2000-11-01
Dear Diary:

    I believe I have solved the mystery of why dogs are compelled to pee on car tires.

    Yep, you've got Sir Isaac Newton's theory of gravity, Einstein's theory of relativity and Marn's theory of why dogs pee on car tires.

    As you can see, I'm trying to be modest about my breakthrough, eh.

    Basically, it has to do with astronauts.

    No, no, no, dog's don't pee on tires BECAUSE of astronauts, I made my big breakthrough from reading about astronauts. Isaac Newton had his apple tree, I have my astronauts.

    Now I'm only going to explain this once, so pay attention.

    See, a recent issue of Wired magazine on-line had one of those little sidebar stories about goofy rituals Russian astronauts follow before being launched into space. Apparently they all pee on the back tire of the vehicle taking them to the launch pad because Yuri Gagarin, the first Russian in space, did that.

    (The story goes that the vehicle taking him to the launch pad broke down and while he was waiting for repairs and/or another vehicle Gagarin hopped out and peed on the back tire. So now all Russian astronauts do this as a good luck thingie. Look, you can't make stuff like this up.)

    Now, back to the dog part of this.

    This afternoon a hunter came up our road with his dog, the two of them wandered into my yard and sure enough the darn dog went right over to my car and peed on one of my back tires. Normally this would have been simply an annoyance, but because of the article about astronauts I had one of those Eureka moments.

    DOGS PEE ON TIRES FOR GOOD LUCK.

    This probably goes back to the first wheeled vehicle. As I see it, one dog peed on a cart's tires, was never hit by a cart, told the story to his friends, who told it to their friends and now it's just part of accepted dog lore.

    Myself, I think it's probably now hard-wired into canine genes, along with the instruction to either stick your nose into the crotch of any woman called "Marn" or, if you're too short to actually reach her crotch with your nose, to just hump her leg vigourously.

    I will, of course, be leaving the science behind these (and all my other theories) to others.

    Any of you out there with a practical bent are most welcome to prove me right.

--Marn

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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 -


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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.

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