I have a bone to pick. No, really I do.

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Where I Don’t Want To Go For Summer Vacation

by Runderdog

 I’m sure this doggie day care place is fine and all on the inside. But boy does it not look like doggie penitentiary from the outside? With all the concertina wire around the top of the fence, I would not consider myself one of the “lucky dogs on vacation” if I stayed here. And does the dog on the sign not look like he wants desperately to be taken away from here? “Please, I’m innocent I tell ya,” his face seems to say.

It looks like someone threw a towel up on top of the barbed wire in an attempt to escape. I am picturing a Bulldog lifting weights back here. Maybe a couple of Boxers trading smokes. A Pug running around as the prison bitch (meaning female dog, of course).

Seeing places like this makes me want to be a better dog. Talk about your negative motivation.

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Signs They Don’t Like Us

by Runderdog

Apparently DUANEreade wants to make it clear that they don’t want dogs in the store. They’ve put up two signs to tell us that. And I think it’s because the sign on the left, the “official” one, just doesn’t make sense. I’m not sure, but is that a picture of a dog, or a seahorse? I’m going to guess it’s a dog-sea horse combo. Of course, you’re not going to let a dog-seahorse into the store. If that were the case, someone would be holding a dead one, or a nearly dead and flopping around one, in his hand. Or perhaps they would be carrying a large saltwater aquarium into the store, and then they would go to the back and ask the pharmacist to watch the dog-seahorse while they find Robutussin.

And you’re not allowed to “permit” me? As in I’m going to come in ask, “Do you have a permit for me, kind sirs?” No? And now you are kicking me out? Not only will you not permit me, but you’re also telling me to go? And why can’t you give me a “permit”? Why? You can give that “service dog” over there one, but not me? Why not? Where are you taking me? I’d like to buy something. These cookies right here. At least let me eat them.

So, yeah, I’m confused. At the bottom of the sign it says “Exception: (service dogs)”. First of all, a word about the parenthesis. Are service dogs so delicate you need to place them under the care of parenthesis? I say they can take care of themselves without the loving arms of parenthesis. Oh I get it. By giving them parenthesis, you’re giving them a special force field to enter the store. And why an exception for these (service dogs)? Don’t get me wrong. I mean I appreciate (service dogs). They do great things like help blind people. But I’m a service dog (No, I don’t need the parenthesis, thank you very much), too. Yes, a service dog, so to speak. I fetch things. I provide the service of entertainment. And the service of barking to alert my owner when I don’t like the way something looks. And I give my owners, and the dog runner, stuff to clean up–that’s a service you won’t find anywhere else. So, I’m allowed in?

“NO, I don’t think so!” says the second sign on the right. The sign of all signs. The sign to clear everything up. So you do not “allow” dogs, huh? So, what if the person I’m with “allows” me? Would that work? No? Does this sign mean service dogs are no longer allowed, as well? What about dog-seahorses?

Bad Spot — Runderdog’s Words of Encouragement

 

 

 

by RunderdogIt’s gonna be okay. You’ll be okay. Take a look at this dog. Even though his head is on a stick, he’s still smiling. So when you find yourself in a bad spot just think of Spot here and know it could be much worse. He looks happy. And he’s stuck between a cock and a lard face. I know. Terrible play on words. But it made you smile. Or you cringed or winced and that could be interpreted as a smile. So smile. Until it gets better. Smile with your tongue even. See Spot. See Spot smile. See Spot smile with his tongue.

Try harder. Use the tongue. Smile like this guy:

Feel better?

 

 

I Had A Nightmare

by Runderdog

I had a nightmare that all the cats I harassed had ganged up on me. But they weren’t attacking me. They were killing me with kindness. Waving and saying hello or meow or whatever they say. And to add insult to injury some of them were holding happy birds which I’ve also harassed in the past. It looked something like this:

World’s First Running Dog

Found in a cave in Austin, Texas, this is an early drawing of a dog running:Dogs ran on two legs in those days it seems. They sort of shuffled real fast, hunched over like an old man, or a butler carrying a service tray. We’ve evolved since then. More feet on the ground equals faster run times. When will you humans ever learn? Somebody has to start the trend. Go ahead. You do it. Run like a dog.

For A Dog To Blog

As a dog, it ain’t easy to blog. I got a lot on my mind and I don’t always wanna share it, you know. And there are so many other things I’d rather be doing than writing words, things of importance such as eating and sleeping and smelling and relieving myself on a tree. Which is why I like to let The Dog Runner take over blogging sometimes.

But when I’m ready to do it, I do it. Still, to write a really good blog, as a dog or as a human, requires a lot. Here’s how the process works for me.

First I start thinking. And the very best way for anyone to start thinking is to put on a big pair of glasses. The bigger the better. It just makes those thoughts pour out. I’m thinking of so much. I can solve the Rubic’s cube and world hunger. But I can also come up with something fun to write about. The big glasses method usually works.

Great thoughts in progress

If big glasses method fails, I go out to Central Park and look at the little boats I hate so much. I bark at them and do some more thinking. And if something pops up, I try and make sense of it. Very transcendental this method. I call it the “waiting for the ship to come in method”. I’ll get an epiphany or two every so often. Floating out there somewhere upon the open waters is a great idea waiting to be had. When I grasp it I get to writing.

Great ideas are afloat.

And if that doesn’t work, I’ll go to The Dog Runner’s running shoe store. I’ll go up to the shoe mirror and do some self-reflection. Think about myself. Think about what I want to say. “What have you been up to lately?” I ask Runderdog, which is me, but also not me because I’m asking my reflection. But my reflection is actually asking me the question as well. So I think is it me or the reflection asking? Maybe neither. And sometimes this works and sometimes it makes my head hurt and makes me cranky. I call this blog-storming method “the self-reflective inspirational and sometimes torture chamber caught in a circle mirror method”.

It's not you, it's me.

If none of these methods works for thinking of a blog, then a good night’s (or day’s) sleep surely will. In this method everything comes out perfect. I write beautiful works of art and sentences come out effortlessly. Often my legs twitch and then I start to run in my dreams. Running and writing. The perfect combo. It’s called “the dream run and write method”.

Masterpiece at work

Ode to the Spirit of the Bulldog

Wine Dog just lounges around a wine shop. Occasionally he recommends a wine to someone. He’s only able to point out with his paw the bottles on the lower shelves. If he stares at the ceiling you’re just gonna have to pick a bottle on one of the higher shelves until he barks. Wine Dog is a bulldog and I’m convinced that’s why he’s working there. Bulldogs get all the cool jobs. I’m trying to figure out why.

Bulldogs look like ham on legs.

They look funny. They breathe funny. They have an underbite and snaggleteeth taken directly from some kind of medieval spike pit of doom. And then there’s that giant throw rug of a tongue. And what about all those facial wrinkles? If Joan Rivers had a worst nightmare, it would be turning into a bulldog. Plastic surgery? Oh gawd yes please! But I guess that’s part of the appeal. They’re a part of the ugly cute phenomenon. And that could be one reason why we see them everywhere.

On trucks here:

and here:

People even make cakes of bulldogs:

Yes, they’re everywhere. One could say they are the Lindsay Lohans and Charlie Sheens of dogs. But they’re better than that. They don’t do drugs or make up silly rants. Some of them do ride skateboards and even have their own tour buses:

And some of them get great seats at football games:

Uga is the mascot for University of Georgia. Following closely behind the eagle and the tiger, the bulldog is the third most popular college mascot. So, yeah, the number one dog mascot. And I believe they’re number one because there’s something unreal looking about them. They look like a cartoon. They look, well, like a mascot should look.

Looks matter to some degree. But the bulldog’s popularity has a lot to do with attitude as well. I’ve heard bulldogs called lazy. But they are also the exact opposite at times. I’ve seen them run around for hours. They’ll chase flies or ride skateboards or chew on something to complete exhaustion. So lazy is not really the most accurate description. I’ve heard them called stubborn. But anyone who truly knows the bulldog knows that stubbornness is really determination in disguise. They are determined to eat, determined to chase objects with wheels, determined to jump on objects with wheels, determined to chew cans and bottles, determined to walk in the direction they want to walk in, determined to not walk at all. It’s this kind of determination that makes them what they are. It’s the bulldog’s spirit of determination that we truly admire. One of the main reasons they are the big dog on campus.

Americans have certainly been called stubborn. We’ve definitely been called lazy. Yes, we can be both of these. But these adjectives used to describe us usually come from those who do not truly know us. Good old fashioned American determination found cures for diseases like polio. And if we appear lazy, it is only because we are resting for something bigger. Yes, we are a lot like the bulldog. We get the job done. I would say we’re ugly cute.

Go out now and find a bulldog. They’re everywhere you look. Give them a kiss (it can be an air kiss) and tell them how proud you are to be an American. And if you’re not American, just tell them how proud you are of your own country. How proud you are of them as ugly beautiful dogs. How proud you are of yourself.

The PACK–Police Against Cancer in Kids

The Dog Runner ran with some police in Central Park yesterday. They weren’t NYPD. Known as Jack’s Pack, they are a group of London Policemen who come to New York once a year to raise awareness in the fight against kid’s cancer.

This year the 92 members ran a half-marathon through Central Park. The group was featured on CBS News before the run.  JACK Foundation was formed in 2008 to bring support for Jack Brown who suffered from Neuroblastoma, an extremely aggressive children’s cancer. Go, Jack’s Pack. Fight the fight. Die Cancer.

Go Bobby Go!

Greenpees

I'm just smelling the news and checking my pee-mail.

Elmo Gets Out of Jail

Elmo was released from jail today and seen back on the street. Sources say Big Bird bailed him out. He appears here more humbled by the experience and in need of money. If you see him (last seen by Runderdog on Park Ave. and 53rd), put a quarter in his red bag and tell him you hope he’s learned his lesson about being a showoff. Give Ernie and Kermit some airtime, dude.