Like Florence and the Machine, I Wish the Dog Days Were Over

As I type these words, I am currently watching a dog show up in Greenville, SC.  My mom is a dog breeder, and she really wanted to come, so I agreed to go with her. 

I have spent the majority of my life surrounded by hundreds of dogs of all different varieties, but I’ve never attended (as far as I can recall) an event like this.

Here is what I’ve learned—dog people, at least of the top show dog quality, are freaks.  I’m not even watching the dogs anymore.  Their owners are far funnier. 

Let me explain.  The first thing my mother wanted to do was to walk around to all of the booths to look at the current trends and accessories in dog fashion, jewelry, food, hairstyles, chew toys, etc…

My favorite among these was the Thundershirt.  Which may sound extremely awesome, but the image that came along with this piece of dog fashion was greatly amusing.  The Thundershirt is supposed to fit snuggly around a dog causing them to behave in a complacent matter.  No more excess barking, leash pulling, or anxiety.

Of course the dog is going to behave complacently…they can’t move.  And as for barking, how can you bark when you can’t breathe?

They should just advertise the Thundershirt for what it really is—a straight jacket for dogs.

Besides on the back of the box, it said that similar pressure wraps had been used on people with autism.

I didn't know whether to be shocked and appalled or to give the dog people credit.  Afterall, humanity has so many issues with product testing done on animals that its rather ridiculous to think that some dog products are tested on humans.

Secondly, a dog show is the only place that I’ve ever heard where people can walk around and say things like, “What an ugly bitch.” “Who let that bitch in here?” or “I bet every male in this place wants to jump that bitch.”

Every time someone said it I started snickering.  I couldn’t help it.  Why can’t they just say female.  I have a theory, and I'll share it.

Dog people secretly enjoy calling their opponents bitches.

Think about it.  If you could call pretty much everyone you hated a bitch without repercussions, wouldn’t that feel wonderful?

Another thing I noticed was that the breeders began to empathize too readily with the dogs.  So much so that some of them took on doggy qualities without seeming to notice.

There was one breeder who placed a treat in front of her dog, and then as soon as the dog got a good bite out of the treat, she took it away from the dog and ate it herself.

She.  Ate.  The.  Dog.  Treat.

All I could think of was the scene in Lady and the Tramp where the two dogs share a plate of spaghetti.  But there really isn’t a comparison.  Lady and the Tramp had far superior tastes.

At least in the relationship between the breeder and the dog, its easy to spot the “female”—it's the dumb bitch.

And the final thing that sent me into hysterics were the ladies who couldn’t distinguish between their dogs and their children.   I saw a lady walking her daughter around the ring on a leash.  Really? REALLY? 

Let the judge examine her teeth and walk her around the ring one more time.  Then, who knows, your daughter may just win best in show. 

And I really hope that you haven’t spayed and neutered your daughter any more than your psychotic parenting already has.

I really do feel bad for the daughter.  She’s probably going to grow up believing that she’s a Chihuahua or Saint Bernard or Weimaraner or whatever obscure breed of dog her mother shows.

I’m just glad my mother never treated me like a dog in any capacity.  Now excuse me—I have to go.  My mom wants me to “fetch” her another brochure.

How My Sister Tried to Seduce My Hand

This weekend, I went home to visit my family.  Everything seemed normal until Saturday night.

My sister and I still have to share a queen size bed whenever we are home.  But we’ve been sharing a bed for years, so that isn’t too bad.  I’m used to it.

I was extremely tired on Saturday, so I decided to go to bed early.  My sister on the other hand had to work until 11:00.

So after blissfully entering the realm of the unconscious, I didn’t notice when my sister entered the room and fell asleep beside me.

It didn’t start getting weird until around two o’clock in the morning.  I was awakened by something touching my hand.  I looked over at my sister, and immediately found the reason.  She was holding and caressing my hand. 

Along with these caresses, she was also kissing my hand.  It was like watching a gentleman caller brushing his lips against the hand of his ladylove.

As if this wasn't enough, between the kisses, she kept whispering, “I love you.”

     *Kiss* 

          I love you. 

               *Kiss* 

                    I love you. 

                         *Kiss* 

                              I love you.

She managed to land three kisses on my hand before my brain finally jumped from snooze into hyper drive.  I jerked away from my sister. 

For a second, I thought she was joking around—I was about to punch her in the arm for being a weirdo at two in the morning, but I quickly discovered that she was sound asleep.

Feeling very awkward, I turned away from my sister and tried to reestablish REM.

In the morning, when she was finally awake, I asked her about it, but she doesn’t remember anything.  No hand kissing.  No whispered “I love you’s.”  No dreams.  Nothing.

I may not know what she was dreaming about, but I’ve made my own conclusions as to why she was so turned on by my hand—to the unconscious person, I am undeniably sexy.  

Even something as small as my hand is simply irresistible. 

To: Stubbs - From: Karma

A little background on my younger brother, Stubbie—He isn’t the nicest person to be around.  He curses a lot and tends to make fun of less fortunate people.  He also has a thing for racy, outrageous t-shirts.  He wears them just to upset people—especially our mother.

So for Christmas last year, his girlfriend began searching the world wide web for the perfect shirt. 

After hours of tireless searching, his girlfriend came across a shirt that she found particularly funny.  Not wanting to waste money on a t-shirt that he might not like, she then called him into the room to see if the shirt would pass inspection.

Here is an image of the shirt:

Here is what my brother saw:

The following conversation ensued:

Girlfriend:            You really don’t see it?

Stubbs:            See what?

Girlfriend:            What the shirt says.

Stubbs:            It’s just a blob of circles.

*insane laughter from girlfriend*

Stubbs:            WHAT?!

That's karma's way of giving you the middle finger.  Merry Christmas, Stubbs… Oh and by the way, you’re colorblind.

P.S. –  For all of the colorblind out there who can't read the words written on the shirt, it says “fuck the colorblind.”  I love my brother, but all that I can say on that matter is - irony.