In case you didn’t know, I live in California where a huge, ongoing debate is the legalization of marijuana. Voters recently denied to completely legalize it. So for now, it’s only legal for people with medicinal marijuana cards to consume the weed. From what I’ve heard, it’s mostly cancer patients and a bunch of stoners who pay off doctors to get them a legitimate prescription.
A few months back, someone gave my owner a bag of cookies made with marijuana butter. She didn’t feel like eating them so put them aside and forgot about them. Believe me, there was a time in her life she would’ve gobbled those things up and spent hours laying on the beach staring at granules of sand. She used to really like the pot, but now she tells everyone as she gets older, “it just puts me too much inside my head.” Whatever that means. Kind of a bummer for me because she used to buy weed from a cool guy who has a pretty dog I was really sweet on.
Back to the cookies. Long story short, they were fed to me by someone else who didn’t know they had pot in them. Let me tell you— I’ve had hip pain, I tend to be on the neurotic side (I’ve got a huge property to guard, my keen sense of smell has me constantly on edge, for chrissakes I’m friends with Coyotes!) and I don’t always sleep well at night. These cookies made me feel at ease, painless and just downright happy. I didn’t bother anyone and I felt like a puppy again.
So does anyone know if I can find a vet who will prescribe me some marijuana dog food?
Recently I spent the weekend with a few kids. This is Gabbi, she’s 10 (Roxie, 6 and Cash, 4 are not pictured). My owner always tries to introduce kids to relevant media from the past in hopes of proliferating quality pop culture. These kids love “Spaceballs,” “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” and all things Jim Henson. Who wouldn’t? I sure do. I really identify with John Candy’s character in “Spaceballs” and of course with Fozzie Bear.
So on this particular weekend, my frugal (she’ll call it that, but I know she’s just plain cheap!) owner bought a $5 copy of the 80s film, “Howard the Duck” at Target. How she talked them into it, I have no idea. We spent the evening having a great dinner, dessert and setting up our slumber party.
We started watching “Howard the Duck,” which, let me point out is PG, but midway through, I was mildly disturbed by its odd beastiality undertones, terrible special effects and lack of a substantial plot line. Gabbi liked Lea Thompson’s crimped hair and Cash found Howard’s snarky demeanor kind of funny. The movie got downright scary when Jeffery Jones’ character becomes possessed by an evil alien demon that even Tim Robbins’ innocent nerdy character could not redeem. I took the liberty of pacing in the hallway and barking to indicate this movie needed to be shut off.
My owner finally got the hint, switched the movie to a G rated Pixar flick (I know she hates these, but desperate times call for desperate measures).
Do I have a point? Yes. Do I hate live action ducks played by little people actors in costume? No. I just have a problem with movies from the past that don’t hold up. “Short Circuit” is a stinker, “ET” is pretty questionable, all things “Ernest” are atrocious and folks, “Howard the Duck” should be burned. I can only hope that Gabbi, Roxie and Cash will soon forget about this movie that Gabbi so eloquently described as “really weird” and discover classics like “Princess Bride,” “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure” and “K9” (James Belushi and German Shepherds!).
If there were a dating site for dogs, this would be my profile pic. Thankfully, my owner doesn’t mess with those sites, but man does she choose some questionable characters sometimes. She took me on a date (I’m not a prop!) with her wine tasting with later hopes of taking a walk on the beach. The guy was a total snooze and I had enough after winery number two and shit all over the back of her car because I wanted the damn date over! Luckily, she figured out that was a sign and cut the guy loose.
Well, Saturday my owner had a guy over she’s apparently had a crush on since she was 14. I guess she thought she could win him over with her amazing sense of humor and charming intellect and her teen dreams could come true. I’ve spent some lazy afternoons watching teen movies with her. I’m a big fan of “Ten Things I Hate About You.” I love a good Shakespearean adaptation. I also really like Julia Stiles’ hair, but that’s besides the point. At one point in that movie, we learn through Andrew Keegan’s character a simple truth— looks aren’t everything.
I sat by my owner’s side on Saturday, listening to her try to keep the conversation lively. She struggled to find common ground with this so called “hunk” and at one point I killed a squirrel in the yard and sat it in front of him while he described some stupid character from “Sons of Anarchy” (we DO NOT watch that show— we are NOT fans of gratuitous violence or motorcycles) and played some of the WORST wannabe reggae I’ve ever heard.
As good as I look in this photo and as good as anyone can look, it’s such a blatant fact that looks are not everything. We recently watched “She’s Out of your League” and you know, I liked it. It spoke truths to what I’m hoping my owner figured out on Saturday. She was pretty pissed she had to clean up the squirrel.
For some reason I’ll never be able to figure out, my owner occasionally listens to conservative talk radio. She claims it’s because it’s the only station that her iPod adapter can feed into and play through the radio. She’ll also tell friends she likes, “to see how the other half lives.” Her insistence on indulging in this station continues to baffle me because let me tell you, some of the things I have to listen to are downright ludicrous and I know my owner agrees because she’ll be driving and start screaming things like, “How can you say that? That’s totally barbaric!”
We were driving to the beach the other day and listened all about Michele Bachmann and how she’s vehemently opposed to gay marriage and how her husband is this psychologist that can “cure” gays. They are sinful terrible people and should not be married.
I really can’t tell if a person is gay, straight, bisexual or whatever. Being a German Shepherd, I have a keen sense of people that are good and those that are bad. My owner has a few gay friends and they are all good people. In fact, there’s one who I love! He always pays extra attention to me, loves to play Frisbee with me in the yard and every time he comes to visit he asks, “How’s my boy Sarge doing?” He’s a great guy! He even has a blog — www.thecryout.com — that when my owner reads, she laughs, agrees, quotes endlessly to friends and I’m happy it gives her such joy.
All that said, from what I hear on the radio and what I see on TV, I can’t say I feel like Michele Bachmann is a good person. Why take the time to be so mean to gays and people she doesn’t even know?! People think I’m mean and dangerous sometimes and it hurts my feelings and with that, it pains me to think that any gays out there are getting their feelings hurt by Bachmann.
Right about now I’m paying no attention to my owner (she’s on the phone with someone who’s obviously more important than I am, I totally get it and I need a break from the frisbee). The only other people in the park with us are a couple of teen moms. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE babies. I will protect them like there is no tomorrow. I’ll sit in front of their strollers, make sure no one touches them and lick the dirt off of their faces. I love them. And honestly, I have no desire to eat them.
The teen moms are NOT paying the kind of attention to their kids that I would. One isn’t supporting her baby’s head, the other is texting and I can’t get over the fact that BOTH of their babies are crying and they can’t handle it. Bottom line— THEY CAN’T HANDLE IT! TEENS SHOULD NOT BE MOMS. My owner can take breaks, have phone conversations that will lead to lucrative business deals (or just dates), I can run off into the field behind her house for 18 hours and eat her neighbor’s chickens, but she knows as much as I do, the two of us aren’t cut out to watch a kid 24-7.
I’m watching these girls and I’m second guessing myself. To hell with my owner her propensity to sleep in and be self absorbed! To hell with those skinny chicks down the road— I won’t eat any of them again! I can watch these babies better than these teen moms! If someone made me a baby backpack, I could get them to school. I could change their diapers with my paws and tongue (stop your dirty thoughts!). We could play in the fields and I could protect them! We could share in the delicacies of the idealistic quail who strut across the road from my house every morning.
Alas, I’m just a dog and I’m sure those teen girls have proper custody. I’m still saying I could do a better job!
Everyone wants to talk about climate change. That’s what we’re calling it so we don’t offend anyone, right? Global warming is a gauche term? I don’t know. I can’t keep up. All I know is that I’m over one hundred pounds and have a huge coat. Imagine wearing a mink coat in the middle of Manhattan in July. Yeah, that’s me. So say what you will about environmentalists, Leonardo DiCaprio or any other celebrity that stands up for unusually warm springs or long winters, but it’s July and I’m fucking hot. I don’t stand a chance. I’m going to have to give in and get myself shaved or just move to the Pacific Northwest where I belong (my owner had dreams of moving to Portland and I WAS DOWN!!! She was even dating a guy from there— SHE BLEW IT!!). I’m not cut out for this, nor did I plan to consider shaving my amazing coat. Would you EVER ask Shirley Temple to shave her locks? NO! I have no final thought or advice for climate change. All I can say is I’m hot and I wish I lived in Portland. I got hosed down today and pretended I hated it, but I did like it. Yeah, like I said, I’d rather be in the Pacific Northwest or just permanently in salt water. Save me!
Summer is heating up and you know what that makes me think of? The Environment. Last time I went to the beach I was bummed there was some trash on the shore. We heard a rumor that it was Japanese trash washing ashore due to post-tsunami swells. So now we’re blaming the Japanese for our own litter? C’mon people, don’t trash the beach. I just want to hang out there, play some Frisbee, chase birds and swim in the waves. I consider it a therapeutic activity for my aging hips. The last thing I want is to cut my paw on some glass, accidentally swallow a ziploc bag (I know my owner is NOT canine CPR certified) or have to watch as my owner picks up Styrofoam cups. So let’s all do our part and DON’T TRASH THE BEACH!