Ever since we lost Tucker, there’s been a big huge ginormous hole in my heart which I attempt to fill in various embarrassing ways.
First, I visit the dogs and puppies at the animal control shelter about once a week or so. Instead of just hanging around like a creepy dog stalker, I decided to go ahead and become a volunteer. My orientation isn’t for another week, but after that I can freely open cages and take dogs for walks and play fetch and so forth.
I run down to the PetCo on Saturdays to see the puppies up for adoption.
I also comb the internet to look at dog adoption information.
I have the doggie classifieds from our local paper fed via RSS to my google reader.
You get the idea.
Can I just say that I totally and 100% understand the desire to purchase a dog from a reputable breeder. In fact, if I could, I probably would right this very second. I have very specific needs allergy-wise and after Tucker, I don’t think I could take another “hi surprise your dog is chronically and hopelessly ill” situations. A health guarantee: I get it now. Problem is, there are really very few breeders in Alaska and it’s not like I can drive a few states over on a weekend. Also, I don’t have an extra $3,500 to spend on a dog right this second kthx.
Plus yunno, I really believe in adoption. 50% of shelter dogs end up in the gas chamber, so I just don’t know if I could support the “purebred dog trade” or god forbid a puppy mill.
The whole puppy mill thing is morally reprehensible, but holy canole, did you realize that average Joes are making a fortune selling puppies these days? Have you looked at your classified section lately? I mean, these people are not breeders, these dogs are not papered and registered and all of that fancy stuff. These are people that live across town in a trailer who put a yorkshire terrier and a pug together to make a few thousand bucks type deal. Talk about your passive income! (for the human, anyway lol)
I wouldn’t mind doing absolutely nothing and making and extra $5 grand a year. But ... it’s so creepy! If you’re not a breeder, but you breed dogs to make extra money ... that is creepy, right?
So I’m settling in to read about Heath Ledger’s autopsy findings, ready to be all sad and serious and contemplative. I was genuinely a fan—he was such a damn cutie pie and seemed like a decent and gifted person all around.
It’s always jarring when somebody is just starting out in life, destined to contribute great things to the world for many years to come, then p o o f.
I was driving down the road this morning on my way to get some coffee when the radio interrupted with a story about how food poisoning can cause health problems for you years later. That’s YEARS after the dreaded 24-hour period that occurs right after eating tainted something or other, and ends with your forehead pressed up against the toilet bowl consoling yourself, “If I don’t die from this, at least I’ll be able to fit into my skinny jeans again.”
The story went on to say how each time you get food poisoning, you should get a culture so you know exactly what critter infected you so you can keep that on file for said problems later in life.
Now they tell me?
I used to eat out quite frequently and when a person does that, odds are they’re going to get food poisoning sooner or later. I used to get food poisoning at least once a year it seemed like. That means that I ate a lot of fecal matter I suppose, doesn’t it. Pardon me while I throw up in mouth.
And I’m back.
So I drive up to get my drink and the cashier bent down to ask me a question, and I really wish she hadn’t because not only were her fingernails tattered and dirt-rimmed, her fingers were calloused and dirty and IN MY CUP WHERE THE DRINK WAS GOING TO GO.
It’s not like food workers have never skeeved me before by touching their dirty hands on my food and/or drink. If you touch money and then my food it is equivalent to a pole dancer wiping her vagina on my dinner. If you’ve ever been to a strip club, you’re right there with me on this logic.
Every time something like that happens, I practice what I “should have said” or “should have done” immediately afterward ... as if one day all of sudden I’ll become the person that has the balls to say to a complete stranger, “What the hell are you doing? Didn’t your mama teach you right? I’d like my coffee sans bacterial infection this morning thank you very much. New cup please! Chop chop!”
Instead I take the drink and fume. I was so desperate for caffeine I didn’t even throw it out, I just shrugged and said what the hell.
Then? I sit down to my desk to check email only to discover my friend sent me this!! You must watch this!!
People are such dirty, filthy creatures. DIRTY I SAY!! *shudders*
I have this feeling about 2008 ... that it’s going to be THE MOST MAGICAL YEAR EVER ON RECORD.
I don’t know why, really, it’s just a feeling. I’ve talked to others who are feeling that too. Et tu?
Hmmm, maybe it can’t hurt that this is year that will mark the END (hurray, confetti, so forth) of the Bush regime. Restored optimism and hope for the future of America and stuff. I mean, things can only get better there ...
right?
*knocks on wood*
One of my new year’s resolutions was to blog more. Stop laughing.
Stop laughing.
