“The idea is to figure out what a dog was born to do — herd, hunt, retrieve, sit decoratively on laps — and find ways to do it.” Slate examines the burgeoning world of dog fulfillment. What Berk was emphatically not born to do was spend three weeks in a kennel, but ah well. These are trying times. He’s been in the joint before…he can handle it. (And, while I’m on the subject of canines, I also enjoyed this self-medicating dog story from Drudge.)
Category: Hounds
Ready for our Close-up.
The picture in the top left was getting kinda stale (and I’d lost the beard a few months ago), so I pulled out the digital camera today and took a few shots of me and Berkeley. Here’s the results:
I must say, for someone who’s ridiculously unphotogenic, I’m kinda pleased at how some of these turned out.
From sweatshops to dogfights.
Nike receives some bad press for paying homage to dogfighting in its new basketball ad (“The Battle: Speed,” available here once you get past the flash.) My reaction was much the same as the guy from Slate: I generally liked the ad and liked the music (even if I thought Gary Payton would kill Steve Nash in 1-on-1), right up until the shot of the pit bulls going at it at the end. Since my own dog was mauled by a pit bull owned by some dumb-ass kids aspiring to this side of street life (4/15), I also found that shot to be in very, very poor taste. I would say I’d boycott Nike for it, but I pretty much already do – I generally buy Sambas or Pumas for my daily gear, and the And-One Sprewells for my basketball kicks. (In fact, I used to have a pair of the Nike GP’s, and they fell apart on me.) At any rate, a bad call by the boys in Beaverton.
Berk earns his keep.
So I just got back from a rather lucrative 1-hour “dog psychology” marketing session in Uris Hall (a.k.a. the Columbia business school), which I signed up for after seeing a flyer earlier in the week. For one hour of hypothesizing what Berkeley would say in various situations, I got a free lunch, $50 in cold, hard cash (we’re going to have to make a trip to the pet store), and a coupon for a free (and somewhat goofy) $120 Bowlingual dog translator, to be redeemed when they arrive Stateside in August. Apparently they’re trying to come up with a stock of English phrases for the US release. So, if you happen to buy one of these and it tells you your canine is saying things like “I defy you,” “The madness has come upon me,” and “Your coming here is as the footsteps of doom,” you’ll know why.
Ku Klux Kanines.
Slate examines the psychology of racist dogs. Fortunately, Berkeley doesn’t have this problem – he barks madly at anybody with the temerity to knock on my door, regardless of race (along with any random forces of evil passing through.)
Raise the Roof.
A very happy birthday to Berkeley, who turns three today. Since that’s 21 in dog years, I expect all kinds of shenanigans in the apartment this evening while I’m out tutoring.
There is no bone.
Hmmm…let’s see how Zen this dog is once we get some bacon in the room, or for that matter, when Berkeley starts yelping at him for absolutely no reason in particular. Then I’ll be impressed. (Sent via High Industrial.)
Your tauntaun will freeze before you reach the first marker…
It is very, very cold.
Dogs of War.
The Village Voice scrutinizes the social habits of the military-industrial complex. (Not to judge a story by its cover, but this article, interesting on its own terms, also features a cartoon of dogs playing poker, which I must admit is a trope I’m particularly fond of.)
Redneck Justice.
I’ve meant to link to this horrifying Tennessee state trooper incident for the past few days, but every time I read it I am filled with a fearsome rage. They shot the dog?!? Those frelling chumps…I’m not normally of an eye-for-an-eye persuasion, but that pathetic redneck excuse for an officer should really have to suffer for this, and I don’t mean monetarily. This guy’s gotta do some time. Grrrr…