2000-06-02
Dear Diary:

I've always been a Cat Person, never had a pet of the canine persuasion, which means the moment I go out my door I become Marn, Dawg Magnet?.

It's uncanny how this works, isn't it? I mean, one of my oldest friends has severe cat allergies so every time she comes for a visit my normally shy around strangers cats turn into feline velcro, she can't brush them off.

Norma's beloved dog, Tyler, looks pretty much like this, only mutantly big. So it is with me and dogs.

Norma, my mom-in-law, has a massive 155 pound rottweiler who normally turns into a frothing mass of doggie rage whenever anyone Not Norma appears in the yard (and that includes Paul).

But let Tyler spot me, and he begins a full body doggy wag that starts at the tip of his back feet and ends at the tip of his nose. We're talking waves of bliss here folks. It's gotten to the point that I cannot sit down at Norma's if I'm planning to go anywhere later.

The minute I hit a chair, the dog plants all 80 pounds of his massive rottweiler head on my knee. While he gazes up adoringly at me, about three, four cups of doggy drool cascade from his partially open mouth over my leg. This would not be a bad thing if this was Harrison Ford, but seeing as it's Tyler the Rottweiler, well, I'll take a pass on the experience, eh.

Oh, and have I mentioned his ummm fecal deposits? It looks like Norma has elephants roaming the property. I'm especially careful when I'm wandering in areas where the grass is a bit taller 'cuz it takes me about 20 minutes with a stick to clean up my shoes if I step on one of Tyler's "land mines". Ol' Doc Marten makes a wonderful product but Mr. Bister, those soles have a deep tread.

While I'm obsessing about dawg shite, what is it with dog owners and the public poop thingie? I mean, no one would ever say, "Hon, I think Little Johnny might have to take a dump, will you take him for a walk and make sure he does it on the neighbour's lawn?"

So why doo doo that with your dog? (I'm sorry, I couldn't resist, puns make me goofy with happiness.)

Sure, dogs need exercise and it's a great thing to go for a stroll together. But why not make sure that if Sparkie is gonna drop a doggie bomb that he does it at home base? And if you think there may be some collateral bombing in Sparkie's future, is it a big deal to bring a heavy duty plastic bag on your walk and do a little turd herding?

A dear friend of ours who I really enjoy hanging out with, takes his dog everywhere, completely unaware of how annoying this can be. It's a half grown border collie, one of the most high octane dogs on the planet, with an endless amount of energy and very little discipline.

Of course, it goes mental with joy when it sees me. Last time our paths crossed you could almost hear it saying, "Hey, Marn, how are ya, eh? You got any sheep for me to herd? Huh? Huh? Have ya? Huh? No sheep? How about some goats? Huh? Huh? Huh? What about in your back pocket?" and with that he tried to climb up my back, leaving a deeply muddy trail along the back of my wheat coloured pants.

Ignored everyone else at the little get together, went straight for the Cat Person, left me with a butt covered with border collie paw prints ...

While I'm obsessing about dogs and my butt (now isn't THAT a segue you don't see every day?) why oh why is it that dogs feel they have to jam their noses in my crotch? Can anyone answer that? (And can we avoid the tasteless jokes, puh-LEEEEESE?)

I mean, I'm married so it's not like I'm open to dating or anything. And if I was open to dating, I would pretty much stick to homo sapiens, I'm guessing. AND even if I did by some fluke meet the Great Dane of my dreams, frankly he ain't gonna get that kind of action from me without a little wooing.

As I tell every dog who gives me the ol' nose buried in the groin routine, we're talking AT LEAST dinner and a movie before we get to those kinds of moves.

A girl's GOTTA have her standards, eh.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


Subscribe with Bloglines


Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (0 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime


A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!


< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>


This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.