Dogs 372-378

Dog waits patiently
Ball eternally unthrown
Will you be the one?

I don't know if I'm getting any better at poetry.


I know you're not tall enough to be able to open it up and look inside for treats, but pretending it's not there doesn't mean the compost bin goes away, dude.


There's a school of thought that says magic can't be real, because otherwise we'd've done something awesome with it by now (portal to paradise dimension, creation of candy mountain, etc). But I wonder if the truth is that it's real, but all it's actually good for is occasionally bringing your shadow to life and having it take your naps for you, like some kind of Sleep Battery. Maybe that's why there are some motherfuckers who always seem to get more done in their day.


When it comes right down to it, the holidays are just a little bit rough on everyone. But when it gets to the point where you need a really stiff eggnog to just sit down by yourself and kind of stare off into the middle distance where nobody will bother you, you should probably consider doing something else entirely for that time of the year.

What I'm about to show you next is a before/after series for people who are considering entering the exciting world of software development.

BEFORE:



AFTER:


The choice, as always, is yours.


Every time I run into one of these "don't even need a leash" dogs, I wonder whether they feel superior to other, lesser dogs who need a piece of rope to know where they're supposed to be at all times. Does it even cross their minds?

Dogs 366-371

Something I used to wonder about is why people even do this in the first place, tie their dog to a parking meter while they go inside a store or whatever; don't they worry about someone stealing their dog? I think I know why: sometimes, you can just tell that dude's tail isn't going to wag for you unless you're the guy that tied him up in the first place, and nobody, not even a would-be dog thief, wants to be exposed to such a wrist-slitting apocalypse of sadness.


There's a certain type of individual you will inevitably run across who listens very carefully to every conversation taking place around them, just waiting for the correct moment to open their mouth and begin saying their opinions. This correct moment never comes. Because it doesn't exist. But you will never be able to tell them that.


I know you have theories and ideas you want to share with me. I know this. But I am on a personal mission to try to convince the rest of America that we're not all hippies and Grateful-Dead-remembering acid casualties who think shampoo represents oppression here. You are not helping.


Do we understand, as a people, why short-haired breeds just won't ever be completely awesome? When I think about a dog, I picture a couple of shaggy dudes like this who I can run up to and ruffle, some real fuzzy guys who I'll never have to put a sweater on. You know what I'm saying?


Maybe this is just me, but that's not really a look I want to be waiting to greet me when I get done with whatever errand I was just running. I could be the only one, though. Who knows.


Buddy, we're trying to eat here; nobody wants to see your Cloverfield monster impression while there's food we want to keep down, OK?