Sunday, May 22, 2005

Dogs 184-191

I'm not one to draw conclusions here, but I am basically 100% certain that this is the president of German shepherds. Looks ... looks like he doesn't have any orders at the moment, but maybe we should just hang out and wait in case he wants a bone or a bowl of water or something. It could happen.

The white one: "Can you feel the breeze, dude? There's a breeze if you just -- look, if you just lean like this, it's totally there, it's like being in a car or something. Can you feel it?"

The brown one: "I'm more interested in why my leash is so damn short at the moment. Do you have any ideas? Hey, look at me. Look this way. I'm talking to you, man."

Before you start hearing the Lassie theme whistling in your head, please note that this guy occupies a surface area equivalent to exactly one square of sidewalk at most. Not exactly Timmy-rescuing material, but he's so damn soft-looking I could care less. I didn't pet him, though, because I didn't want to disrupt his concentration. Maybe he was making sure the waiter got those really long-looking specials right.

This chief spent the entire time I was trying to take his picture coming up to everyone who passed by like they were his long-lost parents and he wanted to go home and see what they'd done with the old homestead. Was he just hungry for a burger or did he not have any idea who he'd even arrived there with? Dogs are awesome.

The Bandanna Brothers here just want everyone who visits this place to feel right at home, especially if every visitor's home contains two really happy dogs who want to play catch so bad they're practically giving off sparks.

I need to know who was in charge of the breeding line or whatever you want to call it that produced the fur pattern on this fella. Was there somebody a hundred years ago who laid down a plan to make a dog that would have two little white spots in exactly those places? Is he still around in spirit form, just following this dude around and cackling to himself contentedly under his vaporous ghost breath?

Who's the sleepiest-looking dog I've seen since I started this thing? Who? What's more, are you just a puppy or are you full-grown? What the hell are you going to be like in a year if it's the former? Should I build the temple in your honor now or later, is what I want to know.

I've got no words for this. I just don't. Sorry.

This guy is ready. He's ready for his game. He's got his ball and he's just waiting for his owner to come back outside and they are going to wreck some shit. He's got his ball, and he is prepared. Without that collar on, he is so streamlined, he's beyond motion. He makes a greased-up otter look like a manatee's fat, cough-syrup-addicted momma in steel-belted army boots. This right here is the truest thing that has ever been said anywhere on the internet. I know this.

Still wondering if anyone out there is a literary agent or happens to work in the publishing field. I've got an idea for you. Email's on the right.

See you next time, people.