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Roomie walked in the door a few hours ago to tell me about one of those marvelous juxtapositions that keep life interesting:
A large, burly, quintessential redneck of a man sharing his battered pickup truck and his Toby Keith mullet with a yippy, puffy, teensy Pomeranian. Sublime.
I had a Pomeranian when I was young. Her name was Daisy, and she was more hair than dog. Daisy always looked like she'd gone a round with the dryer on the Tumble Dry setting. She was three pounds of hair on eight ounces of dog. She reminded me of a windblown fox. She was, for the record, an absolute love bug, too.
I always tell myself that when I've finally bought my house, I'll buy a dog, and I always consider pugs and pomeranians, though poms are a longshot because of the hair. I could shave one, I guess, but then it'd look like a ferret or stoat or one of those horrifying shit weasels from Dreamcatcher. Seriously, if you don't shave a pom and kiss it, you'll look like you've gone muff diving on a carnival cotton candy machine.
I've thought about English Bulldogs, too, and Great Danes, but bulldogs have problems with their anal glands, and I don't want to be irrigating my best friend's butt glands; I have a weak stomach. Danes are love, but they're so big, and I don't want to find myself entered unawares into the one-gimp Tallahassee Iditarod because Scooby spotted Heathcliff three fences over. So, I should probably stick to the smaller breeds, ones that can't pull my chair. Maybe a sharpei. Not much hair, so I'll never be subjected to the olfactory horror of the dreaded Butt Matt.
I've still got time to think about it. I'm not in a house, and I'll need to save for the dog in the first place. Puppies are cute, but not cheap. I overhead a pet store jockey quoting the price on a bulldog and almost fainted.
Speaking of fluffy animals, Sheldonbun is hopping towards the finish line. We made excellent progress yesterday, and if I can find my misplaced discipline, he might be done soon.
The Haldirbun grows in the lettuce patch, but I need to settle on a starting point. I also need to dig up a map of Middle Earth so that I don't drop Lothlorien five minutes from the Grey Havens.
A large, burly, quintessential redneck of a man sharing his battered pickup truck and his Toby Keith mullet with a yippy, puffy, teensy Pomeranian. Sublime.
I had a Pomeranian when I was young. Her name was Daisy, and she was more hair than dog. Daisy always looked like she'd gone a round with the dryer on the Tumble Dry setting. She was three pounds of hair on eight ounces of dog. She reminded me of a windblown fox. She was, for the record, an absolute love bug, too.
I always tell myself that when I've finally bought my house, I'll buy a dog, and I always consider pugs and pomeranians, though poms are a longshot because of the hair. I could shave one, I guess, but then it'd look like a ferret or stoat or one of those horrifying shit weasels from Dreamcatcher. Seriously, if you don't shave a pom and kiss it, you'll look like you've gone muff diving on a carnival cotton candy machine.
I've thought about English Bulldogs, too, and Great Danes, but bulldogs have problems with their anal glands, and I don't want to be irrigating my best friend's butt glands; I have a weak stomach. Danes are love, but they're so big, and I don't want to find myself entered unawares into the one-gimp Tallahassee Iditarod because Scooby spotted Heathcliff three fences over. So, I should probably stick to the smaller breeds, ones that can't pull my chair. Maybe a sharpei. Not much hair, so I'll never be subjected to the olfactory horror of the dreaded Butt Matt.
I've still got time to think about it. I'm not in a house, and I'll need to save for the dog in the first place. Puppies are cute, but not cheap. I overhead a pet store jockey quoting the price on a bulldog and almost fainted.
Speaking of fluffy animals, Sheldonbun is hopping towards the finish line. We made excellent progress yesterday, and if I can find my misplaced discipline, he might be done soon.
The Haldirbun grows in the lettuce patch, but I need to settle on a starting point. I also need to dig up a map of Middle Earth so that I don't drop Lothlorien five minutes from the Grey Havens.
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