No Dog Relevance

You know when you forget to put on your watch and you keep glancing down to see bare wrist? Well that’s how I feel without Scout this weekend. I keep looking down at my feet and expect her to be following but she’s not. She’s back in LA staying with Big Scout. And I’m in Vegas.

I’m not really a gambler. It has nothing to do with money. You could give me money and I still wouldn’t want to gamble. I find both slots and table games a bit boring. If the games involved an obstacle course or tackling, I think I’d be more into them. I’m not talking about watching others undergo these physical challenges, I’m talking about doing them myself. They should have American Gladiator events like the joust, hang tough and assault. I’d totally rock that shit.

We used to have a pudding wrestling day in sleepaway camp. You formed tag teams and challenged camp frenemies. There were really no rules; it was absurdly dangerous. This is clearly something that could never happen at a camp these days – they’d get sued by fifteen parents within fifteen minutes. I actually went to the hospital twice while at camp. One was totally my fault – I ran full speed into a telephone pole while playing Ultimate Frisbee and sustained a concussion and several bruises. The second was probably my fault but I could have had a case.

We were at an intercamp game (you travel to another camp and play them in sports) playing street hockey; I was about 9 or 10. I took intercamp games very seriously. Actually, I took any game very seriously, from Monopoly to travel lacrosse playoffs. My camp happened to have especially spastic kids; we ALWAYS lost intercamp games. So, I felt like I had to hold our whole bunk up. Well, on this particular street hockey day, I was totally dominating and we were actually winning for the first time in Camp Kennybrook history. The Camp Lakota girls started taking cheap shots at me – sticks to the shin, pushes into the boards, holding of all sorts.

I rather quickly hit my breaking point. While their best player was running along the boards, I hip-checked her (possibly a little harder than necessary). She hit the ground with a thud and started to cry; I shouted “Wuss!” at her face. In retaliation, her bunkmate ran at me, swung the hockey stick like a baseball bat and nailed me in the chest. Both she and I got thrown out of the game. Though it hurt to breathe, I yelled “Fuck You Dickhead” at the ref and launched my stick like a javelin into the woods. This got me thrown out of Camp Lakota and resulted in a barrage of screaming curses on the way out. I got myself so worked up that I began to hyperventilate which in turn made my chest hurt even more. My whole age division got back on the bus, dropped me at the hospital with a counselor and went home. A short X-Ray later, I was told I broke two ribs and caused my blood pressure to rise to that of a 60-year- old- obese smoker with a heart condition. All I cared about was whether I would recover for Color War*.

*Color War is a week long all out competition in which the camp is split into two teams. Events range from volleyball to rope burn to whole-camp bucket brigade. Points are also awarded for spirit, organized lines and bed-making skills. Color War is part Fascist, part cheesy and part amazingly awesome (if you are 14 and under).

Hungry Like the Wolf - Literally

The owner that named her Bijon Bijon resembles Jocelyn Wildenstein, aka "Tiger Woman," aka "The Bride of Wildenstein." She has had more plastic surgery than Michael Jackson and has lips six times the plumpness of Angelina Jolie. It seems she does pretty much nothing all day every day, besides injecting botox and undergoing silicon-based operations.

In an attempt to find meaning and purpose in her life, she decided to get a dog. It did not, however, dawn on her to read anything or ask anyone about owning and caring for one. I recently had the following conversation with her:

Tiger Bride: How often do you walk Scout?
Me: Usually about four times a day.
Tiger Bride: That’s it? Bijon has to go out constantly.
Me: Is he sick?
Tiger Bride: I don’t think so, I think he just has a fast metabolism.
Me: What do you feed him?
Tiger Bride: Oh, the usual, so carrots, peapods, broccoli, peppers. And he loves fruit too: apples, mango, kumquat – kumquats are his faaaaavorite.
Me: I think I know why he has to poop so much – that’s way, way too much fiber. Dogs should eat mainly meat.
Tiger Bride: Really? I’ve never fed him that.
Me: They are descendents of wolves so you may want to look into it.
Tiger Bride: Wolves? My Bij Bij baby is not a big scary wolf!
Me: Not anymore.
Tiger Bride: What do you give your dog? Chicken Paillard? Roasted Quail? Filet?
Me: Dog food.

If she was able to move her face, the look on it would have been priceless.

Labia Leverage

Today at the park, Big Scout and Little Scout had a role reversal. Little Scout is usually the dominant one, the one in control between the two. But this morning the tables turned when Big Scout made a new friend, Boston Terrier Mo. Little Scout not did approve of the relationship because Mo was taking the attention she usually received. Not used to being left out, Little Scout tried her best to get into the wrestling but it was clear that three’s a crowd. Ear biting, growling, smacking, none if it could take Big Scout’s attention away from Mo and return it to Little Scout. So, the Chihuahua/Terrier/Pug/Pinscher/Monster did what she had to do: hump.

What’s interesting is that I saw a human female do the same thing at a bar last night (no actual dry humping but some fondling). In fact, I have seen many women doing this throughout my time in NY, Boston, Philly, LA and London. Women using their womanhood to garner attention seems to be a trend throughout the US and perhaps the world. I’ve seen girls making out with multiple guys, girls making out with girls and girls dancing just a little “Too Close” in order to get attention. The thing is, like Little Scout humping Big Scout, it has nothing to do with sexuality, but everything to do with dominance.

Not to argue in favor of the whores out there, but if you think about it, women using their body to get attention from men, is a feminist notion.* Whereas women used to prim and properly wait for men to come to them, these women are actively seeking the men and objectifying them, instead of the other way around. We’re using our bodies to manipulate their bodies (penis more exactly) which in turn manipulates their (one-track) mind. This reverses the traditional relationship and puts the female in control. If men are going to judge us based on our breasts regardless (which they always will), why not rub those breasts in their face and use them to undermine men? OK, maybe don’t literally rub them in their face, just wear a V-neck or something, you get the point. All I’m saying is, maybe it’s time to use our cleavage to get control, labia to get leverage and areola to get authority...or maybe just do some "too close" dancing.

*Most actual feminists do not agree with anything I have written above. New York Magazine writer Ariel Levy says the concept of women using their lady parts for attention would "likely have caused their feminist foremothers to vomit." Though she was specifically referring to things in the Girls Gone Wild realm, which I am in no way promoting here, as blatant flashing at mass crowds is much different than grinding with one person.<sup>†

†</sup>Feminists would REALLY disagree on this one.

Overheard at the Park

"When my dog's anal glands get full I just milk them myself"

My Quick Comments:
1. This is disgusting and reminds me of Stiffler during the sperm bank scene in Road Trip (Yes, I know his name is not Stiffler in this movie but he will always be Stiffler in my book)
2. This was said by a seemingly normal woman that looked like pre-Idol Kelly Clarkson: Kelly Clarkson's anal glands must have needed a cleaning here because she looks like poop.

3. Who announces this to the world? I don't even tell my dentist I don't floss regularly out of fear of judgment.
4. This seems like something only a professional should do - leave it to the Anal Gland Milkers. Would you go to your plumber for a gynecological exam? They clean pipes but that doesn't mean they should clean your pipes.

Regulation Contemplation

The main dog park regulations are as follows:

1. Watch your dog at all times
2. Pick up after your dog with the shovels provided
3. Do not bring food into the park
4. Remove your dog from the park if it is harassing another dog or playing too aggressively
5. Remove your dog from another dog’s back if it is humping
6. Do not bring unaltered dogs into the park (Refer to #5 for explanation)
7. Do not use the park to solicit your own business
8. Be angered by Puppy Mills (This is really just essential to making park friends, but you should be angered by Puppy Mills anyway)
9. Do not use the park to solicit your own business, which happens to be a Puppy Mill (This happened)

Here are some rules I think should be added:

1. If you are over the age of 65 and sitting on a bench with someone under the age of 45 (26 to be exact), “lube” is not an appropriate topic
2. If your dog is playing with my dog, that does not mean we need to talk. Our dogs liking one another in no way correlates to us liking one another (actually it sadly does because we are all dog-loving losers with nothing else going on in our lives to talk about otherwise)
3. If you let your dog unabashedly hump my dog, my dog is allowed to bite (Ok, growl, Scout would never bite) your dog
4. Do not bring any sort of special bone or toy into the park if your pooch is not ok (or you, because it is usually the owner that gets upset) with it getting taken away and either torn apart or buried, because it inevitably will
5. If you leave your dog in the little side of the dog park (most parks have a section for big guys and one for little guys) and go elsewhere and it humps or attempts to bite my dog, I will simply drop it over the fence into the big dog area, where it will either be trampled or eaten
6. Please don’t name your dog Bijon if it is a Bijon – that’s like naming your kid Kyd (as David Duchovny did)
7. While it is ok to come to the park after 1 or 2 drinks, it is not appropriate to come after 16 (There used to be a woman who routinely fell off the bench and slurred more than me on the night pictured below)

Challah At Me

Hi! Hi! Hi! I went hiking at this big park..park! Woohoo! So we were at an off-leash dog hiking park in Runyon…Run! Run! I’m Chasing you! Run! Sorry, Runyon Canyon. So, me and Julie, we...we went up to the tippy tippy top. And I made friends with a little kid who had a stuffed animal. I LOVE stuffed animals. I rip their heads off and take out all the insides! So the kid was making me jump for it. I thought I would get to tear it apart or at least get a treat. TREAT! TREAT! Yayayayayay. But all I got was mad! So, I tried to howl like my Beagle friend Big Scout. But it didn’t sound right. Beagles must practice a lot...like Orca does with sports. I think Big Scout should be on American Idol – she’s better than the blind guy...why doesn’t the blind guy get a dog? Dog? Where? Dog? Oh, I said that. So I think Big Scout should go help the blind guy and also take his place. But anyway, I REALLY wanted to rip that toy’s head off. Julie said it was a Challah Bear or something but I was confused cause it’s another month till Passover. Howling wasn’t working so I jumped on the bench and distracted the little boy with face kisses...Kisses! Woohoo. I love to give kisses...especially face ones. He dropped the Challah Bear and I snatched it. I figured Julie would try to get it - she always wants whatever I have but I yelled “go get your own Challah Bear” and ran into a bush.

Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah...Batdog!

From Dirty Jersey (technically NY) to Dirty Cali

From Thesaurus.com:

Main Entry:scout
Part of Speech: verb
Definition: investigate, check out
Synonyms: case, examine, explore, ferret, have a look-see, hunt, inspect, look for, observe, probe, reconnoiter, run reconnaissance, rustle up, search, seek, set eyes on, spot, spy, stake out, survey, take in, track down, watch

This past week Scout was sick with some tummy issues (let’s leave it at that as the details are rather disgusting). She did not act sick and had quite a lot of energy, but, for the sake of all Scout’s friends, we did not go to the park. Instead, we took an hour long walk each day, as we do on all non-park days. The following is a list of all the things Scout found on the Santa Monica streets, grass and bushes over the course of six days. Use the key below to decode.

E = Eaten
PE = Partially Eaten
TA = Taken Away (Scout can swallow anything in split seconds so this doesn’t occur often)
RU = Ripped up (into a million pieces)

6 Chicken bones – PE
2 Chicken bones – TA
½ of a Medium Size Pizza – PE
1 Baby doll arm – RU before TA
2 Slices jellied white toast – E
1 Panera Ciabatta – PE
1 Undetermined dead animal (she smelled for 2 seconds before I pulled her away and almost puked)
1 Muffin foil – E
1 Singing donkey keychain - TA (potentially the one from Shrek)
1 Egg McMufffin wrapper – PE
3 Pieces of gum – E
1 Package of gum – TA
Numerous diarrhea-inducing tree berries – E
½ of Church yard sale advertisement – RU (must be Dave’s agnostic influence)
1 Raw hotdog – PE before TA
12 Peanut shells – PE
1 Empty bag of Popsecret microwave popcorn – PE and RU
4 Bird bones – TA (Yes, I can tell them from chicken bones - they are hollow)
1 Neon pink used paper plate – RU
2 Sticks of butter – PE
1 Sailor hat (adult size with "Knot E'Nuff" written on it) – TA
2 Cigarette butts – TA
1 Sesame seed hamburger bun – PE
1 Fish carcass – TA (I can’t believe I had to touch this)
2 Globs of hair mixed with goop – TA (Again, I probably have diseases)

This is not a joke. Ask anyone who has been on a walk with Scout or had Scout for a weekend (Jenny, JJ, Dave K…comments?). She truly lives up to her name.

My question is: why is there so much crap scattered around NW Santa Monica? What kind of a person just tosses half a sandwich into a bush? Do people think they are feeding the squirrels? And why are there so many chicken bones and peanut shells? I am baffled. Moreover, why am I paying to live in beautiful Santa Monica if there is more garbage here than on and around the NJ Turnpike I came from? Well, at least I am not around the B&T/Jersey Shore jackasses anymore:

Un-Sunny Side Up

The various people personalities at the park are just as entertaining as the dog personalities. And just as the different pooches clash, so do their owners. Most often, people fight about their dogs – how to train them correctly, when to get them neutered, which vet to take them to, etc. But just sometimes, some awesome times, park patrons fight about something other than dogs. Since owning a dog is the only real thing connecting these people to one another there is actually a lot to disagree about. I’ve heard plenty of conservatives and liberals fight over economic policy; I’ve seen two people yell about which movie won the Oscar in 1979 (he said Witness, she said The Color Purple, iPhone said Out of Africa); I’ve told three people arguing about the merit of Indie Rock to simmer down. But, the most remarkable argument I have ever witnessed at the park, and potentially in life, was between a couple. It was over which one had screwed up the other one’s life more.

They had enough self-respect to move to a corner of the park behind a big tree to have the fight, out of the earshot of most patrons. However, they could not see that I was seated on the other side of the tree. Perhaps the polite thing for me to do would have been to move, as it was clear they were looking for privacy. However, the story-teller in me said to stay. Since I bring a tiny notepad everywhere, I was able to record most of the fight, almost word for word. I’ve cleaned things up a bit (believe it or not) but it went as follows:

Woman: I really don’t understand what the big deal with the eggs was this morning.
Man: I told you I didn’t care what type of eggs you made me but you continued to ask.
Woman: Well, it seemed strange to me that you didn’t have a preference.
Man: My preference is not to be woken up to be asked what type of eggs I want.
Woman: I was being nice. I was making you eggs!
Man: I didn’t want any fucking eggs! I wanted to sleep!
Woman: Oh, well I guess I am just a total jerk for making you breakfast in bed. What a piece of shit girlfriend I am.
Man: I didn’t say you were a piece of shit…I just didn’t give a damn about the eggs.
Woman: Fine. No more eggs. But you could have said thank you.
Man: Thank you? Thank you for what? Ruining my life?
Woman: Ruining your life? I used to wake up looking forward to the day. Now, I wake up thinking about how each day will be worse than the last because you are in it.
Men: Funny, every day I wake up next to you, I try not to move and wake you because I want to get out of the apartment without hearing your bitchy voice.
Woman: I may be a bitch but it’s because I am dating a stupid bastard.
Man: If I’m the dumbass here, why do you keep coming back to me?
Woman: Because you’re a sure thing.
Man: In what way?
Woman: You’re too stupid to realize I’m screwing you to make Mark jealous.

Long, long silence.

Man: Mark! Mark! You want to go for Mark? He wouldn’t stoop so low.

Smack! (only way I know it was she who slapped him is that I could sort of see a reflection off my watch). Sobbing.

Man: I’m sorry babe, I didn’t mean it.
Woman: Why do we suck so much?
Man: We don’t. Let’s go get Bojangles and go home, pop a movie in and drink some wine.

Pause

Woman (still sobbing): Ok

What!!!? That is some crazy shit. I’ve never had, or seen, an argument even remotely that intense (barring TV and film). And to just make up after it? How can you say such horrible things to each other and then move on from there? I’m pretty sure if Dave told me that every day he wakes up next to me is the worst day of his life, a bottle of wine and a movie wouldn’t quite take my mind off of that. This got me thinking about what the biggest fight Dave and I ever got into was; and what I realized was that we really don’t fight. We’ve been together almost five years and the biggest fight we’ve had was over my gum-chewing habits and involved absolutely no yelling. Not that I need to scream about eggs at the dog park, but fighting is a sign of passion and keeps things interesting, right? Am I missing out on great makeup sex?

After researching many accredited websites like Yahoo Answers, I came to the following conclusion: yes, I am indeed missing out on great makeup sex but no, as long as we’re expressing our feelings honestly, we do not NEED to scream like banshees. As for the passion, well, there’s always alcohol!

Just kidding, we don’t need alcohol to spark a flame, but we do need Scout off the bed as she is a bigger cock block than herpes.

A Favorite Dog Video - Turn the Sound On

When Pugsly was King

Some little daschund stole my ball today. Ten balls in the park and the brat needs mine. There used to be respect in this park. Back in '05 you wouldn't dream of messing with an elders ball. It's cause these kids these days are all spoiled. Some of them wear sweaters when it's chilly. We're dogs, that's what our fur is for. And if you're a little cold you deal with it. These babies go cry to mommy over
everything. I knocked down that Izzy and gave her a few growls cause she got in my way when I was getting my ball. And she got herself so worked up she went over to mommy for an inhaler, nearly hyperventalated. Back in the day, you just sucked it up - didn't need no goddam inhaler. I'd rather suffocate than let the other guys know I need an inhaler. You give up your toughness and you're just a punk like the rest of 'em. And we don't need no more punks here.

You're Welcome

When a dog arrives at the park, all the other dogs, lead most often by Scout, run over to greet them with tails wagging. Can you imagine if every time you entered a room a flock of smiling people came over to smell your butt? Ok, shake your hand? I think this is something Americans should adopt. Maybe less people would have self-esteem issues and be on anti-depressants if they knew others were truly happy to be in their presence. How we feel about ourselves is no doubt influenced by how others feel about us.

In certain areas of Europe this kind of a “dog park welcome” is normal. Italy, Greece, Spain – all seem to treat both friends and strangers like long-lost family. I spent time in Greece with some non-blood-related, and possibly not related at all, relatives (my uncle by marriage’s two sisters and their families). I have never, ever, even in my own home, felt as welcome and loved as I did in Greece. I have also never been as happy as I was in Greece. I had been backpacking Europe and my uncle insisted I stay with his family in Athens. I had met one sister and her children once when I was five years old. Though I have a pretty amazing long-term memory (my short-term is shit, I misplace everything), I had no idea what the person being sent to pick me up would look like. And had no clue how they would know what I looked like (I later learned that I am the most obvious American ever and that most of us are easy to pick out of a crowd).

But immediately after exiting the plane, a clan of fifteen people rushed at me with balloons, flowers and “Welcome Julie” signs, Julie spelled J-U-L-Y. Within seconds, I received so many two-cheek kisses my face looked like a paint palette of lipstick colors. People were crying. Crying! They didn’t even know me. I wasn’t even blood. I imagined if I was they would have dug Aristotle out of the ground and had him recite his Poetics.

I spent twelve days with this family. And every morning, every time I returned home, every time I emerged from the bathroom, I received a greeting similar to the one above. Each time it put a smile on my face. The Greeks and the dogs, they’ve figured something out.