‘Questions’ is a misleading title, when really I have only one:
How many channels are there on Japanese television?
Because it seems as though there is an entire show devoted to balancing things your pet would like to eat on your actual pet.
Pay special attention to the droolings of the first puppy - poor pup:
Via CuteOverload
Sphere: Related ContentI was talking to my new/old friend, Meredith, about blog traffic because we are both a bit sad. And also because blogging is the new route through academia.
Meredith’s doing some interesting work about women, pregnancy, celebrity and technology, which can be explored here and via her blog. She was talking about writing for audience - using your stats to see what your audience wants to read about (what they search terms they use to find your blog/which entries are most popular), and throwing a couple posts their way to drive up readership.
It’s a fair point… except that most people link to my blog through some permutation of three terms: “dog” “licking” and “vagina”. Today we also have “public grooming” and “douche telecom” amongst the group, but the general trend stands.
While I’m totally down for people reading about Juniper, the only entry to which those search terms can possibly lead, what the hell? My utility in the blogosphere seems to revolve around one entry I wrote over a year ago about the opera and my dog’s newly-spayed vag. Somehow I don’t think the sixteen people that went to that entry yesterday were expecting it to begin with:
Dowdy mom-types and aging lesbians flocked to the opera tonight.
Yet my bounce rate is down, which means that some of my dog vag visitors are sticking around to read up on such important topics as hilarious advice from my mother in 2005 and Washington State’s anti-gay marriage ruling.
Thanks for reading, new people. As for your dog - it may be a UTI.
Sphere: Related ContentOkay, I have a tendency to procrastinate, often featuring very bad excuses (’but it was a really cute puppy on Daily Puppy!).
But I can’t write my paper right now because, and I swear to god I am not making this up, there is a large circle of religious, Spanish-speaking hippies singing and dancing on my roundabout. They have a large cross, a jembe and a tambourine.
WTF?
Update: Jeremy doesn’t care about the hippies - he just wants to look at puppies. Ask, and ye shall receive.
Sphere: Related ContentI love dogs. I would venture to say that I love dogs more than most. I ogle people’s dogs as they walk down the street. I would gladly hang out in dog parks, leering and talking to them like an old man you avoid in a playground. So, I really like dogs a lot. As you read, please remember this.
Sometime last year, my roommate and I were coming home at about 2am. We saw a dog on its own heading down the street. Thinking it might be our neighbor Linda’s dog Bruno, we rang her doorbell despite the late hour. The family, as it turns out, was already up, aware of the fact that the dog was missing. We helpfully pointed them to his trail and they recovered him a short time later.
In retrospect, I kind of wish we hadn’t done that. I hate my neighbor’s dog.
Linda leaves Bruno, a junkyard-looking, German Shepherd, outside most of the time. He uses this time constructively by barking at every single man, woman, child, car, cat, twig and leaf that crosses his path. This is ridiculous because they have a privacy fence, so Bruno is usually making a wild guess at the nature of his enemy. Yet on he goes, woof-roo-roo-rooing at all hours of the day and night.
Bruno especially likes to bark, it seems, when I would like to take a nap. For instance, today. Around noon, I decided that I could afford to take an hour nap after a late night out last night. There is no barking. Within minutes of my closing my eyes, the woof-roo-roo-roo starts. It’s no so much that he barks, but that he barks with the exact same bark every time. Woof-roo-roo-roo. Woof-roo-roo-roo. Eventually, I just sit there timing the pauses between the barks and thinking of things I could throw into the yard.
Did I mention there are now three dogs? Earlier this year, Linda had a dog named Cici, a young, extremely cute female dog. Much to Linda’s shock (and nearly my mother’s, but that’s a whole different story that I’ll write about tomorrow), Cici delivered five squirming little puppies into the world. Unsurprisingly, they look much like Bruno. Linda, at the urging of her grandsons that conveniently don’t live at the house, kept two of the puppies - Napo and Oso. After they were weaned, she got rid of Cici and put the two pups in the back yard with Bruno. They now bark constantly, just like their father.
These are seriously the worst creatures I could ever imagine. My building has a car park in the back, a glorified driveway, but I like to think it keeps the crackheads from breaking into my car. In an average week, I probably come and go from my car maybe about 20 times, and yet to Napo and Oso, it is always the first and most offensive time. Despite the fact that I know their names and speak nicely to them, they stand on Linda’s deck and call me ‘harlot’ and any other mean things a young dog can think to say. Literally every time. Sometimes Napo, the nicer of the two, looks like he might just let me go on my way, but then his bossy brother comes up on the porch and the rioting begins.
This is such a long post because I’m a little afraid to admit the following item: A number of months ago, someone sent a card into PostSecret that said something like, “I have already purchased the poison for my neighbor’s dog.” And while I would never and could never do anything to these vile animals (made this way by their owner’s neglect and encouragement), that doesn’t prevent me from speculative wondering about whether Linda’s neighbor on the other side might have written it. Or fantasizing about someone opening the gate one night. Or wanting to time them so I can call the cops using Chicago’s new dog barking ordinance.
Instead, I will remember that I only have to live next to these creatures for about 20 more days. I will remember that their mother trained them to act in this manner. And I will remember to check the yard next door before I move into my new place. Dogs, I love, but sometimes their owners make them unloveable.
Sphere: Related ContentSo my digital camera is out of batteries, but I did manage to find out that Juniper is definitely a Vizsla - a Hungarian hunting dog. She might be mixed with something else, but as soon as we saw the pictures we knew.
With that in mind, I present this picture of a dog that isn’t my dog, but may as well be.
She looks and sleeps exactly like this. Adorable.
Sphere: Related Content[Ed note - I've had to recreate this post because I get spam on it everyday. I have no idea why.]
It’s been a while since I’ve updated, and I’m feeling a bit lame today - so this may not be the most amazing and witty of entries. First things first, though - there is a pool hall by my office that is called G Cue. I think that’s unbelievably lame. Also, I’m starting to notice that all the people that cut me off or are otherwise driving like crazy people all have temporary plates. Like to the person. There must be something about the thrill of a new car (or just new license plates) that makes them giddy to the point of almost taking off my fenders. Those are my major complaints for today.
Ran into not one, but three ex-boyfriends (in some cases that’s a strong word and could be substituted more or less with ’short-term leases’) at the Intonation Music Festival this weekend. Three! Including the most recent, who found himself kicked to the curb just days before.
I’m hopefully getting a doggie - his name will be Split:
So cute. Alternate name: Boobs.
Sphere: Related Content