Yesterday was National Dog Day or some such, but I posted too early to realize it, so I’ll compensate with some canine humor today, starting with a bit of truth from The Other Coast (Creators).
Indestructible dog toys are largely an issue of trial and error. I’ve seen dogs eviscerate a toy, yank out the squeaker and permanently silence it in less time than it took to type this sentence.
I like the fact that Adrian Raeside has the fellow test the toy with a very small dog, because size has nothing to do with it. I’ve seen my stepdaughter’s 100-pound Bouvier love and cherish a fragile toy for months, while my tiny Farmdog can, and will, skin and carve a tennis ball into pieces faster than you can get it from her.
There are indestructible dog toys, but they’re generally expensive, particularly compared to sticks, which are both favored and free.
Monty (AMS) plays with the familiar theme of dogs who hate letter carriers, which isn’t entirely fictional, since quite a few dogs have an instinct to protect the property against intruders.
From the carrier’s point of view, having 200 friendly dogs on a route can be negated by one or two hostile ones, but, then again, if you know who’s who you can prepare accordingly, including delivering to the curb rather than the house.
As for that shoulder bag, my previous dog, a ridgeback, adored the letter carrier, even though I have a PO box and never had mail delivery to the house. Didn’t matter: He wanted to intercept Paul on the sidewalk and get a cookie.
Which was okay until he learned to spot random letter carriers, as well as FedEx and UPS drivers, anywhere.
We normally walked with a slack leash, but I had to stay alert, because he’d all but jerk my arm out of its socket to reach a source of doggie cookies.
For territorial dogs, it’s likely that the letter carrier coming so often sets up a rivalry, and Bliss (Tribune) demonstrates a variant on that.
Squirrels are traditional fair game, which would be more horrifying if they weren’t so good at escaping. Porkies are a different matter because they’ll only do so much to avoid a confrontation and, while most dogs learn from being skunked, there seem to be a lot of dogs who, after losing to a porcupine, want a rematch. And another. And yet another.
Neither a tribute to their intelligence nor to their ability to learn.
As for cats, Cathy Wilcox passes along this bit of bilingual trivia, which never occurred to me but, once absorbed, is now inescapable.
The best part is that it is as true in Paris as in Maputo and Port-au-Prince.
My only quibble is that I think it should be treated as direct address: “Cat: I farted.”
Which I’m sure the cat wouldn’t need to be told, though I’m equally sure it wouldn’t find the announcement as fascinating as the dog would.
Still on the topic of intelligent humor that requires a certain knowledge of the world, kudos to Betty (AMS) for daring to drop a punchline that requires some rudimentary familiarity with fishing.
Constant Readers will know how I enjoy Betty’s combination of thoughtful wisdom and blue-collar common sense: Not everyone who knows about the playwright knows about the fishing rods, but everyone who knows about the fishing rods has heard of the playwright.
Edison Lee (KFS) doesn’t impress me with his complaining, given that he is (A) an only child and (B) lives in the city.
Not to mention the fact that school clothes and regular clothes are indistinguishable these days.
Dagnabbit, you should have been one of seven kids living in the country back in the Good Old Days.
“Back to School” began with hauling boxes out of the attic to see what hand-me-downs now fit younger brothers and sisters and were still in good enough shape to count as “school clothes.”
Then we drove an hour into the city, where Dad would take the boys one direction while Mom took the girls another and then we all met up later for the hour drive back home.
We usually managed to jam either a movie or a meal into the mix, but “Back to School” was still an all-day extravaganza that nobody looked forward to.
Though, granted, this was back in the days when a box of crayons, a ruler, a few pencils and a blank notebook were all the school supplies required.
Juxtaposition of the Day
Yesterday marked my first day back behind the wheel since I had a hip replaced, which means I’ve not only had a month to contemplate the activity but one in which the trips I took were with a driver I could complain aloud to.
Of course, the arrogant, inconsiderate slobs like Barney have drawn the most immediate condemnation, but I also find myself impatient with the “Student Driver-Like” ones, not who act as it they’ve never done it before but, rather, as if they believe all that stuff you learn in Drivers Ed, like sitting at a green light until the car in front of you is at least five or ten car-lengths ahead or until the light turns red, both of which happen at about the same time.
Mind you, one of the things I miss about no longer living near Montreal is driving on the Decarie at 75 mph, six feet apart, knowing that if one person sneezes, all the good manners in the world won’t save us.
On the topic of bad manners, Rhymes with Orange (KFS) brought back a long-buried memory of an office mate who hung her college diploma up over her desk, which prompted me to dig out my diploma and hang it up over my desk.
This having taken place before I was old enough to just shake my head and go on with life. Today, I wouldn’t even know where to look for my diploma and kind of doubt I still have it.
Live your life, rather, so that your heirs may put up a stone like the memorial to Christopher Wren, in St. Paul’s Cathedral, which he designed:
‘Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you.’