Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Dogs 240-242

Another second or two and he's going to pull that entire trashcan over. It's all in the stance. He can definitely do it; this is just mental preparation we're seeing right now.

The bigger one: "I'm not saying we shouldn't have done it, okay, but messing around with that time machine disguised as a parking meter wasn't the best idea you ever had. Remember how this foot used to have at least a little color, like all my other ones? Now what."

The smaller one: "Just keep looking straight ahead, okay. I'm telling you no one will even notice. Just do what I'm doing."

What is with that expression. Either he has some ineffable wisdom he needs to communicate, or he sees something really delicious about two feet behind the exact center of your head.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Dogs 237-239

This guy kept pacing back and forth while the band played; I don't know what that was all about. It was almost like he wanted to get away from them. They weren't that bad, dude; I don't care if you're wearing velour pants or whatever that is your leg fur is doing.

Now that I think about it, why don't all dogs sit this way, all the time?

What kind of crazed, power-mad sorcerors own this little chief? I realize I'm making a big assumption here, but the dark arts are pretty much the only way I can think of to graft those legs onto that body without resorting to Disney imagineering or whatever.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Dogs 233-236

Had I been going into that store, I basically would not have been able to resist reaching down and patting the top of this guy's head. It looks like that was what his entire body was designed for.

I still don't think pugs are cute, but I'm beginning to understand their appeal: It's like having a little tan smashed-up Yoda living in your house or apartment, except without the levitation and lightsaber skills.

Put there because his owner thought he'd enjoy the partial shade, or to guard that baby jogger carriage? You decide.

Except if you decided the former, you are wrong as hell. Look at those eyes! Those are eyes that will instantly boil every molecule of water in your fat, graceless body within 2.3 milliseconds if you even think about making a suspicious move toward that carriage, buddy.

"What. What? I'm supposed to be here. I'm exactly where you left me, which is more than I can say for that last dude you were with, Chad or Trad or whatever his name was. Look, we're better off; he was taking up too much of my discretionary bacon budget anyway."

Monday, October 03, 2005

Dogs 229-232

"Bastard sun, scourge of my eyes! From the depths of my thrice-colored soul, I curse thee!"

I like how this guy manages to somehow look stately and dignified despite being about the size of a football and a soccer ball put together. Don't you want to rub his fuzzy little chest?

Dogs can't read.

(I know his owner must've been the one to put him there, but the juxtaposition was just too good to pass up)

With just his eyes and nothing else, this dude attempted to negotiate with me the purchase of an eighteen-foot-tall powered-armor robot battle suit, for purposes unspecified. He seemed unfazed that such a thing did not actually exist. Sometimes it's good that dachschunds don't get any bigger than they do.