Say hello to Duke

If you'd asked me this time last week what the chances were of my wife and I adding another dog to our household anytime soon I would've told you "somewhere between slim and none." We'd talked about it earlier this year, and even got to the point of meeting (and being offered) a beagle we were considering taking in. We decided against it for many reasons. Some of them were specific to the dog in question, but a good many of them came down to the decision that it just wasn't the right time for us to get another dog. Besides, we already had one perfectly wonderful dog who could soak up all the love we could give it, so we didn't really need one.

Sometimes when you look at a dynamic volume like smoke or clouds you see a recognizable pattern or shape appear. The patterns and shapes originate from your mind, which does not mean they aren't there.

Earlier this year my wife (then just a lowly fiance) and I met a cute little dog named Happy. Happy belonged to Steve, the guy who owns and operates the local waste dump. Happy was small and very cute, and very appropriately named, as it's hard to imagine a dog having more fun being a dog than Happy. Happy was a "chug", a mix of chihuahua and pug. Normally I'm not a fan of little dogs, but Happy was about as far-removed from a high-strung yapper as you could imagine. He was incredibly friendly and seemed to revel in being a junkyard dog, perfectly at peace lying in the sun chewing on a bone. Sadly, Happy died in a terrible accident a couple months ago. I've never cried for someone else's pet, but I cried when I heard that Happy was dead, and this is a dog that I'd spent a grand total of maybe 20 minutes with. That's how lovable he was. I knew if I ever had the chance to have a dog like Happy it would be hard to pass up.

...the patterns in randomness...

A few days ago Steve was at our house doing a pick-up when he mentioned that a friend of his had a litter of chug puppies for sale. My wife and I both thought the same thing, but knew we needed to discuss it and think it over, so we didn't say much to Steve. After talking it over and weighing all the pros and cons of a second dog, we decided we'd take a look at the puppies, which were going on 7 weeks old and ready for adoption. The next morning Steve came by with four of the world's cutest puppies in his truck. Two of them cowered when they saw us, and two of them came right up and said hello. One of them was the one Steve described as the second-to-Alpha dog of the litter, one who was submissive but could stand his own. We liked him and he seemed to like us a lot, but there was one important opinion missing. We brought him in the house for a crucial test.


Our dog Thompson is a large and muscular beagle. Setting this defelseless big-eyed little puppy down on the floor in front of him was a lot like setting a toddler in front of a van. The puppy gazed up in sheer awe at this gargantuan beast. In my head I heard the line from the movie "Roxanne" referring to Steve Martin's nose: "I mean, they said it was big, but I didn't know it was gonna be...big!" They immediately sniffed each other out, and the little guy didn't flinch at all, even though I could practically hear natives chanting, "Kong! Kong! Kong!" Thompson was intensely curious, and thought it was fascinating that this little chew-toy-sized thing was moving around on its own. When Thompson walked away the tiny puppy immediately gave chase. Thompson was surprised when the little thing caught up with him, but never got aggressive with him, and that was our main concern.

We had expected to look at puppies that morning. We'd even expected to strongly consider taking one. We didn't expect that the puppy wouldn't leave that morning, but that's what happened. The puppies were ready to go and Steve had a list of interested buyers, so I checked our bank balance and wrote him a check on the spot. Duke was home.

Chugs are becoming a popular mix because of their looks and disposition. Like chihuahuas and pugs they are incredibly affectionate and form close bonds with their owners. Like chihuahuas they are small dogs with fast metabolisms and tend to lose body heat quickly, so they seek out warm places. So far Duke's hands-down favorite activity is sleeping on people. Once he finds a nice friendly source of body heat he burrows in and quickly nods off. Above you can see him hapilly curled up under my shirt. That's how he spends most of the day.

Duke and Thompson continue to get along great. Thompson seems to think Duke is just fine, and Duke looks at Thompson with his eyes full of big-brother idolotry. Even when Duke decides he'd rather drink from the big bowl Thompson doesn't get defensive. Duke's not scared of his huge new brother, either; he initiates play by running after Thompson and jumping at him, and he's already given the big dog a couple pint-sized cuffs to the cheek without issue. The kids, of course, lost their minds when we sat them at the table on Friday with their eyes closed and revealed our new puppy. They want to spend every waking minute with him, which I have to keep reminding them is limited to Duke's every waking minute, which are in the minority right now.

So say hi to Duke, everyone. He hasn't met you yet, but he loves you already. That's the kind of puppy he is.

Fuck spam in its undefinable gelatinous ass

We all know and love spam. Simply by existing it occupies too much of our time. Spammers occupy that special plane of patheticness attainable only by those most absolute of human failures: virus coders, child molesters, cult leaders, televangelists, and Moby. I've been dealing with spam since it came in envelopes and was called "junk mail", and at this point the only thing that surprises me about spam is that, apparently, it works. Anyone who actually consents to buying stocks, Viagra, hair tonic, a mortgage, or hot underage snatch from a randomly-emailed link deserves to have their computing licence reduced to a class 2C, that being analogous to an Apple IIc with no means of outside communication and green graphics. "Here, go play fuckin' Lode Runner for a year, and when we let you have your Dell with AOL back do yourself a favor and don't plug it in."

I digress.

For the past few weeks I have been aware of a new (to me) type of spam: blog spam! My blog is receiving spam in the guise of comments. "I love the smell of commerce in the morning!" I have gone through all my previous posts and deleted all the spam comments I found. It was a lot of fun and exactly how I wanted to spend 40 minutes of my Friday night. While I was doing it I put on my bowling shoes and listened to a Cephalic Carnage CD, so it wasn't a total loss. Have you ever put on your bowling shoes and listened to Cephalic Carnage? You really should, man. It, like, really slows down some of that hydro-grind and lets you figure out what the fuck is goin' on, you know? I tried dropping acid and listening to Sunn O))) once, but after, like, 8 weeks of the same note I kinda freaked out.

But we're not here to talk about that. No. We're here to talk about spam.

I have removed the spam. It was the most fun I've had since flossing your great aunt Petunia's ass. I have also put some kind of comment verification feature into effect. I'm not 100% sure how it works yet, but from the sound of things it seems to require that I preview and OK any comments before they are posted to the blog. To those of you who are legitimate posters this will probably mean that you won't see your posts appear as quickly as you are used to. They may wind up waiting until the next time I check my email. (Don't worry. That happens several times a day.) So if you post and don't see it, don't repost and don't despair that the blog is broken. It'll get there. Unless you're a spammer, of course, in which case your post will wither and devolve to a transitory speck in my deleted items folder, and thence into nothingness. (Usually I'd write "[insert diabolical laughter here]" at this point, but since sound doesn't travel in a vacuum...)

[insert dull ache of your own futility here]
Mu-hu-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaaa!!!