Saturday, September 10, 2011

Molly, the racist dog


People say that dogs take after their owners. I dispute this claim wholeheartedly. I consider myself accepting of many cultures, religions, practices, and rituals. I don't generalize people based on any stereotype if I can avoid it.....not seriously anyway. My dog, on the other hand, is a different story.

Let me preface this by mentioning that our lovable Molly was rescued from the pound when she was two. And I'm certain she acquired these traits before we brought her into our home.

Last weekend the weather was beautiful in Houston. Sunny, breezy, totally atypical for September. We decided to find a dog park to let her romp and play without the confines of a leash, our the limited square footage of our downtown apartment. We found a beautiful park, with a large pool where all sorts of people and dogs had congregated to enjoy the day. You think she would be thrilled right? Wrong.

Molly spent the first hour glued to us. She wouldnt so much as sniff the other dogs. She was dying of thirst, but refused to share a water bowl with any other dog. Finally, we started looking around, and realized that we couldn't find her. This was a slightly alarming feeling, because she hadn't left our side the entire time. We finally found her, and were a bit puzzled........

She was playing, running around with, and sniffing the butts of three other dogs. The funny thing is, they looked exactly like her. Medium sized, reddish brown dogs. They ran together like a litter pack. They ignored the beautiful husky, the playful golden lab, the black bulldog who refused to share his bone, the pair of Afghans chasing their tennis ball into the pool. She turned her nose up at the beagle puppy who kept trying to nip at her tail, and walked away from the old, greying golden retriever who gently laid down next to her in the shade.
She was acting like a spoiled, racist snob. We left the park that day wondering where we had gone wrong as parents.




Monday, August 15, 2011

Goats and the Jersey Shore

So I had intended to do this blog on myotonic goats, when Jeff, my husband, walks in with a very odd proposal. Let me preface this by saying that watching "Jersey Shore" is my most embarassing guilty pleasure, and one that I do in private. Jeff hates reality TV, and wouldn't have sat through an episode of that if he lost a bet.

In an attempt to make contninuous efforts to strengthen our relationship, he made a daring move.

Jeff: "So....I noticed the first couple of seasons of Jersey Shore are on Netflix. I know you're recording this season and you always have to watch it by yourself. I thought maybe I could get caught up on it this weekend so that I can watch it with you. What do you think?"

Me: (choking on cereal) "Sure?"

As we begin to watch the first episode, and the 8 characters present themselves in the opening credits, amongst a blur of bronzer and hair gel, he looks over and says "You know, if I can't make it past the first episode, at least I tried."

I'm mortified, sure that he's going to be disgusted with the vapid, slutty behavior of these kids, so I hold my breath.......

three freaking episodes into it, I hear him yelling at the teleision. "Vinny is so dumb!" "Man, Angelina is a bitch!" and as we took a break to walk Molly, I turn around to see him fist pumping to an imaginary House beat.

He's addicted now, and will never pass up an opportunity to show me his "situatuion" (abs) and he finally realizes that the annoying sound I make when I don't get my way is the "Snookie noise."


Needless to say I think we both lost a few brain cells this weekend during our Jersey Shore marathon, but it brought us closer in a strange way.

Oh, and I can't leave this without this clip of the goats. It's really something special, and I fully intend to be present at the next "Fainting Goat" Festial.