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.
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?
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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
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”.
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”.
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.
Bulldogs get all the cool jobs. Wine bulldog works in a wine shop on 54th and 2nd Ave. He guards against wine theft and wine stupidity. Mainly he sleeps in his bed by the door. This is a rare photo of him standing up in his guard pose. He currently recommends the ’08 Soter Vineyards Pinot Noir.
People are always shouting at each other. Sirens are blaring all the time. They’re always jackhammering the streets around here. It certainly sounds like a war zone sometimes in New York.
But really nothing we have to deal with compares to what the real war dogs go through. And our war zones have ice cream trucks (above picture).
In honor of the mystery dog who accompanied the Navy Seals who took down Bin Laden, I tried to assemble a few dog friends around town who might be good war recruits for various reasons. War dogs don’t have to all be German Shepherds and such.
WAR RECRUIT #1: DONNY THE DECOY DOG
Donny can kill the enemy with cuteness. His stare literally paralyzes. The best way to utilize him is to have him secretly infiltrate the enemy line. Maybe parachute him in a small box with a blue bow. When the enemy forces open the box and then surround him and begin to pet him, you go in for the kill. The Donny decoy technique might only work if the enemy is a group of small dog loving women. A group of Paris Hilton clones, perhaps. They would definitely be worth fighting against.
RECRUIT #2: JEEVES THE REBEL
RECRUIT #3: SPACE FRENCHIE
Space French Bulldog wears a high-tech flack suit that blinds the enemy with shiny lights. He also sometimes carries a pack of Gauloises cigarettes strapped to his back to offer a friendly smoke to the enemy. As soon as they light the cigarette, the real fire comes and the enemy falls. Space Frenchie scuttles around in search of food in enemy pockets. Someone always has a doggy biscuit. Bon Appetit!
RECRUIT #4: YORKIE FRIEND
At some point the enemy is going to be tiny and they will be hiding in a tiny hole. A big German Shepherd will not be able to enter through this hole. Not delicately that is. You’ll need the teacup Yorkie for this small job. Or maybe have him crawl into those tiny spaces to undo the wiring of a bomb. Chew through the red one, Yorkie. No, the red one. No! Stop! Bad dog!
Yorkie obviously could be used as a decoy similar to Donny as well. But he would prefer the bombs. Nerves of steel.
That’s right. Your favorite Sesame Street character got arrested in Central Park today. Serves him right. Why’d he get arrested? He’s a ball hog. Stealing all the limelight from Miss Piggy and Kermit and Bert and Ernie and Snuffu-howeveryouspellit–luffagus. Also he was making obscene gestures. One too many. And the cops got mad and kicked him off his little stage just like Jim Morrison. That’s just fine with me. I always bark at Elmo. All big scary costumes should go to jail.
As I wander through these streets of New York, righting the wrongs and wronging the rights, I run into a lot of dogs along the way. I’ve gotten to know some of them better than others. Some I avoid, because I don’t like them, or because I’m afraid (rare but true) of them. Some I will chase down from a mile away just to get a whiff of what they’re up to. Here are just a few dogs I know which will most likely play prominent roles in my adventures:
BUDDY: My buddy. Runderdog’s sidekick. Notice how he kicks on his side. He’s great, right? Here’s Buddy’s other side:
Buddy’s a great sidekick mostly. Sometimes he’s lazy but I give him a break because he lives with 3 cats that keep him up all night with meows and hisses and knocking picture frames over. He likes the sun, lounging on his side on the sidewalk, and licking people. He dislikes whatever I tell him to dislike.
MARLENE: The Femme Fatale. We are currently not hanging out. She’s acting as if she’s too good to speak to me. She thinks she’s a movie star but she’s not. She’s trouble. But I like her. Isn’t that always the case?
CURTIS: The cub reporter. Curtis wants so much to get the scoop that he resorts to spying on dogs in apartment windows. He doesn’t realize how much he sticks out like a sore thumb wearing his Red Sox cap in Yankee land.
LOLA: Town gossip. Town crier. She’s got a big mouth. I don’t believe half the stuff she says. But every once in a while there’s a grain of truth…
RUNNING STORE DOG: Another dog that won’t talk to me. He knows I’m just trying to get the scoop and he won’t give it to me. Come on, Running Store Dog. Can’t even look me in the eye. Why can’t you be nice like the girl in the video behind you?
These are all dogs I like, even the ones that don’t talk to me. I will give my enemies their due at a later time.
Here’s The Dog Runner sporting the New Balance Minimus Trail shoe. He loves them. They are supposed to give him the impression that he is running barefoot, that he doesn’t have shoes on at all, like when he was a little baby running naked around on the beach. But they still smell like shoes, so says my yellow Lab friend Andy here. If it smells like one it is one. Dogs know.
The Dog Runner (author of The Dog Runner (he makes me mention that)) likes to run in very light “minimal” shoes from time to time. He’s into the barefoot running movement. Yeah, well, Dog Runner, you should try and really run barefoot, like me. I have to run around barefoot on this dirty sidewalk with trash and other dogs’ crap and sometimes glass and bird poop all over the place. I’ve been a part of the barefoot movement since I was born. Unless you put those stupid little booties on me, I’m always barefoot. So, it’s not just a trend for me, pal.
Ever since this guy Christopher McDougall wrote the book Born to Run, people have been flocking to run like me, like us, like dogs. But people were just plain scared to go around barefoot. Oh no, all those germs and stuff. We can’t do that. No, we’re not gonna do it. Then some company made these little toe slippers called Five Fingers to make it look like people were running barefoot but they’re not. They still smell like shoes. And if it smells like s**t then it is s**t (in my book).
Bottom line: If you’re gonna go barefoot, then do it all the way. Otherwise quit trying to be a dog. Stick to what you do best. When you buy a shoe then buy a freakin’ shoe. Buy something that feels comfortable. Buy a shoe in which your mom might say “Oh that’s a nice shoe. Looks comfortable, Freddy.” Or don’t. Buy a shoe your mom hates but still make it comfortable. Don’t buy a shoe that says that it’s supposed to be your bare feet. It just means you’re getting less shoe. To me, that smells fishy. Don’t give me that less = more crap. Minimal = less shoe = getting ripped off. Just go barefoot, balls out, commando of the feet. Toughen yourself up. Get some calluses on your soul (ahem sole). Step in poop and feel the squishiness between your bare toes. Don’t worry about germs. They’re everywhere anyway. Think of all those gross doorknobs you touch with your hands. Now take off your shoes and rub your bare feet on a few doorknobs. Go ahead and do it. That felt good didn’t it?
Bottom Bottom Line: Grow a paw.
NOTE: Dog Runner still likes these shoes even though I tell him he’s part of a stupid fad.
Many people have asked this age old question. And I’m about to reveal the answer.Take a look at this man. He’s one of the few people who can really say he’s tired. He’s not only too tired, he’s two tired. Yet he keeps going. Even though the others have Donlop-ped him once, maybe even twice, around this track of life, he keeps going. While you, you just sit on your butt. Think your life is a drag? Get over it. You’re just lazy. So get out there and do it, man. Or woman. Or whatever the case may be. Come on! No more hydroplaning through your life. Keep on treading along. You’re gonna have a good year!
I’m not a big dog myself. You could put me in the small dog category. I’m part Terrier and part Dachsund. But I carry myself well. Especially out on my runs. No one really messes with me. It’s usually a couple of friendly sniffs at the corner while we’re all waiting for the light. And then when the signal changesI give them a nice bark and run ahead on my way to run down to the river.
There are certain dogs that bark or growl at me when I run by them. Usually I could give a dog crap about these guys. I know their bark is worse than their bite. Usually they are small breeds with inferiority complexes. These little ones, the Yorkies and the Chihuahuas always wanna bark. Usually you’ll see an owner with two or three of these little guys. They seem to come in packs. And their owners tug at them while they spin around like little demons on the sidewalk. They try and get at me and I just run by and laugh. Dog Runner pulls me over to the other side of the sidewalk but I know they’re not going to get at me. Let me at ’em I say. I’ll give them a scare.
Most of the time, big breeds like Labs and Pointers want to play with me. But if they get too rough and try to jump at me, I’ll bark at them and growl myself. I don’t want a bunch of slimy gook on me. And I don’t really have time to play. Gotta run, yo!
Most of the time when I meet a dog out there, I can size him or her up in no time. Everything’s fine and dandy and we’re friends (or we’re not and the Dog Runner runs me by them really quickly). Though I gotta say there are a handful of dogs out there that really piss me off. Some of them really get under my skin on a regular basis.
They get under my skin because they ignore me. Yes, that’s right. They just flat out stare ahead like they can’t even see me, or can’t be bothered with my presence. And the Dog Runner keeps me there for whatever reason. I guess to deal with it. I don’t know. He laughs about it. It’s not funny. They really bother me, make me angry and I growl and bark and want to get after them. Take this tool of a dog for instance:
I really let this guy have it. I sat there and barked at him for what seemed like ten minutes and nothing. I jumped at that chain link fence and I thought he would move or something. But nothing. It was cold that day so there was a slim chance he was frozen. And he hadn’t been groomed. He had grass and twigs on him so maybe he was embarrassed about that. No reason to ignore though.
What about this guy:
And these guys:
What’s going on in that store? No wonder you’re ignoring me. You should be ashamed of yourselves.
Sometimes people ignore me. But people in New York are self-absorbed, deep in thought, in their own little worlds. I bark at them for a little bit, get it out of my system and go about my way.
This guy ignored me and I hiked my leg up and took a leak on him:
But, yeah, it’s usually the dogs, you know. Ignoring is just not nice. It’s not even nice when you get all famous and you think your doggy doo is made of roses.
This guy certain thinks so about himself:
I barked at him for a long long time. He really is larger than life in person. I didn’t expect that and I was a bit, shall we say, starstruck. I just, yeah, you know what, I just wanted an autograph. That’s all I was trying to bark at you. And you couldn’t even get off your skateboard and give me that. Whatever, fame boy. Tillman, I shall pee on your skate wheels. I’ll see you in doggy hell.
I ran by this dog today on the corner of 52nd and 3rd Ave. Unbelievable. A Red Sox hat in the middle of New York. It’s almost as if he was trying to pick a fight. Some other dogs might get offended. Mostly I laugh and thank doggy heaven that my owner didn’t do this to me. She did put me in a Batman costume on Halloween though. The Golden Retriever in the picture is either very impressed or in a state of shock. And the Pointer’s so into it. He’s so well trained. It’s as if he’s at the game and watching. And it’s a swing by Youkilis and a fly ball deep to right field…
This writing’s gonna be tough for a dog with only paws. Gonna be ruff stuff. Forgive me for that. So I gotta big mouth which usually means I eat whatever’s on the street. But it also means I gotta lot to say. I live in New York City. And this doo-fus named the Dog Runner or something takes me out for runs around Manhattan–east side primarily. But really it’s the other way around. I take him out. Lots to see. Lots to report. This will be my doggy newsletter so to speak. My take on this crazy world.