The same thing seems to happen down here in this box. How will I ever be able to fill this up with words?

So Many Words to Choose From

^{Yet I can't seem to think of any.}

I guess dogs are still cool.

Maybe I'll talk about dogs today.

Dogs

^{Friends for people who don't have friends.}

I remember Rocky, though I never met him.

As young as the age of five, I remember my mom telling me the story about Rocky.

He was a big German Shepherd. One day, we couldn't find your brother. This was before you were born. Your big brother was little then. Maybe five years old, like you are now. We looked all over the farm. Finally, after having several panic attacks, we found your brother and the dog. Rocky was trying to drown your brother in the pond.

Mom doesn't have much of a filter. I heard Rocky had to move out after that incident and I did not suffer any childhood trauma from that story or any of the other ones she told me. You just get used to it.

My First Dog

^"Lassie"

A genius name for a collie, right?

This dog didn't look like the one in the show my mom used to make me watch, but she was still cool.

I remember being on the outside of the fenced-in portion of the yard, Lassie was on the inside. I was only nine years old.

I'd run alongside the fence, Lassie would chase me and then hop over the fence once we got to the corner. Then, she'd follow me back to the gate where we'd prepare ourselves to do it all over again.

It was either the seventh or eighth attempt when everything fell apart. We were shooting for ten jumps in a row but unfortunately, we didn't reach our target.

Running, running, running... smash. Lassie forgot how to do her trick and ran face first into the fence. She seemed fine, unfazed, ready to try again. So we did try again. Same thing. Face first into the fence. We both silently agreed that it's probably a good time to stop after the third fail.

My Roommates Dog

^{Bandit was the name.}

When I was in my late teens, I lived with two friends.

Joe and Chad. Nice guys.

Chad brought his dog along for the ride, so I guess I lived with three friends.

I gave Bandit a pork chop once, even though that was against the rules. I just wanted to see if he'd eat it because my girlfriend wouldn't eat it and that was the last time I cooked pork chops for her.

Bandit just looked at me as if I were some kind of a pork chop vending machine everyday after that incident. Bandit liked cuddling pork chop vending machines and ignoring all of the other vending machines.

Chad and I worked in the same oatmeal processing plant. We'd get home at the same time everyday. Bandit would run straight to the pork chop and ignore his dad. This infuriated Chad and he became jealous. Chad thought Bandit broke up with him. He'd have to close his bedroom door at night otherwise Bandit would come to my bed and want to sleep with me.

I never told Chad about the pork chop.

Mikey

^{He'd piss himself every time I came home from work.}

One day my ex-girlfriend stepped out to buy, "Donuts and coffee."

I was excited because I really like donuts and coffee.

Three hours pass. Still no donuts or coffee but finally I hear the noisy garage door. That can only mean one thing. Donuts and coffee.

In walks a Shih Tzu and behind him my ex-girlfriend yelling, "Surprise!"

She said donuts and coffee; brings home a dog.

He was a good boy, but hard to train.

Every morning I'd wake up in darkness and feel my way down the hall until I reached the kitchen to make my morning coffee. That adventure changed drastically once we got Mikey. I had new obstacles to overcome. It was like walking through a minefield.

Every morning on my way to wake up and get coffee, I'd step in dog shit, barefoot. Sometimes it would get squished between my toes.

The Racist Dog

^{I never got his name.}

Years ago, I was a travelling furnace technician who specialized in cleaning ducts. How exciting, right?

I'd enter at least four homes on any given workday. I met all kinds of great people and many of them had pets. I could tell stories for days on end about those adventures. Did you know some guys hide weed from their wives in the register nearest the desk in the office? It's true, ladies. Go have a look.

Anyway, most dogs hated my noisy equipment and the fact some random dude is casually walking around the house while looking at the strange things people keep on shelves. I was used to them barking at me.

I entered one home. This woman was casually smoking a joint. Smiling from ear to ear. The house was a total disaster, but her personality made up for it. I enjoyed her presence, but I had work to do. No time for idle chit chat, that stuff was strong, and I hadn't worked on a furnace while stoned before.

Getting everything ready took more time than usual. I kept thinking I forgot something in the van but when I'd get to the van I'd forget why I walked to the van.

Finally I found my set of air tools and approached the first register that needed a good dusting. I got down on my knees, as per usual, and started blowing the dust down into the ducts and towards the vacuum. Suddenly, I felt something tugging on my ankles. I turned around and see a dog. I wasn't expecting to see a dog and because I inhaled, that only made things worse. Where did you come from!

I don't think I had ever been more afraid of a dog in my entire life.

Just a tiny little pooch. I think a hamster could have kicked his ass in a fight, but there he is, biting me and pulling on my pants as hard as he could.

I calmly raised my voice over the noise. "Excuse me? Ma'am? Your dog is biting me."

She casually walks into the same room as me and says, "Oh, don't worry about him. He does that all the time. He just doesn't like white people for some reason."

The moment she said that, I started laughing so hard I nearly broke my neck. Tears of joy were flowing down my face. I could not control myself. Because I was laughing, she started laughing. The dog didn't like this and continued to go on his hate crime spree until the nice lady finally decided to put him in jail until I was finished.

In Conclusion

 
Sorry about not having much to say today. I couldn't think of anything to write about. You know how it is.

So, I guess today's lesson is: If you're ever struggling for an idea, just think about your past.

Or dogs.

Or both!

Have a nice day.

Credits: _{All art and images seen here were produced digitally, by me. "Bow wow wow yippie yo yippie yay!" [email protected]}

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