All my adult life, I've wanted a dog. A small, puffy, stupid dog that would sit in my lap and love me. My dog would be named after an elderly Jewish man, like Morty or Saul.
My dog would likely be misbehaved, like all small dogs, but he would not be a yappy barker. He would just be adorable. He would wear sweaters in the winter, but not rainboots. Those dog rainboots are asinine.
Although CinS hates small dogs in any form, he particularly hates Pomeranians (my idea
l best friend) because of Blade Trinity. Although, after many hours of compelling logic, I have successfully convinced my husband that vampire Pomeranians are merely a tool of Wesley Snipes imagination, the small dog will still have no place in our lives.
For a while, I was sad. But since living next door to a virtual small dog park, and now moving to a neighborhood saturated with small dogs, I may have to agree with CinS.
In my almost 3 weeks of living in LA, I have been awakened by dogs barking every freaking day. The worst culprits are the three small dogs living across the street. They hang out on the upstairs deck, barking their faces off and ignoring CinS's chants to jump. But there is a new dog in town, and she is causing a ruckus.
On paper, this new dog is right up my ally. She is small, fluffy and is named for my grandmother's (human) best friend, Mildred. But in reality, I'm about to go all Michael Vick on this little princess.
Mildred was up the other night at 3AM, barking in the yard. She was barking for about 10 minutes before her owner decided to "intervene." I was completely unaware that the best way to handle a barking dog in the middle of the night is simply to scream out an open window, repeatedly, for 20 minutes. "Mildred! Mildred! MilDRED! Mildred! For the love of God, Mildred!" Totally effective, sir.
This went on for a good 45 minutes, until Mildred's owner got out of bed to take care of his dog. The whole time I was awake, I kept thinking about that scene from the totally underrated Tom Hanks flick, "The Burbs."
Do you remember the part when Tom Hanks' dog is digging by the fence because the neighbor's yard is riddled with corpses? I do. And it made me wonder what Mildred was so riled up about. It was probably a dead bird or a mouse or something, but wouldn't it be awesome if the reason our neighbors have such kick-ass orange trees is due to some natural fertilizer? Radical.
Mildred just may save us all.
My dog would likely be misbehaved, like all small dogs, but he would not be a yappy barker. He would just be adorable. He would wear sweaters in the winter, but not rainboots. Those dog rainboots are asinine.
Although CinS hates small dogs in any form, he particularly hates Pomeranians (my idea
l best friend) because of Blade Trinity. Although, after many hours of compelling logic, I have successfully convinced my husband that vampire Pomeranians are merely a tool of Wesley Snipes imagination, the small dog will still have no place in our lives.For a while, I was sad. But since living next door to a virtual small dog park, and now moving to a neighborhood saturated with small dogs, I may have to agree with CinS.
In my almost 3 weeks of living in LA, I have been awakened by dogs barking every freaking day. The worst culprits are the three small dogs living across the street. They hang out on the upstairs deck, barking their faces off and ignoring CinS's chants to jump. But there is a new dog in town, and she is causing a ruckus.
On paper, this new dog is right up my ally. She is small, fluffy and is named for my grandmother's (human) best friend, Mildred. But in reality, I'm about to go all Michael Vick on this little princess.
Mildred was up the other night at 3AM, barking in the yard. She was barking for about 10 minutes before her owner decided to "intervene." I was completely unaware that the best way to handle a barking dog in the middle of the night is simply to scream out an open window, repeatedly, for 20 minutes. "Mildred! Mildred! MilDRED! Mildred! For the love of God, Mildred!" Totally effective, sir.
This went on for a good 45 minutes, until Mildred's owner got out of bed to take care of his dog. The whole time I was awake, I kept thinking about that scene from the totally underrated Tom Hanks flick, "The Burbs."
Do you remember the part when Tom Hanks' dog is digging by the fence because the neighbor's yard is riddled with corpses? I do. And it made me wonder what Mildred was so riled up about. It was probably a dead bird or a mouse or something, but wouldn't it be awesome if the reason our neighbors have such kick-ass orange trees is due to some natural fertilizer? Radical.
Mildred just may save us all.
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