Sunday 24 June 2012

A Good Natured Big Old Guy

I just received an email from my daughter who is in Phoenix with her family for the week. The weather is hot and sunny, the pool is cool and wet, the beer is cold and cheap and Hurricane and Tornado are having a ball. I am green with envy.

While they are away we are dog-sitting their bulldog Lola. Lola is a good natured big old gal with a slobbering problem and a bit of a weight issue. She loves sleeping and eating pretty much anything that she can sink her teeth into. It just occurred to me that except for the bulldog part, I just described myself. I had always thought I was a different kind of dog.
In my mind I could be “Lassie”, saving little Timmy whenever he falls in the well. What the hell was wrong with that kid? He either had the worst luck of anyone in the world or he was more than likely suicidal. If he was suicidal, I don’t imagine he would ever be thrilled to see Lassie. Yep, there he is, head first down the mine shaft and he hears barking. “That meddling bitch! Why can’t she chase her tail like other dogs? If they rescue me again, I am going to have her for a rug!” Poor Timmy!
I wouldn’t mind being one of those sheep dogs that can direct a herd of sheep all over a field to where ever they need to go. It’s pretty neat to watch, but I would imagine it would get pretty boring after a while. “The guy whistles I bark and run. He whistles again and I bark and run the other way. Different whistle and I lay down in the grass…” Yeah, screw that pink, frilly nonsense; let him chase his own sheep.

Buster has it pretty easy, maybe I should be a cute Lhasa-Apso/Maltese cross. I’d have people that feed me regular. I’d sleep pretty much all of the time. When I’m not sleeping, a guy would take me for a walk, pick up my shit and carry it around in his hand. I’d wonder what he does with it. Perhaps he has a collection, but I wouldn’t care. Really, the only down side would be that my nuts would have been cut off. Okay, it is a pretty big down side. Even if you don’t use them it is kind of nice to know that they are there just in case.
I’d hate to be one of those sissy dogs that have forgotten how to breed and need help. Here is a little video clip that is just wrong! I wouldn’t even know where to begin describing these nut-fuckers. Judge for yourselves.
I have always liked the Saint Bernard’s.  I doubt anyone messes with them. Only the Swiss and Italians would breed a dog large enough to carry around a keg of brandy. Best to have someone designated to carry the liquor when you’re pissed; that way, nothing gets spilled. They say that the St. Bernard’s were bred for alpine rescue. Between you and me, if I was near frozen, close to death and an animal weighing in at around 200-250 pounds was coming towards me, I wouldn’t be thinking I was getting rescued and drunk. I think I would die of a heart attack before I realized I was getting a rescue. Besides, what the hell are those dogs doing walking around the mountain trails in snowstorms for? I can barely get Buster to go out for a pee when it is cold.

I guess I will just stay a good natured big old guy with a slobbering problem and a bit of a weight issue that loves sleeping and eating pretty much anything that I can sink teeth into.

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