First of all, let me make 2 disclaimers:1) I am a cat person (duhhh)
2) I like dogs, and ...
Okay, let me make 3 disclaimers:
1) I am a cat person (duhhh)
2) I like dogs
3) I like my apartment
Now having said all of that, I fear that I am slowly slipping over that slippery precipice of sanity into that deep black abyss of strait jackets and electric shock therapy. Why? The dogs in my neighbourhood won't shut up. At all. Woof woof woof. Bark bark bark. One starts. They all chime in. Woof woof woof. Bark bark bark. My frenzied cries, "Oh for the love of God, stop!" have no effect on them. To compound the problem, I live near several embassies so my theory is that these chatty canines are guard dogs, and have little to do but while away the hours having a good gab deep into the night. This is the only reason that I can account for the fact that their owners haven't throttled them by now - their owners live several continents away.
As an animal rights activist and a vegetarian, I now have more insight into why people leave poisoned kibble out for animals.
So I am in a quandary. I am actually considering moving from my nice little flat (which has, by the way, free heat in the winter!) in this nice little neighbourhood because of a pack of dogs. Am I not made of stronger stuff than this? Apparently not. My karma is to move from one home to another; my mantra (thanks to musician Joe Jackson) is,"When the going gets tough, we relocate". It is quite possible that I have moved more than any other single living being on the planet. If my life were the novel 1984, my Room 101 would have empty cardboard boxes and suitcases to fill.
To dispell these gloomy forebodings and to acquire a more profound understanding of dogs (and why they bark into the wee hours), I wondered: 'if I were a dog', what would I be? An elegant Irish Setter? A faithful Labrador Retriever? Sadly, my thoughts ran to the most annoying dog known to mankind, the Jack Russell Terrier but no! - instead - as seen below, I turn out to be a Miniature Poodle. Now I don't believe that I resemble this scaled-down topiary garden of a dog , although I believe that my mother did sometime between 1967 and 1974; indeed, her bouffants achieved mammoth proportions. According to Gone to the Dogs (with their NASA-like Canine Algorithmic Transfer System) my personality is aptly reflected in this café au lait sipping pooch who is "intelligent and fun-loving (you'd have to be, looking like that) ... obedient & sporting, despite its camp looks." Well. Perhaps I'll just stay as I am: a cat person.
If you care to learn more about this most fascinating creature (and a shameless movie promotion), click the green play button below. If you don't give a rat's ass about me, you can check here (click My Dog on the right, then What Dog Are You?) to find out which Spot is your soul-mate.
Woof!
2) I like dogs, and ...
Okay, let me make 3 disclaimers:
1) I am a cat person (duhhh)
2) I like dogs
3) I like my apartment
Now having said all of that, I fear that I am slowly slipping over that slippery precipice of sanity into that deep black abyss of strait jackets and electric shock therapy. Why? The dogs in my neighbourhood won't shut up. At all. Woof woof woof. Bark bark bark. One starts. They all chime in. Woof woof woof. Bark bark bark. My frenzied cries, "Oh for the love of God, stop!" have no effect on them. To compound the problem, I live near several embassies so my theory is that these chatty canines are guard dogs, and have little to do but while away the hours having a good gab deep into the night. This is the only reason that I can account for the fact that their owners haven't throttled them by now - their owners live several continents away.
As an animal rights activist and a vegetarian, I now have more insight into why people leave poisoned kibble out for animals.
So I am in a quandary. I am actually considering moving from my nice little flat (which has, by the way, free heat in the winter!) in this nice little neighbourhood because of a pack of dogs. Am I not made of stronger stuff than this? Apparently not. My karma is to move from one home to another; my mantra (thanks to musician Joe Jackson) is,"When the going gets tough, we relocate". It is quite possible that I have moved more than any other single living being on the planet. If my life were the novel 1984, my Room 101 would have empty cardboard boxes and suitcases to fill.
To dispell these gloomy forebodings and to acquire a more profound understanding of dogs (and why they bark into the wee hours), I wondered: 'if I were a dog', what would I be? An elegant Irish Setter? A faithful Labrador Retriever? Sadly, my thoughts ran to the most annoying dog known to mankind, the Jack Russell Terrier but no! - instead - as seen below, I turn out to be a Miniature Poodle. Now I don't believe that I resemble this scaled-down topiary garden of a dog , although I believe that my mother did sometime between 1967 and 1974; indeed, her bouffants achieved mammoth proportions. According to Gone to the Dogs (with their NASA-like Canine Algorithmic Transfer System) my personality is aptly reflected in this café au lait sipping pooch who is "intelligent and fun-loving (you'd have to be, looking like that) ... obedient & sporting, despite its camp looks." Well. Perhaps I'll just stay as I am: a cat person.
If you care to learn more about this most fascinating creature (and a shameless movie promotion), click the green play button below. If you don't give a rat's ass about me, you can check here (click My Dog on the right, then What Dog Are You?) to find out which Spot is your soul-mate.
Woof!
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