A Decade of Accomplishment

There is a small billboard near our home which reads "A life is measured by experiences" or something new-agey like that. The funny thing is that the slogan is an ad for Miller Genuine Draft Beer. I'm pretty sure that most MGD drinkers would rather if their lives weren't measured by their MGD experiences. I think that B and J would vouch for that.

I have reached a point where it is time for me to lay back and ponder my life. You see, I just turned 10 years old. It will be 10 years in January when J went to the Nampa, Idaho Animal Shelter and rescued me. I prefer to look at it more as if I rescued myself as I quickly sized up J as a good person as far as people go. With this assessment in mind I made eye contact with her and watched her pace the kennels which showed her that I am smart because she read somewhere that dogs who track well visually are usually smart or something like that. Anyhow due mainly to my intelligence and eye contact (and not barking like the other poor dogs in the shelter) I started my journey...

So here I am 10 years later. What have I accomplished? You see I am a working dog so accomplishment is important. I can show you something I haven't accomplished:

This chubby little squirrel has the nuts to walk around on my fence!!! If only he knew what I am capable of. You see in my life of accomplishment one of the things I am proudest of is that I am something of a hunter. This may seem morbid to some of you out there in blogland but it is who I am. I am a killer...

I have decided to dedicate my next few entries to some of the highlights of the last 10 years.

Christmas Classics from YouTube

This is the time of year that the Great Oppressors dread going to the grocery store for a number of reasons. Of course, I'd be happy to go to the grocery store for them but they have thus far ignored my entreaties to do so. Yet more proof that life is brutally unfair. Apparently, the grocery store near our house plays Christmas songs at a louder volume than their usual, non-holiday musical selections. Add this to the prerecorded sound of a thunderstorm that goes off before they mist water on the produce, a parking lot that is now a complete free-for-all with the recent heavy snow, and the creepy female Hal-esque voice on the self-checkout aisle (Would you like any coupons? Thank you for shopping at KING SOOPER'S!!!) and you have a recipe for stress. I haven't heard much Christmas music since there is a house gag rule on it, but it seems to me like Christmas music is not a genre that should be played incessantly on loudspeakers while the Great Oppressors desperately try to escape the store with their sanity intact. Not that it's all bad. I think my Great Oppressors would be much happier if they played the following song as they shopped. Here's a classic song of yuletide cheer from Run DMC to drive that version of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree out of your head.

Snow Day

So, the Great Oppressors and I are hunkered down here in lovely Denver, where a fun-filled state of emergency was declared due to the gigormous snowstorm that pummeled Colorado. J managed to get out early yesterday morning to grab the requisite supplies of food, movies, several episodes of Big Love, and booze. B did a nice job clearing our walk with only an avalanche shovel. We could use a real snowshovel for Festivus. At first, I thought that B and J might stage a reenactment of the Shining (that's odd... The blood usually gets off at the second floor...) but now they seem to be enjoying being cooped up in the house together lounging around guilt-free. As you can see by the following sets of pictures, there is a lot of snow here (somewhere around two feet).

Our back yard.


J's car in the front of the house.







B with his long black molester coat shoveling the front walk. I'm doing my best impression of a government supervisor.









J took me for a walk in the street.
















The neighborhood Christmas decorations have seen better days. Not to be an alarmist, but I do have to point out the unfortunate resemblance to a meeting of a certain Southern fraternal organization.




Here I am, relaxing at my rightful place on the couch. All is well here. It's a Festivus miracle!

Blahgging

I'll admit that my heart just hasn't been in it lately. Blogging used to give me such pleasure, and now I'll admit to having a creative slump. I've been thinking about something to write about for days, but haven't been able to bang anything out. Perhaps it is because J has been hogging the computer again. But this is just an excuse... I need to get back on the blogging horse. So, I thought I would start off with some easy targets. Here are some pictures of dog clothes that I found.

You know, so many things come to mind. I'll just, um, yeah...





Yar!!!! Ahoy all ye pirates! In case ye are allergic to parrots ye can carry around a wee dog in a Louis Vuitton bag! Yar!!!
















And for a trick, this dog's Great Oppressor makes him pick up trash on the side of the highway.











The caption for this outfit reads "Bubble Gum scented and glows in the dark! Available in girls only. Care: Machine wash gentle in cool water and tumble dry on low heat. Your pets' body heat will re-energize the scent to enjoy for quite some time." I can think of worse things than smelling like bubble gum and then subsequently recharging the foul stench of bubble gum when I exert myself. Or at least I will think of worse things. Just let me think about this for a while. I'll get back to you.



On the bright side, I suppose that humans do sometimes like to dress up like us as well. What goes around comes around!

Shocking

So, I was perusing Petfinder to find heeler mixes willing to join my revolution and discovered indications of an unsettling juxtaposition of good and evil. Prepare to be shocked, nay, terrified by the following picture. According to Petfinder, "Mary" is supposedly an Australian Cattle Dog/Blue Heeler mix. Size - medium. Age - baby.


Now, I don't know what find of place this "Animal Adoption Center" in Jackson, Wyoming is, but I fear it is run by halfwits. Does someone honestly believe that "Mary" here is an Australian Cattle Dog or was this an honest mistake? I say it matters not! Either way, this is an abomination!!! I am calling the Australian Cattle Dog Anti-Defamation League immediately.

Now, I tried to find out more about "Mary," but the good folks at the "Animal Adoption Center" only left the following note...'Notes: For more info on this pet, as well as who we are and our adoption process, please go to our website animaladoptioncenter.org We welcome out-of-area adopters, but please be aware we do require prospective adopters to come to our facility and meet the animal in person, as well as foster for a minimum of one night in the area.'

Oh, it all sounds SO innocent doesn't it? I'm not ruling out some kind of conspiracy here. Maybe "Mary" is the real brains behind the outfit here, hoping to snag some unsuspecting Great Oppressors looking to adopt a heeler. Do prospective owners show up at the "shelter" only to find this gray cat with a handwritten note attached to its collar, scrawled out in barely legible kitty-scratches "I AM AN AUSSTRAYLIAN CAT TELL DAWG. PLEAZ TAYK MEE HOME!!!" Does this creature honestly expect to fool people? What it is plotting? Ladies and gentlement, a true Petfinder mystery. Solve it... IF YOU DARE!

The Story of Sid

Hey there. Sorry I've been out of touch for a week now but I've been trying to figure out how to upload photos from Great Oppressor J's phone. I mean, it's hard to figure out the buttons on the phone without opposable thumbs. But I've puzzled out this uploading thing and now I can FINALLY post these pictures of a love interest of mine from this summer. I'm thinking of including these shots with my manuscript of erotic dog stories that I hope to see published soon. Good erotica is hard to write, and I really think that erotic dog stories have a lot of potential as a market. I mean, have YOU ever been able to find high-quality dog erotica at your local bookstore? Didn't think so. Anyway, I think these pictures really capture the heat of the moment. Meet Freddy.

Here is Freddy as he attempts to woo me.

Oh yes... YES!!!!! YES!!!! No one has ever made me feel like this!!!

Anyone got a cigarette?

Thanks! Giving!

Apparently, I have been selected as Dogmark's Site of the Day. A great honor... I am humbled beyond measure. This also means that I am in the running for Cool Dog Site of the Month. If you would like to vote for me (the polls for the November site open in December), head to Dogmark and cast that vote.

Since today is the cruelest holiday of the year, Thanksgiving, I thought I would celebrate with some poetry to showcase my way with words. Thanksgiving is the cruelest holiday because of the copious amounts of glorious foodstuffs that should trickle down to me yet never seem to materialize in the house of these Great Oppressors. I bet Cathy, my granddogma, would give me some food if she were here. The above picture is from a recent October snowstorm. J took me to the park. I thought it looked poetic enough to accompany my meditation on Thanksgiving.

Thanks! Giving!
by Sid the Dog

My kibble gives me life,
but the Oppressors know it's dry,
and for their need to feed me it
I trust they all will fry.

Thanksgiving time is here,
and with it lots of food,
and if the humans eat it all
I will just have to brood.

It's patently unfair, you know,
to keep me from the bird.
They bag MY poop and scratch MY head
yet have the final word.

They'd best give thanks for what I do
and send some scraps my way,
or I swear that I will hatch a plot
to have them sent away.

Happy Thanksgiving to all you dogs!

Miracle

At certain times, we must look for miracles. We may see a miracle in the everyday things, like a liver treat handed to us by the hands of the Great Oppressors who have access to such things while we dogs are powerless. We may see a miracle in the eyes of a child. Or we may see miracles in our own kind. We may see a miracle written on the backsides of the unwilling instruments of God. This is such a miracle. Go to Angus if ye must be saved.

Enjoy Every Sandwich

So, Great Oppressor B's younger brother T, pictured here (a shiny penny to the astute reader who can name the celebrity whose head has been grafted onto T's), is visiting our fair city of Denver for a conference and I am so happy with the situation right now. I mean, J and B have both sucked so badly lately and my life has been so boring. T and I go way back, almost 10 years and here he is appearing just in time to save me from this ennui. I haven't seen him in almost two years and here he is with a wonderful, warm lap. T is the one who taught me to heel and that the words "get busy" mean that I should relieve myself. It is so nice to have him here, anything to distract me from J's grad school stress and B's job stress keeping them from paying attention to the most important thing out there, ME!!!

So for a moment all is well in my world...

Landscaping with Glaciers and Rain

One of my favorite places to go hiking in Oregon is by the White River in Oregon. It is a short drive from Government Camp where I sometimes live in the summer and has beautiful scenery, lots of chipmunks, and early in the summer there is lots of snow for me to roll in. Apparently things have changed at the White River lately...

...You see the White River starts as a glacier high on Mt Hood and apparently during the massive rainstorms that swept the great Northwest something gave way up there. The first picture is of the parking lot where B would park and take me on hikes, the second is of the bridge on Highway 35 that is right next to the turnout for the parking lot. I'm pretty stunned looking at the changes. Hopefully the chipmunks survived so I can chase them next summer... ...I think that now would be a good time for the USA to sign the Kyoto Protocols.

NOT FOR DOGS

This post is about the three words I hate the most. NOT FOR DOGS. This is a phrase B and J use when I want something that they don't want to give to me. They learned it years ago from the Oppressor of a Corgie-Dachshund mix named Mister Turtle who was pretty much the coolest dog ever (I wish you could have met him Wally).

Anyhow, the idea is that the phrase denies me from the tasty morsel without me feeling like I'm being punished. What a crock. B and J ordered a pizza for dinner which smelled really good. The last time I was around pizza was with a friend of J's who gave me A LOT of it. So naturally I assumed that tonight's dinner would be a repeat. No such luck. I was greeted with "NOT FOR DOGS SIDNEY." Those jerks.

I put the picture of Wiener Schnitzel up because I have no doubt that if the prince of foods ever graces B and J's table I'll hear those three terrible words.

Blue State Heeler

It's late... Two-thirty Denver time. J has just slunk off to bed at last. The computer is mine. And even though I am exhausted myself, I just had to post this.

Sanctimonious slimeball Rick Santorum is..... Well... How do I put this? GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
GONE AT LAST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Phew. That felt good. I usually hate exclamation points, but for once that little period capped with the straight line just seems to do my mood justice. Now, like a bad penny, the cat from Pet Sematary, or ( ahem, for you Dan Savage fans out there) a piece o' santorum, I'm sure Rick Santorum will turn up again. But let's enjoy it for now, shall we?

I've Got It Good

Hey all,
Sorry it's been so long since I rapped at you guys, but the Grad School Miasma of Suckitude continues to hang over our house like a cloud of Bush-era coal plant emissions (invisible, yet deadly like a greenhouse gas) and J continues to hog the computer. Ugh. It's not like she's writing a screenplay or something. At least that would pay off in some serious cha-ching instead of languishing in some academic journal. I'm seriously thinking about buying my own crappy Dell or something. It probably wouldn't last more than a month but at least I would get to express myself again. Then maybe I'll write a Hollywood screenplay and get myself out of here. After all, my life is definitely filled with film-worthy moments. Observe...






I think I will entitle my film "Why? Because I Can!"

Another Quiet Halloween at Home

Great Oppressor J has another paper due tomorrow, so in lieu of answering the door at Halloween this year she decided to cut out the middle man and let them all have at the candy before they even hit the door.

You might actually be able to read it if you click on the picture.

In the true spirit of Halloween, here is a picture of me with the scariest multi-headed furry bobble-head kitty EVER.

I've seen that Pet Sematary movie, and this thing is way scarier.

Hell Hound

Okay, is it just me or does this dog look she's been Photoshopped to meet some predetermined standards of beauty? Her eyes are suspiciously large and she looks distressingly similar to a Disney ingenue. I surprised they didn't give her breasts. What kind of message does this project to our puppies? Does it say that all bitches should desire to be sexual objects? Does this tell them that all bitches are meant to be pretty and vacant, good only for their looks? What about female dogs dressed like doctors or lawyers? Or what about a good old-fashioned witch or demon costume? Why do the children of the Great Oppressors get to run around dressed up like demons while those of us dogs who want to dress up like hellhounds and things that go bump in the night are subjected to these sorts of humiliations? If I were to partake in some sort of Halloween ritual, the following costumes fall more in line with my worldview. Bitches, I say we all demand a costume that defies stereotyped gendered roles. Observe...

Master of Nothing

I apologize for my lack of posts lately, but SOMEBODY has been HOGGING THE COMPUTER because of her stupid master's thesis proposal and B is in AUSTRIA so I am not getting ANYTHING DONE. Master? HA!!! Master of nothing! We certainly know who the real master around here is. C'est moi. I've said it once and I'll say it again, graduate students are boring boring boring boring boring boring boring and they HOG THE COMPUTER!!! Seriously unfair. Why does my social life have to suffer just for the sake of yet another pointless brick in the edifice of public relations theory or gaseous emissions theory or chocolate chip cookie theory or whatever pointless thing the Great Oppressors choose to study? How about liver treat theory or the theory of keeping your dog intellectually engaged with something other than the couch or the spot of sunlight on the rug? I can't wait until B gets home.

Back Off Man, I'm a Scientist

The esteemed winners of last year's Ig Nobel prize...

I like to think of myself as a scientist. Sure, my research budget may be limited, but my experiments in how old a particular item in the trash needs to be before it is no longer fit for consumption have resulted in some valuable data. Three-day old chicken carcass? Edible without reprecussions such as gastrointestinal distress. Five-day old rice and beans? Not so much.

Sadly, my own experiments have come to an end since B and J have made efforts to seal up the trash once they realized that my scientific nature and passion for intellectual, yet tasty discovery made it impossible for me to resist. However, the Great Oppressors of the world sometimes come up with some fascinating scientific discoveries and I have found some comfort in this year's Ig Nobel Prize award winners.The Ig Nobels are awarded each year for scientific discoveries that "first make people laugh, then make people think." According to the official Ig Nobel site, the winner of the 2006 Ig Nobel Peace Prize is "Howard Stapleton of Merthyr Tydfil, Wales, for inventing an electromechanical teenager repellant -- a device that makes annoying noise designed to be audible to teenagers but not to adults; and for later using that same technology to make telephone ringtones that are audible to teenagers but not to their teachers." This product is known as "the Mosquito," and according to the official website, is beloved by policemen in the U.K who are stumped by the hordes of antisocial youth who are ripping at the delicate social fabric by loitering. Huzzah for the Brits!

Evil Clowns

So, it hasn't been a great weekend. As a result, I feel like taking myself too seriously today. My young male playmate down the street even tried to hump me this morning, something he's never done before, and I can't help but think of it as a sign that the world is going downhill. I'm beginning to expect that my blogging experiment may have run its course. After all, surely there are better outlets for my creativity? Something more respectable, like the visual arts... For instance, I have always wanted to go back to school and try my hand at painting again. Here is a clown painting I made in my youth.



It's not much to look at, I know. But come on, I'm a dog. At least I can sign my name. It's decidedly non-edgy, which might be what you'd expect from an animal who gets regular walks, affection, a spot on the couch, the occasional table scrap, good access to medical care, and enough free time to do extravagant things like blogging about myself. There's not much ambiguity here. Non-threatening clowns? Cool. It's hard to get worked up about clown paintings in gilt frames any way you slice it. Cute. Great. Good dog, Sid. Nice painting.

But I'm not really feeling like the clowns in my painting are really representative of my inner feelings right now. Besides, the eyes are completely out of proportion. My mood being what it is right now, I feel somewhere in between Pennywise the Clown from Stephen King's "It...."








...and the evil clown doll who attacks Robbie in "Poltergeist."




I'm going to get abstract and pensive here since I don't feel like being witty today. I feel like being serious and dark and arty. Mysterious. J once made a point of turning in piece after piece of "evil clown art" after her junior high school art teacher informed the class that "all art should be beautiful." J's ouevre included a devil clown sculpture, a devil clown mosaic, and numerous drawings of clowns with sharp teeth. Junior high was not a particularly good time for J (from what I can gather, it isn't a particularly fun time for most young teens), but releasing the evil clowns and putting them down where everyone could see them felt good even if she got the impression that nobody knew quite what to say.

Personally, I am feeling like I could use a good piece of evil clown art today. Something with horns and teeth. Not to get all philosophical or anything, but I think we all need to acknowledge that we all have the capacity to be evil clowns in whatever we do. We all need to acknowledge our evil clown and ask ourselves how we choose to deal with it. Do we let the evil clown do whatever it likes? Do we file down the teeth? Do we keep ourselves and our evil clown locked in the basement, out of sight? Perhaps we chain the clown up like the Gimp in Pulp Fiction and bring him out for parties and special events when we need a little evil clown to keep us sharp. But upon reflection, I do not think that the clown can be eliminated from our lives or sent on a predetermined path like a wind-up doll. He sits there in the corner of the room with his pointy yellow teeth and eyes until he rises up and pushes us from behind into a wall. This lets us know that he is still there with us. Our inner evil clown.

Shameless Self-Promotion

You like me! You really, really like me! Opy the Original Gruffpuppy has just informed me that I have been nominated for Awesome Blog of the Month over at the Bone Zone. A shout out to those who nominated me for this great honor. I haven't had much luck with campaigning before, as my attempts to become the new spokesdog for Old Navy (scroll down to the bottom of May's archive and read up to get the full scoop on my failed efforts) were met with indifference from the panel of celebrity judges. To which I say, damn you Betty White and Kristen Chenoweth!!! Anyway, I'm not bitter about my past losses. I'm moving on... I've got more political lives than Bill Clinton! And to even be nominated for such an honor is, well, an honor. So thanks! And don't forget to go to the polls and vote for Sid!

House Party

So, I noticed that my last several entries have been text heavy and short on me. And I like me. So here are some pictures of me from my August trip to Montana that I meant to post but never did. I hope you enjoy me.
I'll start with a picture from May 2004 to give the following pictures some context. This is me with Great Oppressor J in front of our old house in Bozeman. I meant to graft Angelina Jolie's head on to where Great Oppressor J's head is supposed to be, but I'm feeling lazy today. Anyway, it's hard to get a really good sense of the house's lines, but as you can see, it's a house with a nice yard.

During our visit to Montana in August of this year, B and J thought it would be nice to drive by and see the old homestead for one last time. Here is the gaping hole that was once my glorious yard. We found the house across the street....






...over here, all packed up and ready to go. I guess our little house, which is actually a log cabin under the siding, just decided it couldn't take all of the yuppies moving to Bozeman and decided to set off for where it might be appreciated. Good luck, little house!

A Breed Apart

I just returned from a trip to Idaho. It was a good trip overall. I visited J's family, my alma mater, and hung out in Boise which I always enjoy. The downside was two 13 hour car rides across Wyoming. I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't like I-80 in Wyoming even if it was paved in bacon instead of concrete and asphalt.

I spent most of the trip home thinking about the many breeds that compose old Canis Familiaris and the strange ways the Homo Sapiens relate to them. My opinion is that the best breed out there is no breed at all. This isn't meant as a slight to my purebred friends out there in cyberspace. This is more of a general comment about those sorts of Great Oppressors who go beyond basic affection for a particular breed and insist on the superiority of one type of dog over the other, effectively reducing the rest of us dogs to some sort of inferior class. I'm proud of my mostly Austrailian heritage, but I don't like how some Homo Sapiens fetishize dog breeds. For example, B and J were walking with me in Boise on Saturday and a guy came up to J and wanted to know what breed I am. He was quite insistent, and while I was flattered, I got the distinct impression that he wanted to find out so that he could procure a dog just like me. In fact, he seemed a bit disappointed when J informed him that I was a shelter dog. This has happened to me before and to be honest, it was a little creepy.

I spent most of the rest of the trip dreaming up names for nonexistent breeds for the next time this happens to me. That way when some creepy person asks B or J what breed I am they can say "Oh she's an Austrian Schnitzel Hound" and when that person starts looking for an Austrian Schnitzel Hound hopefully they will see the folly of their ways or at least feel silly.

So here are some fake breeds that I might be:
*Iraqi Marsh Hound
*Tierra Del Fuegan Penguin Retriever
*Arabian Water Spaniel
*Canadian Touque Retriever
*Indochina Curry Hound
*Lindbergh Terrier
*Mexican Staring Dog

So, my dog friends... help me out with some more fake dog breeds.

Song of Simon

So, my friend Simonhas submitted his draft of the very first dog-authored Gospel of the Bacon Bridge. For those who didn't catch it in the comments section of a prevous post, I reproduce it here in its entirety, although Simon mentioned this was a first draft so I don't know if he meant to add on later...

The Gospel of Simon
by Simon, the Deaf, Half-Blind Beagle with Acid Reflux

"If you shall smell a butt, so let your butt be smelled.
Hound, heeler, lab or mutt, we are all but one; Dog.
Bark, if thy bark, but bark bark only through bark's bark.
In dog's name we bark. Word be to bark."

Sheer poetry! The Gospel of Simon speaks the truth. I have some gospel verse of my own, and I fully encourage any dog out there to contribute their own gospel. I think Simon is on to something here.

Gospel of Sid
by Sid the Dog

"Whosoever passes into the Land of Bacon will smell the glory.
The righteous dog, and we are all righteous by virtue of our kind,
Shall be rewarded with a multitude of bacon strips, fish heads, and soft serve.
Ask not what the Bacon Bridge can do for you, for it does everything.
Buttdraggin, biscuits, bones, ceaseless balls thrown strictly for our pleasure.
I heart the Bacon Bridge."

Oh, I was also thinking that we need a human to sort of explain things to the humans when they arrive at the Bacon Bridge, since this probably won't be what they're expecting. I nominate Sir Francis Bacon, philosopher and popularizer of inductive reasoning.




Sir Francis Bacon

Bad Day

So, whilst walking with J this morning, I was viciously attacked by a wasp. This made the walk home a little painful and slow, and has put me in a bit of a foul mood. The attack was completely unprovoked, and senseless acts of violence tend to make me extremely irritable, particularly when they are committed against me. Anyway, so then I spent the morning on the couch, feeling a little better at this point, and then J came back from her morning stint as a teaching assistant a little irritated with herself for not exactly hitting a home run with her morning lecture. Then J had to call a former employer of hers to interview him for a project, and she got really irritated with herself upon completing the interview because she really hates doing that sort of thing over the phone and felt like it didn't go very well. I mention this only because I could sense the tension and irritability, and that tends to upset me because I am one sensitive bitch. It's also a little gray and muggy today.

But, despite being a dog, I hate whining. Call whine-one-one, it's the waahmbulance! I believe in taking action in the face of ennui. So, I thought about what would make me feel better. After some deep reflection, I decided that posting this picture of myself would help exorcise the demons.



Who says you have to go to heaven to find God?

Thank God for Bacon

So, I've been thinking that all of the big religions have music to go along with their respective theologies. Contemporary Islam has devotional music called nasheed, and more traditional Muslims usually accept a cappella singing as halal (permissible) although the use of instruments is a subject of some debate. In addition to its well-known throat singing and chanting, Buddhism is associated with pieces of music known as honkyoku, which are part of a musical tradition surrounding enlightenment and alms dating back to the 13th century. Christianity has chorale music, Gregorian chants, "Stairway to Heaven," and "I've Got that Joy, Joy, Joy, Down in My Heart." (the passwords for the previous link are "1" and "1"). Clearly, music is an essential part of the religious experience.

The Rainbow Bridge does not have a song to go with it, although I'm sure that it's only a matter of time before someone turns the original composition into verse, breaks out their synthesizer, and turns the ethnocentric vision of the pet afterlife into a wretched MP3 that will make the rounds on the Internet. I don't think that our dog-centered theology needs to create a song just yet, but I'm going to get the jump on the Rainbow Bridge proponents by suggesting that we adopt the following bacon-themed tune as our theme song for the Bacon Bridge. Of course, howling and such will be the primary form of our musical tradition, but I think this particular song will fit in nicely in terms of our recruitment efforts since bacon for everyone is one of the primary tenets of the Bacon Bridge. Thoughts?

Appreciation

I need to take a moment to do something a little unusual. I'm going to actually show my appreciation for my Great Oppressors B and J. I had a moment in the park with B today which made me realize how good I've got it. There we were walking along and this cute boxer looking dog walks up with his bland looking young urban G.O.'s. The boxer wasn't really my style but we took a moment to sniff and as we are sniffing B said something like "he is a little cutie." Instead of saying thanks or complimenting me one of them says to B "he's neurotic is what he is." Then they walked away. WTF????? This is when I had my little epiphany that B and J are okay. When someone compliments me as people often do B and J say "thanks" or "your dog is really nice too." They NEVER, EVER say things like "yeah but you should smell her farts" or "she got in the trash last night." It was a little like the moment in the movie Singles where Matt Dillon says "Bless you" in the elevator when Bridget Fonda sneezes. That was my epiphany.

And then completely out of the blue they brought me this.



That's right, a canine ice cream sandwich. Ahhhhh.

I Heart the Government

This post comes from a nameless contact within the confines of a nameless state government. The following is an actual internal memo. I post it here to serve as a reminder that we dogs could certainly teach these Great Oppressors a thing or two.

"Hi Everyone -

Some concerns were raised that the new carpet in 112 was made partially of animal fur based on some box labeling. For those of you asking the question in our meeting the other day – I’m sorry I didn’t follow up on this right after our meeting. W---- got this information for me. I knew it but forgot it. Fortunately - this is a misunderstanding based on jumping to conclusions.

The good news is that the boxes of carpet tiles were labeled with the name of the carpet model and color - not the materials content.

The carpet model is 'house pet' and the color is hamster, however that is as close to animal as it gets. This product is made of polyester and nylon. And we chose the color because it matches spilled coffee, tea, and soda – not to mention field dirt - so well! Here is a link that takes you to the manufacturer’s site. If you have additional questions – let me know and I will check with PPAD – who graciously tracked down this product as a 'pollution prevention' approach to new carpeting."

Phew! I had heard of wool carpets, sweaters being knit out of the fur shed by beloved pets, and other forms of exploitive practices, but never anything like this. Needless to say, I was relieved to discover that no one out there is actually making carpet out of hamsters. I was also relieved to discover that in the world of human government, no subject is too laughable to be ruled out as a memo topic.

Saint Peter, Doggie Style

So, I was thinking about the question of sin. Do all dogs get to go to our dog-centered afterlife, or are some dogs genuinely bad dogs? I've been thinking about it, and think that there is probably a dog at the Bacon Bridge who weighs the earthly record of any dog who approaches. Think Saint Peter, only with buttsniffing, which as we know is the true measure of anyone's character. Now, I'd like to let everyone run free at the Bacon Bridge, but I just can't see letting in dogs who attack other dogs or people without provocation. However, I think any dog who is denied entrance due to general assholery gets sent back to Earth to try again if they fail to make it past the Buttsniffer. This combo afterlife/reincarnation thing will provide for the concept of sin but give everyone a chance for a "do-over." Thoughts?

Thanks for the Camera!

This is my new film, "Bitch Got the Blues," starring me, directed by me, and edited by me. Cinematography is by Great Oppressor B, music by J. As you can see, I am very musical. J is pretty bad on the harmonica, so I'm looking for a new accompanist. Perhaps I will sing my way to freedom! Hmmm... I think I need to rent an inpirational movie about a singer fighting the oppressive confines of modern society. I wonder if B and J will notice if I add "Sid and Nancy" to their Netflix queue?

Faith Heeler

Right on, my canine brothers and sisters! There have been some great comments re: our proposed dogeology, which will hopefully result in an alternative cosmology to the picture I've included in this post. I found this print advertised on a ferret rescue site. Note the preponderance of ferrets in this rendering. I don't know if that's tied to the fact that the authors chose to translate the ethnocentric Rainbow Bridge myth into verse, but I'm guessing it is. J dated a ferret owner once, and given her views on the subject of ferret owners I want to ask where the unkempt fellow wearing Birkenstocks and playing with rhythm sticks in the park is located. But I know that not all ferret owners fit this category so I will refrain. Anyway, are ferrets allowed? Personally, I'm a bit anti-ferret. Thoughts on ferrets, anyone?

Anyway, let's focus on the good things that have been suggested for our alternative to a heaven overrun with ferrets. Dare we dream of an afterlife designed exclusively for dogs? Swimming pools, white sandy beaches, bacon, soft serve, chewies, and the list goes on and on... Thanks for those suggestions and let's keep this ball rolling, I say! Now, we must not forget to ask the larger questions as we construct our faith. For instance, what is the nature of sin? Does it originate with the dog, or is sin the fault of the humans? Is there such a thing as a bad dog? Should transgressions against our own kind weigh larger than the ones committed upon goddam cats, hamsters, exotic reptiles, etc.? And again, is this exclusively a dog heaven or are other species included? Personally, I'm not so sure. As this Flash animation created by a human suggests, the Rainbow Bridge is also populated by cats, snuggly bunnies, and other cute animals. I notice that few humans seem to be suggesting that pet snakes will be found across the Rainbow Bridge. Thoughts on snakes?

Secular Dogma

Okay, this one has been burning a hole in my brain for some time now, but I'll admit that I shied away from bringing up this sensitive topic due to the potential firestorm that could be unleashed due to my remarks. I mean, it's not like there isn't enough tension swirling around religion these days. Still, I simply cannot remain silent on this one. My problem, dear readers, is with the Rainbow Bridge.


Now, I'm sure that most of you dogs out there have heard of the Rainbow Bridge, but for those of you who may have been shielded from this theological construct, here is the "poem" (several sites list it as being a poem, but it looks suspiciously like prose to me...) posted on not one, but a legion of sites contructed by humans that reference the Rainbow Bridge. Now, don't get me wrong, I think it is very touching that humans have dedicated sites to their animals. I simply think that there should be an alternative since this was obviously written by a human.
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Okay, so fundamentally I can understand this sentiment and I fully support the right of every American human and dog to persist in the belief that the Rainbow Bridge exists. After all, it's a wonderful thing that this country allows the free expression of faith. What bothers me is that this is the ONLY faith option for dogs that I could find on the Internet. I mean, you can't tell me that with all of the dogs out there we couldn't think of some sort of alternative. I mean, I'm all for hurt and maimed dogs becoming whole again, but does that mean I get my uterus back? Do the testicles of neutered dogs float back to them? And what of those dogs who do not have special people to wait for? Do they just have to wait around forever, or do they pass into oblivion? And what's up with the whole waiting around for our Great Oppressors? I mean, all those countless hours of waiting for them on Earth and here we are, back in eternity, WAITING FOR THEM AGAIN!!! If this isn't an ethnocentric view of the afterlife, I don't know what is.

Anyway, I would like to propose an alternative afterlife, created for and by dogs. I haven't quite hammered this out yet, but I'll be posting my fully formed theology, complete with rules, contradictory messages, etc. very shortly. All I can say is that it will contain all of the sorts of things that we dogs would truly seek in an afterlife. This will include copious amounts of the finest foodstuffs imaginable (fresh steaks, ice cream, roasted turkey, etc.), carcasses to roll in, unlimited buttdragging free of the judgmental eyes of the Great Oppressors, endless cat chasing (and this time, we'll get them), litter boxes containing only the finest cat poop, rodents to hunt, stuff to pee on, and no-strings attached buttsniffing. It's going to be great. Send those suggestions my way!

For the Love of the Game

I love games.






I have been tagged by Lulu, the most literary Amstaff lady in cyberspace. The rules of tag are as follows. The player of this game starts by listing “5 weird things/habits” about him/herself, then tags five friends and lists their names. Those who get “tagged” need to write on their blogs about their “5 weird “things/habits,” as well as state this rule clearly, then “tag” 5 more victims.

Note: Don’t forget to leave your victim a comment that says “you’re tagged!” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

MY FIVE WEIRDEST HABITS by Sid the Dog

1. Whenever my Great Oppressors have some sort of disagreement or one of them gets the smallest amount of tension in their voice, I must step in by coming up to one of them and putting my paw on one of their legs, licking them, and wagging my tail. This has earned me the name "Marriage Counselor." I'm thinking of going into business for myself. I prefer to think of myself as an opportunistic social parasite who is looking after her food source. Who will feed me if they break up?

2. I ask to be let in, but never to be let out, even in times of grave gastrointestinal distress. Great Oppressor J still hasn't quite forgiven me about the Persian rug, and B is still a bit perturbed about his workshop being decimated. They usually seem to know when to let me out, so I think it is their fault for not noticing me sitting silently by the front door at three in the morning.

3. I hate dogs in pickup trucks. Hate them. I am usually calm and collected, but if I am out walking with B or J and observe a pickup truck with a dog in it I have to be physically restrained. I find this somewhat ironic since my breed is probably one of the top breeds found in pickup trucks located in the Western U.S. Yet I just can't help myself...

4. Whenever B and J, um, fulfill their marital obligations, I simply have to be in the same room. I find a nice quiet spot out of the way while they, um, you know, read in bed... Yeah, read... That's it...

5. I eat corn on the cob. I eat other vegetables too, but I eat corn on the cob like a maniac.

And now, the most difficult part of the game for me since I'm pretty sure that most of the dogs I know out here have already been tagged. What if I tag someone who has already been tagged? I think people are my only option at this point. I looked for Corbin Bernsen's blog to see if I could tag him, and then I looked to see if I could leave comments for Al Franken. Then I realized that posting something like this on a famous person's blog could get a dog in trouble. So, my victims are...

1. Connie of the Red Basement
2. Kathy of the Red Basement
3. Selma and/or Miles (these guys need their own blog, but make guest comments from time to time)
4. Dr. Pennypacker @ the Home of Crap
5. The Echidna
So, I know that means that I'm cheating since Connie, Kathy, Selma, and Miles are all based out of the same space, but what's a girl to do? It's not easy being tagged at the end of a cycle of tagging. I do think Selma and Miles should start their own blog from whence to launch the Labrador Revolution, but that's just me...