Posts Tagged ‘dog’

California woes.

Anyone know why California is sinking financially?

Well, it can’t be helped by this sort of thing.  Dog is airlifted out of park when it can’t complete hike.

Oh for ****’s sake.


Ok, on Fark… yes, it’s recycling their news… but… oh just read it.  I’m still sitting here, blinking.

Quadriplegic skydiver’s paralysis likely led to fatal free-fall

I say again:

Oh for ****’s sake.


More idiocy on the way, but first a funsy one!

Boing Boing!  Batman!

No, I haven't verified that the math works - too damn much work.


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I grew up with two German Shepherds.  Not at the same time, no, but serially.

To quote Stoaty in part:  German Shepherds are TEH AWESOME.  Stoaty does the best “TEH AWESOME” I have ever seen in print.  It just feels right when she does it.

The first one was Rex.  He was a good dog but suffered from an ailment that led to his rather young death.  I was pretty young so he and I hadn’t really bonded.

Then there was Nemo.  I’m not sure whether my dad actually caught the diametrically opposed names or whether he just liked Jules Verne.  Perhaps both.  He’s a quiet guy who doesn’t speak much but thinks a lot.  Very at peace with himself.

Nemo was a cute pup who grew into a big dog.  He ran about 125 lbs and more when he did silly things (which we will get into in some detail later on).  All my pictures are in transit, being shipped from Oregon and currently being stored, so I can’t show you his picture.  What I can show you is a very close likeness.  Close enough that if you’d shown me and said “Oh, so and so snapped a pic of Nemo, see?” I probably would have believed it was him.

Now, isn’t that a fine example of a large furry canine?  He was strong, very easygoing, and God have mercy on the soul of the person that tried to hurt the family.

A short side story about this dog… (I actually have three or four good ones about this dog)

I had been injured in a plywood mill, which is a story unto itself, and because of multiple compound fractures ended up with a full-arm cast and a lot of spare time until going back to college.  I would get up, take my pain meds, and sit around waving at butterflies and being bored when they turned into fluffy pink bunnies (Dilaudid is amazing stuff).

So one fine day, around 8:30 am or so, I got up and took my meds and said “Nemo!  We need to go on walkabout!  You up for it?”

Nemo was up for putting garbage bags over our heads and standing in the middle of the freeway as long as we did it together.  So off we went.  Five miles later I took a rest hundreds and hundreds of feet above the valley floor and looked down and out across the valley, watching vehicles go up and down I-5.  I sat there in the hot sun and watched hawks flying around us looking for fat rodents to eat.  It was a beautiful day that I will always remember as clearly as if I was there.  Nemo, well, he was happy to sit next to me and was actually leaning on me a little bit.  He knew I was injured so he was pretty gentle.  I looked down at my watch and realized that we had been up on the hill for six or seven hours.

“Nemo!  We gotta get home!”  And so off we went.  I had dry-swallowed another pill a while before that and wasn’t due until after we got back so I was good to go.  It took us a while to get back down the hill because I couldn’t take the jarring but we got down there.

We walked around dad’s shop and my parents were standing there looking very worried about how long we’d been gone and whether I was OK.  Then my folks saw Nemo and that he wasn’t doing so well.  They immediately hosed him off and he stood in his water bucket because he was bone-dry parched and way too hot for a dog.  I had been a bad master to my good friend and not realized it because I was drugged up and smarting from the hike.  Here’s the take-home lesson though – that dog never whined once, stuck with me like a second skin, and wanted nothing so much as to be together – I never forgot how loyal he was from that moment on.

Ok, back-story and personality profile complete, let’s move on.

One day a few years prior to that it was another hot summer day and he and I had been slumming around outside so Nemo hadn’t eaten much – like I said, we hung out together.  We went back up to the house and I was doing some important things like watching flies and drinking a pop.

I went looking for him and where do you think he was?  He was in the outside pantry – someone (ahem) forgot to close the door.  I heard this slurp-slurp-slurp sound and saw from behind that he was going to town on something.  This could be nothing good, but what was it, exactly?

As it turned out he had peeled off the lid of a Folger’s coffee can that had previously been completely full of drained-off bacon fat.  He had managed to eat about half of the can’s contents.

As anyone who has ever had a dog knows, you can’t make the beasts un-eat something.  Dogs are really nothing more than a big fluffy alimentary canal that barks and wags a tail.

I windmilled my arms in a useless blocking motion and yelled “Geez Nemo!  Get out of there!  GO ON!  Shoo!”

He gurgled as he went by.

That alone would be enough to make one say that this particular canine should not be allowed in the house for a while.  Possibly as long as three weeks, just to be sure.

A little while later I heard loud crunching noises from near where we kept the animal food.  The fool animal was standing there, eating directly out of the bag of cat food.  It had been a full bag and was now down to about 2/3 of a bag.

Again with the arm-waving and shooing motions I got him to leave off.  “Go on, Nemo.  Get out of there.  That’s not your food, go eat the food in your bowl, ok?”

He sloshed as he went by.

I went to tell my mother what he’d done.  There was nothing to actually do about it but it was my duty to report his infractions.  Best pals he and I were, but you didn’t cross The Warden.

I walked out onto the deck and saw him gulping water out of his water bucket.  He kept gulping.  He kept slurping.  He kept lapping.  Time passed, clocks wound down, paint dried, whole colonies of rodents lived, reproduced, aged, and died, and still he kept drinking.  A substantial amount of water was transferred from the tub to the dog.   A shocking amount, really.

I didn’t really clue into it, but I was watching a train wreck unfold.

He bubbled and percolated as he went by.

I went inside the house to scrounge up something to eat and found something suitable for a teenage boy – roughly a half-gallon of 2% milk and Ritz crackers, which was and still is my favorite snack.

Note: There is nothing as tasty as ice-cold milk and a salty-buttery-rich Ritz cracker except perhaps a Hershey’s kiss and a bite of a granny smith apple.  We will now return you to the regularly scheduled story…

My hearing has always been bad but I was terrible about wearing my hearing aids even then, as I’ve grown accustomed to and like my silent earth.  In spite of the ever-present quietness that surrounds me around the corner I could hear a strange noise.  It was a very peculiar bass sound with little hitches in it.  I said to myself, “What a peculiar bass sound with little hitches in it.”

I came around the corner into the breezeway and saw the dog lying on his side looking for all the world like he was pregnant with twin hippos.  His belly which normally was quite flat and trim because he was an active health-conscious dog (usually) was now swollen and bulging alarmingly above the level of the rest of his body.  It was grotesque, is what it was.

Therein lied the train wreck.  Who knew that a pound or so of bacon grease, several pounds of cat food, and copious amounts of water would swell up so gosh-darned much?

Groooooaaaaaaannnnnn.   Ewwwwwrrrrrrooooowwwww.  Groaaaaaaaaaan.  Errrrrrrrrrroooooh.

He kept repeating those “I’m dying, please finish me off” noises for at least two more hours.  Obviously I can only loosely interpret his dog-speak but I will say that he was probably saying:

Hey, you love me, right?  I mean, really really love me, right?  If you do… if you have even a shred of decency in you, even the *tiniest bit*, you will grab something – an axe, a pipe, even a big branch – and beat me to death with it.  Whatever you choose to use, just do it quickly.  I beg of you. Please, Master, I beg you…

I didn’t do any of those things but I did love that critter, and in spite of not really being worthy of his devotion, he still loved me.

Without exception everyone in the family came out every so often to say softly to him “You big dummy.”

This became a regular expression from then on, where he would eat something particularly vile (but to him probably the tasty kind of vile) and then he would pay the consequences for it.

In this case, the consequences to that big furry alimentary canal with a tail were that he couldn’t come into the house for a few days.  Details beyond that I cannot say, because we respected his privacy.

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In lieu of a dog, I now have a cable internet connection and a wireless link that doesn’t stink like cat poo.

My Twisted Midget Porn website is going to be up and running before you can say “OhmygawdcanyoureallyDOthat??”

I must feed first.  I made some ridiculously hot Pad Krapow a few nights ago and it is in the fridge calling out to me.  Lots of beef, onions, peppers, chilies, basil, and yes… lots and lots of the meat that is not a meatNo, not that kind.

I tell Girlhead that the Serengeti is populated by huge ginormous herds of boneless pale block-shaped and rather tasteless hoofed beasts called (what else?) Tofudebeests.

They must be prepared by frying till golden and then marinating in soy, rice wine vinegar, palm sugar, and sesame oil – and only then will they be fit to consume.

It’s not all quite as good as a dog, but it’s a start.


I’m so conflicted here… is this supposed to make me want to eat meat or not?  I mean, are we talking spoiled meat, metaphorical meat, “meat” meat, or some subtle layering of meaning that I’m not grasping?  I’m not a fan of Pam Anderson, but what if it were Salma?  What would I want then?

Screw it.  PETA is a bunch of broken people.  (credit for first sighting of the next two images with mine own eyes goes to Amusing Bunni – Thank you, Bunni, wherever you got them from…)

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So, they speak kindly of the dog but… did he get a Scooby Snack?

Wasn’t the dog’s fault.  It was the kid’s fault for having a shell chambered and no safety on.  Read the article.  Nowhere did the reporter catch the important part, that is, WHY did the shotgun go off?  He was real good about capturing dad and son’s warm fuzzy feelings about the dog but not the facts – the kid is lucky he still has a head – but that’s not important.

Oregon Man Shot by Dog During Hunting Trip

Sunday , November 23, 2008

Henry Marcum has nothing but kind words for the dog that shot his 23-year-old son this weekend.

Marcum says his son, Matthew, was standing in Tillamook Bay at the start of duck-hunting trip when his dog jumped into the boat, setting off a 12-gauge shotgun.

The blast blew a hole in the aluminum boat before hitting Marcum, who is recovering from injuries to his legs and buttocks at Portland’s Legacy Emanuel Hospital.

Henry Marcum says he’s not angry with the dog, and neither is his son.

The elder Marcum says the Labrador named Drake is a good dog and the shooting is “just one of those things.”


This makes my day.  No, it makes my year and perhaps my decade.

Scalding him in boiling oil seems appropriate.


Like I’ve said to so many other beggars… Just where do you think the money is coming from, anyway, Ohio?


Oh.  That’s different.

Bob Westfall, who was in Breckenridge on Saturday as an observer for Norm Coleman, said he had concerns when members of his team learned a ballot counter had worked for Franken.
“I don’t understand how you can switch from being partisan one day to being neutral today,” Westfall said.

Vertin, who’s an election judge in Wilkin County, said she volunteered to help with the recount because she wanted to be part of the historic process.


Vertin, who lives in Breckenridge and has a cabin in Otter Tail County, said she was able to set her politics aside to help with the recount.

“I feel I can be completely unbiased,” Vertin said. “Everyone in this room is partisan to some degree.”


Secretary of State Mark Ritchie said he was not familiar with what occurred in Wilkin County, but he has confidence in the county election officials.

“It’s not my job to second-guess county election officials,” Ritchie said Saturday.

To the sec of state Ritchie… if it’s not your job to oversee allegations of possible impropriety (such as this massive conflict of interest) then what IS your job?

Anybody in an important position either knows what “conflict of interest” means – or if they don’t, they oughtn’t be there in the first place.


This didn’t strike them as odd the first time it happened?

Boy, 12, Dies From Excessive Deodorant Use

A coroner in Britain has determined that a 12-year-old boy died after using too much spray deodorant in a confined space, according to a report from abc.net.au.

Daniel Hurley collapsed in a January after spraying on Lynx deodorant in the bathroom of his Derbyshire home.

An inquest was told last week that a “volatile” agent in the deodorant upset the boy’s heart rhythm.

He was hospitalized after the incident and died five days later from a cardiac arrhythmia, also known as abnormal heart rhythms, according to the report.

The boy’s father, Robert Hurley, told the inquest that Daniel was fit and healthy. He also took pride in his appearance, using hair gels and deodorants, which he often sprayed all over his clothes.

The coroner said it was combination of the deodorant and the fact that it was sprayed in a confined space that caused the adverse effect on the boy’s heart.

His death followed an incident several weeks earlier when he had collapsed in the bathroom but quickly recovered, according to the report.

You just can’t make this stuff up.  Just the term “naturist hardliners”… priceless.

Report: French Nightclubs Burned Down in War Between Nudists, Swingers

One of Europe’s most famous nudist colonies has become the subject of an unusual investigation by French detectives after the destruction of three nightclubs in fires blamed on naturist “hardliners.”
The normally peaceful Cap d’Agde, a magnet for nudists in the south of France, has been plunged into anxiety as investigators suspect “fundamentalist” nudists of harboring a grudge against the échangistes, or swingers, who are drawn to the town by the promise of sex.

A so-called boîte échangiste — or wife-swapping club — called Glamour, where couples engage in group sex, was the first to be destroyed in April. The next day, the Palme Ré, another orgy venue, also went up in flames. In September, the Tantra club and Zen, its neighboring bar, were leveled in blazes.

No one was hurt but the fires have shocked a community whose crime rate has been dominated until now by cases of exhibitionism.

Tensions have risen between the naturists, who believe that nudity is a healthy choice of lifestyle and nothing to do with sex, and the échangistes, who are attracted to nudist camps by the prospect of multiple partners.

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UPDATE:  PETA would probably see the cosmic joke in this post over at Brea Canyon Monument, a very enjoyable spot to browse if you like the world with a tilt.


I doubt “freakshowcasings” is really a word but it sounds to my ears enough like “sausage casings” that I’m willing to use it if it has any chance of pissing off a PETA member.  Freakshow, good word.  Showcase, good word.  So how can freakshowcasings be bad if it feels good and pisses PETA off?

I’m not going to let anyone go around abusing animals, because I think there’s very few things lower than a person who does that (perhaps syphilitic rats are lower, but even they are treatable).   This doesn’t mean that I’m gonna let some pasty-white anemic looking fruitcake tell me what I can and cannot eat.  Militant vegans just get under my skin.

I suggest y’all go and run right out to your local (insert_burger_joint_name_here) and order a triple-decker, double-cheese, extra mayo hamburger, sans vegetable of any kind.  And follow it up with jello made with real gelatin from animal parts.  Add an egg if they got ’em.  God meant us to eat animals.  We know that because they’re made out of meat.

Animal rights group turns its fire on celebrity meat-eaters

By Rachel Shields
Sunday, 29 June 2008

Animal rights protesters have launched a series of angry campaigns against A-list carnivores. They are shifting their focus from celebrities who wear fur to others who encourage the “exploitation” of animals by eating them. In its latest campaign, Peta – People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, which became infamous for dousing fur-wearers in red paint – has launched an attack on the singer Jessica Simpson.

Ms Simpson was singled out for ridicule after she was spotted wearing a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Real Girls Eat Meat”, believed to be a light-hearted dig at her boyfriend Tony Romo’s vegetarian ex-girlfriend, Carrie Underwood.

Alistair Currie, a spokesman for Peta, said: “Jessica Simpson might have a right to wear what she wants, but she doesn’t have a right to eat what she wants – eating meat is about suffering and death. Some people feel like they are standing up against a tide of political correctness when they make a statement like this – what she is really doing is standing up for the status quo.”

The animal rights group doctored a photo of Ms Simpson to read “Only Stupid Girls Eat Meat”, and listed “five reasons only stupid girls eat meat”.

In May the group condemned the British actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers for admitting that he had tried dog meat while in China.

The Peta attacks are seen as a sign of the radicalisation of some vegetarian groups. They claim eating meat causes environmental destruction, damages human health and contributes to global hunger, as well as inflicting suffering on billions of animals. (more…)


While I’m being offensive, this is a good time to give a plug to a bumper sticker company – with stickers like this, they deserve more traffic  (get it?  traffic?  Heh heh heh… oh I kill me…):



This came from Blue Crab Boulevard. Word to the wise for those in socialist countries or ones that are becoming so… invite every last damn kid in your class to your birthday party unless you want to be sued.

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