Racism in Mammals

I really love dogs from Yorkshire the best.

I was walking Louise tonight and I was thinking, “I have absolutely nothing to blog about. I’m exhausted. It was a long night of poker---$61 win—and this week has been hellish with my little production accounting jobs that are all in the throes of fiscal year end. How dull. Little dull me. Dull. Tired. Chop wood, carry water.:

And then I looked down.

I love my dog. I just love her. I know everyone really loves their dogs. Like everyone thinks their two month old baby is super special. But being aware of these things does not make any of it less true.

My little girl dog is so sweet and cute and affectionate. But because she’s a terrier, she’s quite brazen and sturdy. She is a combination that I can relate to. Could it be because I am basically Irish and Italian---easily wounded yet tough as granite?

Whatever it is, she’s the dog for me.

So though it may have appeared that I had nothing to blog, the deal is---I’m all about love, man, love for my pooch. My gorgeous Yorkshire Terrier from some corner of the world that bred the very perfect dog for me.

Lastly. I don’t want to hear loud Rap music any longer. It’s just, I don’t like drums. I never have. Being a soft hits of the seventies kind of guy, I feel isolated in a world of pounding S.U.V.’s I miss Karen Carpenter. And there is nothing I can do about these feelings but accept my little white old-man pussy-boy taste. I try to be more accepting of music that I don’t like. I can’t do it.

I’m going to bed, right now, to be with my sweet dog. Sweet sweet amazing girl that was born for love. For me to love. Born to kill rats and then lovingly nuzzle up to me with her proud rat breath. It takes all kinds.