure for ocular hypertension. Yikes!!!

Another squirt attack and Dr Kid got my left eye dilated, and banished me to the waiting area. And there I sat for a half hour, pondering all the gloom and doom stuff which would soon beset me.

One worry–blind photographers aren’t in high demand. Also, could Nunzi learn to become a guide dog? Doubt it. And how could I tell if my hair looked especially goofy in the morning? No way. And tons more, as you could well imagine.

Afterwards I was led to the official ophthalmologist lair to contemplate my fate. Soon a cheery op bounced in, introduced herself, and I introduced her to a barrage of rapid fire and logically questionable questions.

She was amused by all the far-fetched scenarios and odd possibilities I was coming up with. She held up her hand to slow me down, complimented me for my creative imagination and said I had a, let’s say, unusual perspective she hadn’t come across in her many years of doctoring.

She stopped my mouth from muttering by saying “I have good news for you”. Hah, you’re not getting away with that trick. Good news now, usually means the bad bulletins are just around the corner.

I learned that when I had cancer.

I hit the big O with my 23 hypertension number, and remember there’s no cure! Deny that doc! That’s a fact! She calmly said, “23 technically puts one in the hyper zone because the 12-22 range is considered normal. But it’s not something you need to worry about. It’s basically just the vitreous gel in your eyes aging.”

She said the occasional vision blur in my left eye was just a shadow from a particle that detached at the back of my eye. Something like a common floater. It’ll just come and go and your brain will eventually get used to it and ignore it.

“There’s nothing to worry about today. Your eyes are healthy. They’re fine. It’s good news! Go out and enjoy this lovely day.”

My jaw dropped, my eyes brightened. I was so so very relieved, elated and ecstatic and pranced out of there to enjoy this lovely day.

Yipeeeeeeeeeee, Blind As A Bat Day is canceled! I was floating on air.

The happiness even triggered a faraway happy childhood memory I hadn’t thunk up in years—being a euphoric Bronx boy at the baseball cathedral known as Yankee Stadium—on Bat Day for Christ’s sake! Wow! Getting a free baseball bat, hanging with several goofy fun friends, seeing my beloved Yankees.

Laughing with my extra beloved dad. What a great dad he was! What a great day we had!

What a great day this here average day is. I can see! I can freaking see all kinds of stuff!!!

Coming up to my car, “midnight burgundy” color shining in the sun, looking great. (Truth be told I never really liked that dumb color but got a deal on the car) But right now I’m really digging that sorta redish brownish color and feeling loonyly lucky I have an average car that gets me places. No complaints! 

Arriving at my mundane home, I realize how fortunate I am to have a roof over my head. It ain’t the palatial estate my younger imagination would sometimes imagine but it’s damn fine enough and I feel gratitude to the nth degree to have it.

Upon opening the door of my non-palatial estate, I’m smacked with oodles of elation by my dog who leaps into my waiting arms. I marvel at the sight of Nunzi’s deep amber eyes–look at that great color I can see!

As slobbery smooches engulfed my smiling face, I realized this dumb dog’s brilliant! He’s got it right! He’s elated every day, and especially every time we’re reunited.

He realizes the average routine stuff is wonderful. You just have to look at it, and sniff it, a certain way.

I asked Nunzi if he wanted to go to our stupendously beatific beach?? (Tahiti is probably over-rated). He leaped for more joy and ran to grab his leash.

I asked if he felt like digging hole #484?  Arf, arf, woof and woof. Uh, I tell him I meant to really ask, if he wants to sculpt a fine Wolf-Dog den? It’s good to practice and be prepared cause you never know when a fine girl Wolf-Dog might come along. Arawrooo!

So off we did dash to the sea, and as you can see in the video, we even timed it so we caught the sunset. Such luck. Such fortune. A wonderful average sunset. A sight to behold. Dig doggy dig.

We, and yous guys, can always view the same-old same-old life as super duper special, whenever we want.

Just takes a little twist of perspective, a dash of gratitude, and a wink of the eye. It’s easy if you try.

Dumb Diggin Contest

So me and Nunzi were just strolling along the shore yesterday, minding our own business, when we spied this kid merrily playing and digging in the sand. Nunzi couldn’t resist making a new friend, and he pranced over, laid down beside him and dropped his ball in front of him.

So me and Nunzi were just strolling along the shore yesterday, minding our own business, when we spied this kid merrily playing and digging in the sand. Nunzi couldn’t resist making a new friend, and he pranced over, laid down beside him and dropped his ball in front of him.

Hoping to get a toss or two. The boy complied, and after a few fetches, I told this fine youngster that this dog was a pretty decent digger of sand as well. The boy scoffed and said he could dig way way better than any dumb dog. I looked at Nunz. He looked at me. I swear I could hear the mutt mutter a snicker, and I do believe I spied a smirk.

I told the kid that he should show off his excavating skills, and this doggie would do the same, and then whoever had the biggest hole after two minutes would be declared the digging champion.

Yeah, I can get quite silly when I’m around little kids. Or dogs. But if you put them together, well I can reach new heights of silly–as you can see and hear in this video. Although it was obvious what the outcome would be after 18 seconds of blurry paws churning, the lad bravely gave it his best, and a fun and very goofy time was had by all. Dig it?

What’s Up With My Dog’s Flipping Feet Thing?

I gave my dog the nickname of Nutty Nunzi for good reason. His behavior and personality traits can lean towards being eccentric or goofy or just, kindly put, odd. Mostly they are quirky in a funny and positive way. Like him being just an overly outgoing and friendly dog to the extreme who wants everybody he lays eyes on to be his immediate best friend.

But sometimes his nutty behavior is just kind of baffling. In that baffling category is what I’m calling “flipping feet”. When Nunzi gets very comfortable and content, and snuggles with a stuffy, he kinda goes into a super relaxed and meditative trance, and he starts flipping and flicking and flexing his front paws. Sometimes those paws will even get going when he’s fast asleep.

So here’s a video of him yesterday going into his comfy trance with the help of his pal Big Bad Bunny. Since I never had a canine do this flipping feet thing, I’m wondering if other canines do this too or if it’s just another oddity in a long line of Nutty Nunzi’s odd traits? What do you think? Curious muddled minds need to know.

Close Panel