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SATURDAY March 27 , 2004 - Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Valley&State Backpage O&E Sports Archives Classifieds Faith&Beliefs Obituaries Revels March 6, 2004 Pugh's Muse Lance Pugh Thumbing the dog's nose Some weeks ago I awoke from a languid dream, arching an eyelid in the direction of the alarm clock. Satisfied that all was right, I closed my eyes with every hope of resettling in the Land of Melatonin, where sleep rules and our body clocks are reset for sweet dreams 'till dawn. This would very quickly change. In society, rituals are the glue that bonds family, community and country. Every weekday morning at 5, my clock radio broadcasts the audio theme of National Public Radio, a catchy tune that inspires and has great effect ... on my dog, Spooky. This Lab/Cocker interprets the NPR audio as a call of the wild, and begins several minutes of baying, head upright and eyes alight. My wife and I join his pleading to the pack until the music fades and the commentator begins the recitation of the news. I pride myself as somewhat of a Digital Renaissance Man ... having a working knowledge of many technologies, though not to a Titanic level of deep understanding in any particular field. Thus it is armed with my peripatetic background and flossed powers of observations that I offer the following insight into some mighty strange occurrences that have been regular fare at Chez Pugh as of late. Bags of dog treats, kibbles and other canine comestibles have been arriving on our porch at a furious pace over the last couple of days; comfort foods, eclectic nibbles, canine nosh enough to feed a pack famished hounds. My wife thought that I had ordered the lot, so she stockpiled the pantry with a hoard of rainy day doggy treats. As I noticed the larder leaning towards the Lab I gathered the invoices and observed a common theme � all had been ordered around 5 a.m., during weekdays and through the Internet and were aimed towards my house with all the precision that FedEx and UPS could muster. Not a grain, bite or crunch missed my pooch porch. I began to search through my programs: Voice Recognition, Video Conferencing, Audio Editing, Automatic Bill Paying, Digital Signatures ... all sequestered behind the latest security feature for a home office: Fingerprint recognition to restrict access to my system, all designed to keep the nosy at bay. As I retired that night I decided to let my subconscious piece together a scenario that would explain dog food purchases made through my secure system and charged to me. I cocked my head and looked hard at Spooky, who immediately feigned a flea attack. I laughed at the idea of Spooky mousing through the Net in search of dog biscuits and turned off the light, there to open up to any new details that dreams might provide. It was a typical night's sleep. Deep until around 2 a.m., there to rise towards consciousness, only to stop at periscope depth where I was denied the benefits of either alertness or insight. I churned beneath the sheets, flopping ferociously from side to side, wrestling with conundrums, struggling to untie Gordian knots with my teeth, straining to remember the future. I buoyed to the surface, landing on my feet in front of the bathroom mirror, there to be astounded by the sight of what appeared to be the results of a biology experiment gone awry ... hair parted in 10 directions, eyebrows trying to flee the scene of a crime and one ear looking suspiciously like it wanted to fly. Convinced that I was in over my head I stumbled back to bed just as the NPR music sounded and the howling began, though being secretly recorded as I had planned before turning in the night before. Within 3 minutes I was again deep in slumber, waking again as the news cycled for the second time. This awakening, though, was full of insight as to the problem of the delivery of doggie treats. I had an idea and arose full of determination. I grabbed the concealed digital recorder and went upstairs to my computer to test my hypothesis. I played back the howling and watched as a series of events began slowly, then more rapidly, to unfold. Within a minute the deed was repeated and more kibbles were ordered and paid for by me, or at least that was how it appeared. The chain of events were as follows: The howling entered my system as wavelets of warble, there to be translated into written commands by my Voice Recognition software. Though the letters bypassed the keyboard they commanded the browser to visit puppychow.com and place an order on my account. It appears that my co-baying acted as confirmation and authorization for the transaction. Very smart software, but how was my system activated to receive all these commands without my thumbprint? That's part of the riddle that has escaped me to this day. I often sit pensively in my reading chair digesting the evening paper while part of my mind slaps this problem around as my trusty dog, Spooky, licks my hand and noses my thumb, his reminder that it's time for him to eat. My fingerprint on his nose ... I just may never figure this thing out. Lance was last seen giving a thumb's up as the FedEx truck squealed around the corner, having failed to deliver a barrel of bisquets. He may be shaken awake by e-mailing: [email protected]. 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