I have a very special dog. She's pretty smart as dogs go, but she does have one or two little quirks that make me giggle. The following is one of those quirks.
My dog doesn't fart very often, or at least not that I know of. She doesn't fart very loudly, at least. When she does let out a loud fart, however, it causes a strange reaction from her. Every time she lets out a loud one, she looks back at her own rear and sniffs at it, but from the way she does it, I don't think it's because she's interested in the smell. The look on her face is more along the lines of "what the hell was that and why did it come out of my butt" than anything else.
In conclusion, my dog is confused by her own farts.
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Thursday, December 1, 2011
MY DOG IS BEAUTIFUL ISN'T SHE
So the other day I was hanging up Christmas lights on the gallery, which I would post pictures of but I don't really have any good ones so you'll just have to wait until I manage to get outside with my camera at night when you can actually see the lights and stuff, when Juno decided to come outside and hang out. Since I had my camera with me and I'm slightly obsessed with how adorable she is, I decided to take some pictures. Here she is in the alley that runs right in front of the building:
...Yeah, she likes to lie in the snow. She's kind of weird like that, but I guess she has enough fur that it doesn't matter all that much if she's lying in frozen water. What interests me, though, is what happened when I decided to take a close-up picture:
If it weren't for the bushes in the background here it would be almost impossible to tell that she's just lying in snow.
This has something to do with the way my camera adjusts to lighting and such. If there's a lot of light stuff in the lens, it makes the picture darker so you can see the details on the light stuff, but the dark stuff becomes, well, really dark. If there's a lot of dark stuff in the lens, it makes the picture lighter so you can see the dark stuff, but the light stuff becomes light. There's probably a fancy-sounding technical explanation for this somewhere, but the point is my dog is dark and snow is light, and the dog was the focus in these pictures so the camera made everything light.
Naturally, I came to the conclusion that I had to do something with these epic pictures. After all, it's like a natural green screen, except after a few minutes in photoshop I realized I didn't have the patience to do the green screen effect all that well, but WHATEVER here's my dog with a purple background:
But why stop it there? After all, I can put her anywhere now! Like in a jungle:
Or on the moon:
Even in heaven:
I have no idea where she is in this one, my dad just wanted a green background:
My mother suggested a church, so here's Juno in a church:
And finally, here she is in the North Pole. Santa's gone a little crazy, so be careful when you open your presents this year:
PS my dog also likes to be adorable while I'm eating:
...Yeah, she likes to lie in the snow. She's kind of weird like that, but I guess she has enough fur that it doesn't matter all that much if she's lying in frozen water. What interests me, though, is what happened when I decided to take a close-up picture:
If it weren't for the bushes in the background here it would be almost impossible to tell that she's just lying in snow.
This has something to do with the way my camera adjusts to lighting and such. If there's a lot of light stuff in the lens, it makes the picture darker so you can see the details on the light stuff, but the dark stuff becomes, well, really dark. If there's a lot of dark stuff in the lens, it makes the picture lighter so you can see the dark stuff, but the light stuff becomes light. There's probably a fancy-sounding technical explanation for this somewhere, but the point is my dog is dark and snow is light, and the dog was the focus in these pictures so the camera made everything light.
Naturally, I came to the conclusion that I had to do something with these epic pictures. After all, it's like a natural green screen, except after a few minutes in photoshop I realized I didn't have the patience to do the green screen effect all that well, but WHATEVER here's my dog with a purple background:
But why stop it there? After all, I can put her anywhere now! Like in a jungle:
Or on the moon:
Even in heaven:
I have no idea where she is in this one, my dad just wanted a green background:
My mother suggested a church, so here's Juno in a church:
And finally, here she is in the North Pole. Santa's gone a little crazy, so be careful when you open your presents this year:
PS my dog also likes to be adorable while I'm eating:
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Daily Story 286 - Hond
Once upon a time, there was a dog named Juno. She came to be adopted by a loving family that taught her how to hold in her poop until she was outside of the town limits. She made life simple for the family because she liked to do her business in the privacy of the bushes. She also had a strange habit of sleeping on her back with her legs resting against a wall or the side of a couch or bed.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Daily Story 236 - Dog
Wake up at 6:00 A.M. for walk.
Go for walk.
Eat breakfast.
Have treat.
Sleep in living room area.
Move to mother's office.
Sleep there.
Move to Diana's bathroom.
Sleep there.
Move to mother's office.
Sleep there.
Move to sun room.
Watch people do things.
Hear Dad come upstairs for lunch.
Follow Dad in case he wants to share.
Stay downstairs with Dad.
Sleep there.
Go back upstairs to bathroom.
Sleep there.
Go for afternoon walk.
Eat dinner.
Have treat.
Watch as the humans make dinner in case they want to share.
Follow humans to dining room table in case anyone wants to share.
Stay in living room.
Sleep there.
Get called for bedtime.
Go to Diana's room.
Sleep there.
Go for walk.
Eat breakfast.
Have treat.
Sleep in living room area.
Move to mother's office.
Sleep there.
Move to Diana's bathroom.
Sleep there.
Move to mother's office.
Sleep there.
Move to sun room.
Watch people do things.
Hear Dad come upstairs for lunch.
Follow Dad in case he wants to share.
Stay downstairs with Dad.
Sleep there.
Go back upstairs to bathroom.
Sleep there.
Go for afternoon walk.
Eat dinner.
Have treat.
Watch as the humans make dinner in case they want to share.
Follow humans to dining room table in case anyone wants to share.
Stay in living room.
Sleep there.
Get called for bedtime.
Go to Diana's room.
Sleep there.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Daily Story 200 - Sleepy Time
(Yay for 200 stories!)
When I was living in Germany, I had a very specific bedtime routine. I would change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, floss*, put on my acne medication*, go to the bathroom, come back, lock the door, check the main closet, check the smaller cupboard space above the closet, check under the bed, check all around the room, check the door to make sure it was really locked, repeat checks if necessary, turn off the lights, and go to sleep.
When I visited my brother, I would change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, floss*, put on my acne medication*, use the toilet, turn off the lights, and go to sleep.
When I returned home to Colorado, I would change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, floss, put on my acne medication, use the toilet, check behind the shower curtain, make sure the bedroom and bathroom doors were closed, set my alarm, kiss my doggy goodnight, turn off the lights, and go to bed.
When I lived in my dorm in Montana this past year, I would brush my teeth, floss, put on my acne medication, use the toilet, come back, lock the door, make sure my door was closed and locked properly (when locked it still opens from the inside so it's a bit harder to tell from the inside than the door in Germany was), checked both sides of the closet, check under the bed, make sure the blinds were open enough to not have a dark room in the morning, turn off the light, set the alarm, put on my wrist brace thingies, and go to sleep.
Now that I'm back in Colorado, I close the bedroom door, change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, floss (which reminds me, I need new floss since my last thing was retired), put on my acne medication, check behind the shower curtain, close the bathroom door, close the blinds (my bedroom window here is easier to see into than the one in Montana), kiss my doggy goodnight, turn off the light, set my alarm, put on my wrist thingies, and go to sleep.
If I've learned one thing about my bedtime routine, it is that the length of it is dependent on there being no place for crazy people to easily hide. Doggy makes it hard for people to hide places because she is doggy and she does not ignore new people or even not so new people who come into a room she is in. Doggy does not go into shower, though, so doggy is useless against shower crazies.
I like doggy.
*Until I ran out, at least.
When I was living in Germany, I had a very specific bedtime routine. I would change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, floss*, put on my acne medication*, go to the bathroom, come back, lock the door, check the main closet, check the smaller cupboard space above the closet, check under the bed, check all around the room, check the door to make sure it was really locked, repeat checks if necessary, turn off the lights, and go to sleep.
When I visited my brother, I would change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, floss*, put on my acne medication*, use the toilet, turn off the lights, and go to sleep.
When I returned home to Colorado, I would change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, floss, put on my acne medication, use the toilet, check behind the shower curtain, make sure the bedroom and bathroom doors were closed, set my alarm, kiss my doggy goodnight, turn off the lights, and go to bed.
When I lived in my dorm in Montana this past year, I would brush my teeth, floss, put on my acne medication, use the toilet, come back, lock the door, make sure my door was closed and locked properly (when locked it still opens from the inside so it's a bit harder to tell from the inside than the door in Germany was), checked both sides of the closet, check under the bed, make sure the blinds were open enough to not have a dark room in the morning, turn off the light, set the alarm, put on my wrist brace thingies, and go to sleep.
Now that I'm back in Colorado, I close the bedroom door, change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, floss (which reminds me, I need new floss since my last thing was retired), put on my acne medication, check behind the shower curtain, close the bathroom door, close the blinds (my bedroom window here is easier to see into than the one in Montana), kiss my doggy goodnight, turn off the light, set my alarm, put on my wrist thingies, and go to sleep.
If I've learned one thing about my bedtime routine, it is that the length of it is dependent on there being no place for crazy people to easily hide. Doggy makes it hard for people to hide places because she is doggy and she does not ignore new people or even not so new people who come into a room she is in. Doggy does not go into shower, though, so doggy is useless against shower crazies.
I like doggy.
*Until I ran out, at least.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Daily Story 173 - Juno Hunter Fail, Part 2
Juno did not succeed in catching an animal again for several years until last summer, when she caught a bird right next to where my dad and I were walking on the trail and shook it so hard that we could hear the panicked, horrible tweeting of the bird that sounded all like tweettweettweetweetweetweetweeetweetweetweetweetwetweetweetweetweetweetweetwee until my dad commanded her to drop the bird and leave it. Thankfully, the bird was already dead when my dad checked it, so it did not suffer a long, drawn out death. However, these two incidents remain the only times in her 9+ years of living on the edge of the Colorado wilderness that she's ever caught an animal. The moral of the story is: my dog would not make a very good hunter.
Daily Story 172 - Juno Hunter Fail, Part 1
This one time my dad, sister and I were out for a walk with my dog Juno and having fun when all of a sudden we noticed Juno was digging furiously for something. We'd seen her do this many times before in an attempt to catch some wild animal, but she'd never been successful since she's loud and the opposite of stealthy (but we love her anyway) so we were just like "dude whatever you're not going to catch it so you might as well give up." Except she did catch it. Apparently whatever animal she'd found had been sick, and we watched in stunned amazement as she tossed her catch in the air. She seemed to be very happy with herself. She had finally succeeded. She tossed her catch up in the air with triumph and joy. The little critter eventually stopped moving. Juno was confused by this development. She stared at her catch and barked at it. She could not understand why it had stopped moving. She barked at it as though it was one of her owners and it was driving off without her, the way she did back in the days when she was newly adopted and had terrible separation anxiety. It was as if she were saying to the dead animal, "Why are you leaving me? I don't want you to leave me! I don't want to be lonely! Come back!" Apparently she did not understand that catching and tossing a small animal around in her mouth would end up killing it. She just wanted her new friend/toy to keep moving around so she could play with it.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Daily Story 130 - Dog Hat
There was once a dog. The dog made a hat out of leaves and gorilla hair. It was pretty, but the gorilla wasn't too happy. So, the dog gave the hat to the gorilla and left town, never to return. The gorilla's hair grew back eventually, and it didn't really care that it had driven away a beloved member of the community.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Daily Story 92 - Bone
The dog ate the bone. It choked on the bone. It puked up the bone.
The human was angry. It cleaned up the bone. It stopped giving the dog a bone.
The human was angry. It cleaned up the bone. It stopped giving the dog a bone.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Daily Story 70 - The Dog
It used to be a puppy, but it grew up and became a dog. It barked at things and sniffed other dogs' butts. It ate dead birds and rolled in cow poop. It did many other things as well, and it was both disgusting and adorable.
Then it was kidnapped by aliens. Or maybe it would be dognapped.
Then it was kidnapped by aliens. Or maybe it would be dognapped.
Daily Story 64 - A Story of Dogs
Doggy dog dog dog doggy doggydog dogdog dog. Dog dogdog doggy doggydoggy dog doggydoggydog dog. Doggy dog doggy dog dog dogdoggy doggydog dog doggy dog dog. Doggydog woof doggy dog dog dog doggy dogdogdog doggydog doggy doggydog dog dig did dog. Doggy dog puppy doggy woof dog dog woof puppydog woofwoof dog woof. Puppy woof dog doggy dogwoof woofydog woof woof pup. Woof woof.
The end.
The end.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Daily Story 25 - Douckg
Once upon a time there was a dog. One day, this dog turned into a duck, though he was still very much a dog as well, and he spent the rest of his life as a douckg, quarking at people who passed by. Physicists were amazed at this douckg's ability to turn subatomic particles into a verb that involved using one's vocal cords to make a sound that resembled a cross between a bark and a quack, and they praised the douckg's ingenuity and brilliance. Unfortunately, the douckg had not realized that these were the stupid physicists of the town, and he was horribly disappointed when his newfound fame was taken away from him upon the realization that his quarking was simply a mix of a bark and a quack. The douckg returned to his pond-side doghouse and slept for days, feeling very depressed.
After a week or so, however, the douckg realized that there was something else he could offer to the world. And so, he set out one bright September morning and got himself a job at Disneyland. He was very happy after that, because Disneyland is awesome.
After a week or so, however, the douckg realized that there was something else he could offer to the world. And so, he set out one bright September morning and got himself a job at Disneyland. He was very happy after that, because Disneyland is awesome.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Daily Story 13 - Kyle's Grandpa
(Okay, so apparently I didn't even last two weeks with this challenge. Oh well, I call artistic license and am altering the rules so I don't go crazy with self-inflicted guilt. Have a story I wrote a few weeks ago instead, featuring Kyle again.)
Grandpa lost his head just after I was born. The rock that hit him was big and fast and it made his brain all jumbled up and nothing makes sense in there anymore. He’s lost a piece of his mind in the mess. Mom and Dad are trying to help him find it. Grandma is trying to help him find it, too. They all want to help him find his missing piece so that he can be Grandpa again. But he still can’t see it. It’s gone. Mom and Dad don’t think it’s going to come back.
Grandma told me that a long time ago, they had to hide themselves from the white men in the government who wanted to make all the native people go away. So they put away all their traditions in a big box and pretended they were white until they could be themselves again. Lots of other people fought against the government. But my people, we hid. We always hide. We’re wolves, and wolves know to stay away from danger. It’s the way we survive.
I got jealous of Grandpa when I learned he knew a whole ‘nother language that was different from English and Irish. I asked if he could teach me. Dad says if he hadn’t lost his head he would have said yes, but his head was lost and Grandpa said no.
“When are you going to teach that boy some sense?” he asked Mom and Dad.
Dad didn’t know how to speak Grandpa’s language. Grandpa wasn’t used to speaking his language because he’d been hiding it for so long, so he didn’t get to teach Dad that much of it. Plus Dad was really bad at languages. But that was okay. There were others in the town that knew it. I just asked them instead.
Grandpa didn’t like it, though. His head was missing the part that told him it was safe to be native again. He yelled at everyone to leave me alone. He was afraid of what would happen to me if I started talking like them. So everyone kept teaching me, but they made me swear to keep it all a secret. Which I did. I never told Grandpa I knew his language. I pretended I was all white whenever I was around him. And he was happy, because I was safe from the white men.
There was this one time that I tried tried talking to Grandpa in his language, though. He got real mad about it and started yelling at me. He grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the wall and screamed at me. He called me stupid and he said I was going to get everyone killed. I was really scared. I screamed and cried and peed my pants. Grandma came in and she got real scared when she saw me crying. She tried to pull Grandpa away from me but she wasn't strong enough so she called the neighbors in. Then when Grandpa let go I ran all the way home, but he chased after me. Mom and Dad yelled at him when he got to our house. Dad was the most mad he'd ever been ever. He screamed at Grandpa but Grandpa didn't know what he'd done wrong so he screamed at Dad. I hid up in my room and Katie's mom came up to take care of me while Mom and Dad kept yelling at Grandpa. I didn't really want to learn much of Grandpa's language after that.
It made Dad cry. Dad never cried, but he cried for Grandpa. Dad hated to see his father like this. He wished over and over again that I could meet his real Grandpa. The one who was proud of where he came from. The one who had taught Dad to embrace all the good parts about anyone he met. The one who knew how to shoot a bow and make cool-looking native stuff and tell stories about a Coyote who did cool things. The one who said not to worry about me, for the blue wolf would bring great joy and prosperity to our town.
Grandpa still thought the same things about the blue wolf. He still thought I was a wonderful gift to my family and to everyone in Oakwood. But he didn’t like that I wanted to be like him. He was afraid that the white men would take me away. He was so fierce about it that he made me cry sometimes. And that’s why Dad cried. Dad cried for me and my Grandpa who had lost his head.
Mom never yelled at Dad when he was crying. She’d hug him and kiss him and promise to never stop looking for Grandpa’s lost head. Then she’d tell me to come join them and I would hug my Dad. He didn’t cry so much when we were all together. He’d tell me stories about what Grandpa used to be like. He’d cry a little, but he would be smiling. And he would say just how wonderful it would be when Grandpa got his missing piece back and how much I would learn from him.
I know it’s bad, but I like when Dad cries about Grandpa. It makes Mom be gentle and kind, and when Dad stops crying, we’re all happy for a while. They don’t yell. They don’t scream. They just talk nicely to each other and keep saying that everything’s going to be okay.
Everything’s going to be okay. Grandpa’s going to find his lost head, and Mom and Dad are going to stop fighting all the time. I know it’s going to happen.
Everything’s going to be okay.
Grandpa lost his head just after I was born. The rock that hit him was big and fast and it made his brain all jumbled up and nothing makes sense in there anymore. He’s lost a piece of his mind in the mess. Mom and Dad are trying to help him find it. Grandma is trying to help him find it, too. They all want to help him find his missing piece so that he can be Grandpa again. But he still can’t see it. It’s gone. Mom and Dad don’t think it’s going to come back.
Grandma told me that a long time ago, they had to hide themselves from the white men in the government who wanted to make all the native people go away. So they put away all their traditions in a big box and pretended they were white until they could be themselves again. Lots of other people fought against the government. But my people, we hid. We always hide. We’re wolves, and wolves know to stay away from danger. It’s the way we survive.
I got jealous of Grandpa when I learned he knew a whole ‘nother language that was different from English and Irish. I asked if he could teach me. Dad says if he hadn’t lost his head he would have said yes, but his head was lost and Grandpa said no.
“When are you going to teach that boy some sense?” he asked Mom and Dad.
Dad didn’t know how to speak Grandpa’s language. Grandpa wasn’t used to speaking his language because he’d been hiding it for so long, so he didn’t get to teach Dad that much of it. Plus Dad was really bad at languages. But that was okay. There were others in the town that knew it. I just asked them instead.
Grandpa didn’t like it, though. His head was missing the part that told him it was safe to be native again. He yelled at everyone to leave me alone. He was afraid of what would happen to me if I started talking like them. So everyone kept teaching me, but they made me swear to keep it all a secret. Which I did. I never told Grandpa I knew his language. I pretended I was all white whenever I was around him. And he was happy, because I was safe from the white men.
There was this one time that I tried tried talking to Grandpa in his language, though. He got real mad about it and started yelling at me. He grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the wall and screamed at me. He called me stupid and he said I was going to get everyone killed. I was really scared. I screamed and cried and peed my pants. Grandma came in and she got real scared when she saw me crying. She tried to pull Grandpa away from me but she wasn't strong enough so she called the neighbors in. Then when Grandpa let go I ran all the way home, but he chased after me. Mom and Dad yelled at him when he got to our house. Dad was the most mad he'd ever been ever. He screamed at Grandpa but Grandpa didn't know what he'd done wrong so he screamed at Dad. I hid up in my room and Katie's mom came up to take care of me while Mom and Dad kept yelling at Grandpa. I didn't really want to learn much of Grandpa's language after that.
It made Dad cry. Dad never cried, but he cried for Grandpa. Dad hated to see his father like this. He wished over and over again that I could meet his real Grandpa. The one who was proud of where he came from. The one who had taught Dad to embrace all the good parts about anyone he met. The one who knew how to shoot a bow and make cool-looking native stuff and tell stories about a Coyote who did cool things. The one who said not to worry about me, for the blue wolf would bring great joy and prosperity to our town.
Grandpa still thought the same things about the blue wolf. He still thought I was a wonderful gift to my family and to everyone in Oakwood. But he didn’t like that I wanted to be like him. He was afraid that the white men would take me away. He was so fierce about it that he made me cry sometimes. And that’s why Dad cried. Dad cried for me and my Grandpa who had lost his head.
Mom never yelled at Dad when he was crying. She’d hug him and kiss him and promise to never stop looking for Grandpa’s lost head. Then she’d tell me to come join them and I would hug my Dad. He didn’t cry so much when we were all together. He’d tell me stories about what Grandpa used to be like. He’d cry a little, but he would be smiling. And he would say just how wonderful it would be when Grandpa got his missing piece back and how much I would learn from him.
I know it’s bad, but I like when Dad cries about Grandpa. It makes Mom be gentle and kind, and when Dad stops crying, we’re all happy for a while. They don’t yell. They don’t scream. They just talk nicely to each other and keep saying that everything’s going to be okay.
Everything’s going to be okay. Grandpa’s going to find his lost head, and Mom and Dad are going to stop fighting all the time. I know it’s going to happen.
Everything’s going to be okay.
Daily Story 12 - The Annoying Dog
I am a dog and I like to bark. I bark a lot and I eat a lot and I do other things a lot.
So yeah, I do things a lot and it's great, isn't it? Because I bark a lot and things happen and people love me except sometimes they don't because I bark a lot and they get annoyed even though I'm just being a dog and dogs are cute right? Dogs are totally cute we have big fluffy ears and cute little noses and we're adorable so why do people hate it when we bark? We're just being cute, so you shouldn't be mad at us.
Though I guess sometimes it gets annoying when we bark so much because it's annoying and it does get annoying when we bark a lot and I get a headache but I keep barking because I'm a dog and that's what we do. I like barking, it's fun. It's the way we talk to each other, too, so you shouldn't hate us because we like to talk to each other. That's just mean, so stop it. Stop it. STOP IT NOW OR I'LL BITE YOU IN THE ASS. Please? I like barking and I don't like it when people are mean to me because it's not fun and I like to bark so don't be mean to me. Woof woof bark bark ruff ruff bow wow et cetera I'M CUTE.
So yesterday I was digging a hole and I found a bone. It was a big bone and I like to chew on bones because I'm a dog and that's just how we roll. So I took it home and I chewed on it at home but then my people yelled at me because I was getting the carpet dirty or some shit so I took it outside and kept chewing on it out there. It was lots of fun and I like chewing on bones. Do you like chewing on bones? Of course you do, everyone likes it. Humans say they don't but that's because they've never tried it and they're all crazy. Anyway, it was fun because I'm a dog and I like to chew bones and bark because I'm a dog and that's what dogs do. Okay I gotta go do dog stuff now. Bye bye!
So yeah, I do things a lot and it's great, isn't it? Because I bark a lot and things happen and people love me except sometimes they don't because I bark a lot and they get annoyed even though I'm just being a dog and dogs are cute right? Dogs are totally cute we have big fluffy ears and cute little noses and we're adorable so why do people hate it when we bark? We're just being cute, so you shouldn't be mad at us.
Though I guess sometimes it gets annoying when we bark so much because it's annoying and it does get annoying when we bark a lot and I get a headache but I keep barking because I'm a dog and that's what we do. I like barking, it's fun. It's the way we talk to each other, too, so you shouldn't hate us because we like to talk to each other. That's just mean, so stop it. Stop it. STOP IT NOW OR I'LL BITE YOU IN THE ASS. Please? I like barking and I don't like it when people are mean to me because it's not fun and I like to bark so don't be mean to me. Woof woof bark bark ruff ruff bow wow et cetera I'M CUTE.
So yesterday I was digging a hole and I found a bone. It was a big bone and I like to chew on bones because I'm a dog and that's just how we roll. So I took it home and I chewed on it at home but then my people yelled at me because I was getting the carpet dirty or some shit so I took it outside and kept chewing on it out there. It was lots of fun and I like chewing on bones. Do you like chewing on bones? Of course you do, everyone likes it. Humans say they don't but that's because they've never tried it and they're all crazy. Anyway, it was fun because I'm a dog and I like to chew bones and bark because I'm a dog and that's what dogs do. Okay I gotta go do dog stuff now. Bye bye!
Daily Story 10 - Hugs Are Great
Once upon a time there was a dog and he rode this boat and shit happened. The dog traveled all over the world on the boat and they visited remote island civilizations and rode on top of gigantic waves and all sorts of things like that. It was pretty awesome, except the dog had a constant need for hugs. He couldn't last a day without getting hugged at least five times, otherwise he would pee all over everyone's beds since his bladder control was directly affected by the amount of hugs he got in a day. It was a very rare and debilitating condition, because this dog didn't like the fact that he peed all over everyone's things. It was kind of gross.
One day, the boat arrived on some strange island where everyone wore big yellow hats. There was no particular reason for wearing these hats; it was just the latest fashion trend. This was the place where the dog met the man who would cure him of his horrible condition.
This man was very talented. He knew how to make all sorts of things happen. He also knew a lot about dogs and the peculiar condition of not being able to control one's bladder without being hugged. And, of course, he knew the cure. So when the dog had spent some time on the island and peed on a few people's beds, this man decided to help the dog, mainly because he didn't like the smell of dog pee that pervaded the village in which he lived.
The dog came to the man's house one morning and sat patiently, waiting to be cured. Fortunately, the man acted quickly, and he did some things with medicine and physical therapy that eventually cured the dog of his strange bladder condition.
The dog was very happy about this cure. He wagged his tail a bunch and barked happily at people. Then he went onto the boat and grabbed a big purse that had a bunch of things that would be valuable to the people on the island. He gave the purse to the man who had cured him and barked again, then returned to the boat to go off on his next adventure, confident that he would be able to live without hugs from now on.
People still hugged him, though, because he was quite an adorable little dog, and this pleased him.
One day, the boat arrived on some strange island where everyone wore big yellow hats. There was no particular reason for wearing these hats; it was just the latest fashion trend. This was the place where the dog met the man who would cure him of his horrible condition.
This man was very talented. He knew how to make all sorts of things happen. He also knew a lot about dogs and the peculiar condition of not being able to control one's bladder without being hugged. And, of course, he knew the cure. So when the dog had spent some time on the island and peed on a few people's beds, this man decided to help the dog, mainly because he didn't like the smell of dog pee that pervaded the village in which he lived.
The dog came to the man's house one morning and sat patiently, waiting to be cured. Fortunately, the man acted quickly, and he did some things with medicine and physical therapy that eventually cured the dog of his strange bladder condition.
The dog was very happy about this cure. He wagged his tail a bunch and barked happily at people. Then he went onto the boat and grabbed a big purse that had a bunch of things that would be valuable to the people on the island. He gave the purse to the man who had cured him and barked again, then returned to the boat to go off on his next adventure, confident that he would be able to live without hugs from now on.
People still hugged him, though, because he was quite an adorable little dog, and this pleased him.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Daily Story 7 - Mr. Scooter's Funeral
(This one is dedicated to my super slick ride.)
Mr. Scooter was a very fine scooter. He scooted along with great scooting skill, and he scooted with the passion of his family's dedication to the fine art of scooting. But then one day he committed suicide by scooting in front of a speeding bus.
Many people were sad. Many people were also confused, because they had no idea how a scooter could possibly commit suicide, nor were they sure how the scooter had been alive to begin with. It was a very complicated issue.
He had a funeral with many people in attendance. Some cried. Some wailed. Some mourned in silence. Some became so enraged that they had to be restrained and taken out of the building. Others simply watched the event and wondered why an inanimate object was being treated like a real person.
They played sad music at Mr. Scooter's funeral. It was very sad, especially for the people who were actually sad. For the people were confused, it wasn't quite so sad, but they still found it sad.
After dinner, which happened after the funeral, people went back to their lives, while the children of Mr. Scooter scooted along the streets with sad scoots, for they would always miss their beloved father. This, of course, confused a lot of people, because they weren't quite sure how these miniature scooters were able to scoot along by themselves. Or cry. Or have such big, sad eyes. Or be alive in general.
Nevertheless, Mr. Scooter's wife and children were all alive through the magic of magic, and while they continued to grieve for Mr. Scooter, they lived on, scooting with great scooting skill, and scooting with the passion of their family's dedication to the fine art of scooting. And so, they continued on with the tradition of scooting, all the while confusing many people.
Mr. Scooter was a very fine scooter. He scooted along with great scooting skill, and he scooted with the passion of his family's dedication to the fine art of scooting. But then one day he committed suicide by scooting in front of a speeding bus.
Many people were sad. Many people were also confused, because they had no idea how a scooter could possibly commit suicide, nor were they sure how the scooter had been alive to begin with. It was a very complicated issue.
He had a funeral with many people in attendance. Some cried. Some wailed. Some mourned in silence. Some became so enraged that they had to be restrained and taken out of the building. Others simply watched the event and wondered why an inanimate object was being treated like a real person.
They played sad music at Mr. Scooter's funeral. It was very sad, especially for the people who were actually sad. For the people were confused, it wasn't quite so sad, but they still found it sad.
After dinner, which happened after the funeral, people went back to their lives, while the children of Mr. Scooter scooted along the streets with sad scoots, for they would always miss their beloved father. This, of course, confused a lot of people, because they weren't quite sure how these miniature scooters were able to scoot along by themselves. Or cry. Or have such big, sad eyes. Or be alive in general.
Nevertheless, Mr. Scooter's wife and children were all alive through the magic of magic, and while they continued to grieve for Mr. Scooter, they lived on, scooting with great scooting skill, and scooting with the passion of their family's dedication to the fine art of scooting. And so, they continued on with the tradition of scooting, all the while confusing many people.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Daily Story 5 - Cat Poop
(This one is dedicated to my brother.)
Once upon a time there was a cat. He was a grey cat. His name was Gandhi. He liked to meow at people, and he liked to play. He was a big cat, and all his long fur made him look incredibly fat. He enjoyed life because he didn't have to worry about food or water. He had a warm home and his human didn't pester him with stupid prissy outfits or annoying cutesy voices. Yes, life was good in his little home in Munich.
However, there was something missing in his life. There was a treasure he'd been seeking, ever since he was a tiny little kitten with tiny little pawsies. No. Paws. He was not going to sink to the level of those pesky guests his human allowed into his home from time to time. He was a dignified cat, the pride of the apartment, even if he wasn't allowed out of his human's small room half the time...
Nevertheless, Gandhi was master of the house. There was no denying it. After all, if the humans tried to poison him with disgusting food, he could easily get revenge by having an 'accident' on the living room floor. Sure, he could avoid the mess by lurking near his commode, but what was the point in making things easy for the humans? No, he was certainly the one in charge.
Unfortunately, this was not enough to ease the uncertainty that gnawed at his mind day after day. He knew not where he could find that treasure he sought, only that it was somewhere out of reach. And so one morning, while his human was away, Gandhi left his warm and comfortable home to find what he was looking for.
He searched in the alleys, and he searched in the streets. He searched the U-Bahn, and he searched the S-Bahn. He searched through stores, and he searched through parks. He searched everywhere a cat could go, and he found nothing. Eventually he gave up and returned home. His human had not returned, so Gandhi decided to leave a message for him on the middle of the dining room floor before returning to the comfort of his bed.
His human was very baffled as to how Gandhi had managed to get out of his room and poop on the dining room floor when the door was shut just as tightly as it had been when he'd left.
(note: this was written when Gandhi was still alive. He passed away this January. :( )
Once upon a time there was a cat. He was a grey cat. His name was Gandhi. He liked to meow at people, and he liked to play. He was a big cat, and all his long fur made him look incredibly fat. He enjoyed life because he didn't have to worry about food or water. He had a warm home and his human didn't pester him with stupid prissy outfits or annoying cutesy voices. Yes, life was good in his little home in Munich.
However, there was something missing in his life. There was a treasure he'd been seeking, ever since he was a tiny little kitten with tiny little pawsies. No. Paws. He was not going to sink to the level of those pesky guests his human allowed into his home from time to time. He was a dignified cat, the pride of the apartment, even if he wasn't allowed out of his human's small room half the time...
Nevertheless, Gandhi was master of the house. There was no denying it. After all, if the humans tried to poison him with disgusting food, he could easily get revenge by having an 'accident' on the living room floor. Sure, he could avoid the mess by lurking near his commode, but what was the point in making things easy for the humans? No, he was certainly the one in charge.
Unfortunately, this was not enough to ease the uncertainty that gnawed at his mind day after day. He knew not where he could find that treasure he sought, only that it was somewhere out of reach. And so one morning, while his human was away, Gandhi left his warm and comfortable home to find what he was looking for.
He searched in the alleys, and he searched in the streets. He searched the U-Bahn, and he searched the S-Bahn. He searched through stores, and he searched through parks. He searched everywhere a cat could go, and he found nothing. Eventually he gave up and returned home. His human had not returned, so Gandhi decided to leave a message for him on the middle of the dining room floor before returning to the comfort of his bed.
His human was very baffled as to how Gandhi had managed to get out of his room and poop on the dining room floor when the door was shut just as tightly as it had been when he'd left.
(note: this was written when Gandhi was still alive. He passed away this January. :( )
Daily Story 3 - Three Friends
Three friends were hanging out at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to go to their music class. One of them, a 17-year-old named Jeff, wanted to light a cigarette, but he had no cigarettes, nor did he have a lighter. So he decided to go without. His friends hated the smell of smoke anyway.
His friend Susie decided to play the guitar. It was raining, but they were sitting on the bus stop's covered bench, so she pulled her guitar out of its case and started playing. She played a song about kittens and another song about death. Her cat had just had a litter of five kittens, and two of them had died. It was quite upsetting to Susie, because she had been working so hard to keep all of the kittens happy and healthy. According to the vet, however, the two that died had had problematic birth defects that had prevented their hearts from working the way they should. So Susie sang about her dead kittens, and she cried.
The third friend, a girl named Janie, cried as well. Her grandmother had just passed away and she was having other family troubles. She and her siblings just weren't getting along, her mother had recently lost her job, and her alienated father was refusing to pay child support.
Things weren't going well for any of the three friends. Jeff was struggling in school and he barely had time to hang out with his friends. What little time he did have was spent trying to keep Janie from becoming too depressed, which only stressed him out even more. He didn't give up on her, though. He wanted to see her smiling again, because when their group was happy, their time together was probably the best in the world.
The bus drove up and stopped in front of them. Susie put her guitar in its case, Janie wiped her tears away, and Jeff paid for their tickets. They sat together on the bus in silence, looking out the window as the bus drove through the city.
"Hey, look, it's a double rainbow," Janie pointed out after a while.
Susie groaned and braced herself for Jeff's inevitable response. Sure enough, Jeff grinned and exclaimed, "A double rainbow? Oh my God, what could it mean? Oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"
"Wow, Jeff, you're such a fucking loser," Susie said.
Janie laughed. It caught both Susie and Jeff by surprise, but they still smiled and laughed as well. After all, if Janie could laugh, then that meant they hadn't reached the point of no return. Things were going to get better.
Someday.
(Sometimes when I start writing a funny story, it turns serious all of a sudden. Like it did with this one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an essay to write.)
His friend Susie decided to play the guitar. It was raining, but they were sitting on the bus stop's covered bench, so she pulled her guitar out of its case and started playing. She played a song about kittens and another song about death. Her cat had just had a litter of five kittens, and two of them had died. It was quite upsetting to Susie, because she had been working so hard to keep all of the kittens happy and healthy. According to the vet, however, the two that died had had problematic birth defects that had prevented their hearts from working the way they should. So Susie sang about her dead kittens, and she cried.
The third friend, a girl named Janie, cried as well. Her grandmother had just passed away and she was having other family troubles. She and her siblings just weren't getting along, her mother had recently lost her job, and her alienated father was refusing to pay child support.
Things weren't going well for any of the three friends. Jeff was struggling in school and he barely had time to hang out with his friends. What little time he did have was spent trying to keep Janie from becoming too depressed, which only stressed him out even more. He didn't give up on her, though. He wanted to see her smiling again, because when their group was happy, their time together was probably the best in the world.
The bus drove up and stopped in front of them. Susie put her guitar in its case, Janie wiped her tears away, and Jeff paid for their tickets. They sat together on the bus in silence, looking out the window as the bus drove through the city.
"Hey, look, it's a double rainbow," Janie pointed out after a while.
Susie groaned and braced herself for Jeff's inevitable response. Sure enough, Jeff grinned and exclaimed, "A double rainbow? Oh my God, what could it mean? Oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"
"Wow, Jeff, you're such a fucking loser," Susie said.
Janie laughed. It caught both Susie and Jeff by surprise, but they still smiled and laughed as well. After all, if Janie could laugh, then that meant they hadn't reached the point of no return. Things were going to get better.
Someday.
(Sometimes when I start writing a funny story, it turns serious all of a sudden. Like it did with this one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an essay to write.)
Daily Story 2 - The Pretty Princess
Once upon a time there was a Pretty Princess. "I am a Pretty Princess," the Pretty Princess said one day. "I shall go off and do Pretty Princess things, for that is what Pretty Princesses do."
"But you have to go to Pretty Princess school today," his mother said. For this Pretty Princess was indeed a boy. Don't ask me how that works, because I don't have a goddamn clue. This Pretty Princess was still quite pretty, however, otherwise he wouldn't have been a Pretty Princess.
"Oh, all right," the Pretty Princess said with a sad voice. "I'll go to Pretty Princess school, but afterward I will do many Pretty Princess things."
The Pretty Princess went to school with a pretty pink princess dress and a pretty blue princess bow in his hair. He arrived at his classroom and sat down in his pretty white princess chair next to his best Pretty Princess friend, Susie.
"Oh, my, what a pretty pink princess dress you're wearing today!" Pretty Princess Susie exclaimed as she looked at her Pretty Princess friend.
"Thank you! And what a pretty yellow princess dress you're wearing today!" the Pretty Princess said.
Class began, and all the Pretty Princesses took their seats and listened to their Pretty Princess teacher. All the other Pretty Princesses were girls, because girls have vaginas and boys have penises, and all the other Pretty Princesses had vaginas. *But nobody noticed that the Pretty Princess was a boy, because Pretty Princesses never took their clothes off except to bathe in their private bathtubs where nobody else could see their external genitalia. That just wouldn't be proper for Pretty Princesses.
"I am going to throw a slumber party this evening," said the Pretty Princess once school was over. "And you are all invited!"
"Huzzah!" cried the other Pretty Princesses, and they all scurried home to make themselves proper for a Pretty Princess slumber party.
The Pretty Princess was very happy because all his Pretty Princess friends enjoyed the slumber party. They did many Pretty Princess things and didn't go to sleep until late at night, when they finally changed into their pretty rainbow princess pajamas and went to bed. The Pretty Princess snuggled happily under the covers of his pretty pink princess bed covers. Today was a good day, he thought. Oh, how I love being a Pretty Princess.
Daily Story 1 - Timmy the Football
Timmy the Football did not like being kicked around.
He wasn't always a football, though. He used to be a squirrel, but he got into an argument with a squirrel. It was a different squirrel. It wasn't Timmy. He didn't argue with himself. Much.
So he got magically turned into a football. Because that other squirrel was mean.
So Timmy was a football now. All the kids at the school used him when they played after school, during gym, at recess, and during football practice. One kid named Joey had found Timmy in a magical forest in the library.
The school had some strange things going on inside.
The student had hugged Timmy and brought him to his gym teacher. The gym teacher knew that Timmy had been a squirrel but he didn't care. They needed a football at the school. So Timmy was put in the equipment room.
Joey didn't like to play football before he found Timmy. Joey liked football after he found Timmy, though. He played with Timmy all the time. Timmy was losing his brain with all the games kids played with him. But Joey was gentle. Joey didn't throw Timmy around so hard. When they finished playing football after school, Joey would stay late to have tea parties with Timmy. Timmy couldn't drink the tea because he was a football. He just sat there while Joey splashed tea on him. Joey would wash the tea off of Timmy before he went home, because Joey was polite and well-mannered and he took care of his things.
One day the kids were playing with Timmy and someone kicked him over the fence. Timmy got run over by a truck. Now he was Timmy the Flattened Football. It didn't hurt because he was a football. None of the kids wanted to play with him anymore, so Joey took him home and put him in a dress. Joey thought the dress looked very pretty on Timmy.
From that point on, Timmy sat on Joey's dresser and thought about the meaning of life. He didn't have any major epiphanies, though. He was a flattened football with major brain damage who had once been a squirrel.
He wasn't always a football, though. He used to be a squirrel, but he got into an argument with a squirrel. It was a different squirrel. It wasn't Timmy. He didn't argue with himself. Much.
So he got magically turned into a football. Because that other squirrel was mean.
So Timmy was a football now. All the kids at the school used him when they played after school, during gym, at recess, and during football practice. One kid named Joey had found Timmy in a magical forest in the library.
The school had some strange things going on inside.
The student had hugged Timmy and brought him to his gym teacher. The gym teacher knew that Timmy had been a squirrel but he didn't care. They needed a football at the school. So Timmy was put in the equipment room.
Joey didn't like to play football before he found Timmy. Joey liked football after he found Timmy, though. He played with Timmy all the time. Timmy was losing his brain with all the games kids played with him. But Joey was gentle. Joey didn't throw Timmy around so hard. When they finished playing football after school, Joey would stay late to have tea parties with Timmy. Timmy couldn't drink the tea because he was a football. He just sat there while Joey splashed tea on him. Joey would wash the tea off of Timmy before he went home, because Joey was polite and well-mannered and he took care of his things.
One day the kids were playing with Timmy and someone kicked him over the fence. Timmy got run over by a truck. Now he was Timmy the Flattened Football. It didn't hurt because he was a football. None of the kids wanted to play with him anymore, so Joey took him home and put him in a dress. Joey thought the dress looked very pretty on Timmy.
From that point on, Timmy sat on Joey's dresser and thought about the meaning of life. He didn't have any major epiphanies, though. He was a flattened football with major brain damage who had once been a squirrel.
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