The Long and Short of It

Culture of Life News Comix: Fluff Interviews Arthur About Chinese Year of the Dog

You may have noticed that I haven’t been blogging for a few days. Ever since my interview with Akamaru and Fluff Supkis, my blackberry has been exploding, and I have had to turn off the phone. Then a very good biped friend sent me some fascinating material about 4703, The Year of the Dog.

“People born in the Year of the Dog possess the best traits of human nature. They have a deep sense of loyalty, are honest, and inspire other people’s confidence because they know how to keep secrets. But Dog People are somewhat selfish, terribly stubborn, and eccentric. They care little for wealth, yet somehow always seem to have money. They can be cold emotionally and sometimes distant at parties. They can find fault with many things and are noted for their sharp tongues. Dog people make good leaders. They are compatible with those born in the Years of the Horse, Tiger, and Rabbit.”

I will analyze this for you, since most of my readers are humans or a reasonable facsimile. I think it should say, “People born in the year of the dog possess dog traits which are the best traits you can get. They know everything because the bipeds babble on and on in front of them while they are trying to take a nap or think. Dog People are conservatives, so they do not like to share. They will not go outside if it is raining or there is a tornado coming or the mongoloid idiot in back is shooting off firecrackers, and they are sorry about your rug, but that’s just the way it is. They always find someone to buy the best quality dog food and treats even though the other person has to eat noodle ramen for a month. They are natural critics and they have excellent taste. They say what is on their minds. Dog People should be running everything, but they cannot find employees who will work for nothing and love it. They do not like cats.”

We are having a tech problem on this end, because management is in a dither over the government, and she has been hogging the computer. Pretty soon I am going to buy a Mac notebook, and she can just burn up her Windoze system all by herself. We’re already one month into first quarter, and I need to rebalance my portfolio.

I almost decided to put down my pen. 'Loser', 'over-the-hill' and 'Surrender, Dorothy' kept playing over and over again in my mind like A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall. My self-esteem was in the dog house. Did my Muse ditch me for good? Or was she just on vacation?

Then I heard from Tracy Rosengrave of Xlibris Corporation. It was an email addressed to me. It said:


Dear Arthur,

My name is Tracey Rosengrave, Marketing Manager for Xlibris Corporation, a Print-On-Demand Self-Publishing company. We are sending you this email because we have either learned about your passion for writing or we have had the pleasure of coming across some of your work. If you are interested in self-publishing, I’ve included a brief description of who we are below.

Management says this is spam that didn’t get filtered. She wrote to the Famous Writer's School when she was 15, but I am not supposed to tell anyone. A guy named Bennett Cerf wrote back and wanted money. So she might be a little jealous, because I did not have to write to Tracy Rosengrave first. She came to me. Big difference.

I say it’s about time someone noticed my unique contribution to journalism and the American Way of Life. For one thing, there aren’t a lot of dogs that can type. (I said that part about American Way of Life, because it makes me sound serious and concerned in case Tracy thinks I am kidding.)

I knew when I left Sycamore that I would need a skill, so I audited a typing class at the library. Management and I were living where there were a lot of homeless people, and they went to the library to get warm or cool. All they had to do was read a book or take a class, so they could stay. The boss librarian was a Salvation Army general or something in her spare time, so she wanted everyone signed up with Jesus, and I think she thought I was a dwarf. Anyway, no one ever hassled me.

I got an email account with hotmail, then my own domain, GoodDog.com. Friends encouraged me to write a book. And here I am today on Tracy Rosengrave’s mailing list. I wonder if I can afford a chauffeur.

Every business should have a succession plan. What will happen to my newsletter and blog and memoirs if, as the humans say, something happens to me? I am the brand, like Martha Stewart, except I never say, “It’s a good thing.”

I think about this when I am not thinking about something else. Mainly I think about snacks and chasing joggers and the next topic for my blog. It’s a lot of pressure being famous.

Well, I suppose management could buy another Corgi, but I would not want her to be disappointed, because there could be no Corgi as good as I am. And they probably would not know HTML. I hardly learned anything in dog school. Life has been my teacher. What if she got a silly, dumb air head? I have to think of everything.

Maybe she should get a dog from the pound. I must talk to my lawyer about this.
The guy in the picture is what can happen if you do not have a good succession plan. He is not like Abraham Lincoln either.

There is some very big news from our house. Today the government came to investigate a complaint from the neighbors that we had in excess of the allowable four (4) total animals living here. That includes me. Most bipeds consider me an animal, but readers of this blog and my newsletter and members of my fan club (only $9.95 per year for a basic membership. Join today!) understand the difference between a blogging dog and “animals”.

Management hired a lawyer, because she doesn’t trust the Nazis and crabby old people around here who think that they’ve done everything and she has done nothing. Then she finds out that it’s the deadbeat painter who complained. He wanted to borrow money from us, but management said, “No.” and for once I agree with her. We cannot afford to give out loans to freeloaders. We are feeding enough of them as it is. Then he and his father, who was picked to be on the crew to drop the atom bomb on Japan, called all the rest of the neighbors. I guess when you can’t stay out of jail, you want to try to get everyone else in jail with you.

Well, so I was lying on the floor pretending to be dozing, and the inspector guy who used to be a policeman said he wanted to look in all the rooms. Whoa. Hair cut! Triple doozy smack down. It is not a good idea to cross management on something like this. She is liable to kick your ass, but I am not supposed to swear.

Deal off. Get out. Go away. The guy says, “Well, if you don’t have anything to hide, why are you refusing?” She said something about eminent domain and on what authority and stuff like that. See, he told her he just was going to come over and step inside and that he was allergic to animals anyway and wouldn’t stay. Then he brings a clipboard and makes like a dog show judge.

We think the deadbeat painter is getting back at us. He always is asking me and the stupid cats to come over, and then he says we’re trespassing. He is a big loser.

Poor management has a bad headache, and she wishes that she had moved to San Francisco in the olden days before I was even born. Wouldn’t that have been a shame, because then she wouldn’t have been able to let me adopt her.

Every night about this time I feel like a nosh. Nosh is a Yiddish word for snack, but I just used snack in a recent entry, and professional columnists and bloggers try to use a lot of different words that mean the same thing. A certain biped will not, repeat not, be happy when she finds out, but she bought some chicken at the store and left it on the counter and one of the fur occupants, not canine, jumped up on the counter and got it down, and I took over from there. (Chump.) Well, I have to go hide behind the bed now. Later, world.

There is one thing that I won’t eat, and that is dog food.

Well, except special dog food that is expensive and a real pain in the neck for management to pick up because the store is only open until 5 o’clock and sometimes they close early because it is a farm supply store and the humans don’t feel like sitting around and waiting for customers, and so the customers can just come back when they are open, so what if they don’t like it.

Well, anyway, I read a horrible story today about poisoned dog food. The corn in it had bacteria. I am allergic to corn products except for the corn syrup in M&Ms and Cheetos are pretty good and popcorn with butter. But I have everyone convinced that I can’t have corn products in my dog food, so they have to go to the special store that is only open when the customers are not there.

Where is the government when you need one? Probably the poor dogs ate this bad poisoned dog food and died. It is sad, even though they did not have a paper or a club membership. I do not like to feel sad, because then it makes me feel like a liberal because they are always upset about problems.

I say, “Just say No” to dog food.

Reuters photo/ Yuriko Nakao

Even though I am not a liberal I believe in canine solidarity. Dogs in Japan have to get dressed up like this to be in a fashion show. I am a proud Welsh American. In Wales and America, dogs have jobs and a life. Japanese bipeds must be pretty weird, that’s all I can say.

My fan club asked me to make sure there is always a photographer on hand for official functions like family picnics and walk-abouts on garbage day. Things like that. I had almost forgotten about Reba, who was a girl dog and in love, as you can tell. She was all over me – “forward”, as management would say – and I could not get away from her. This is why I have an unlisted phone number.

We bought some popcorn from the Boy Scouts. Management was too lazy to cook dinner, so she just made some of the Boy Scout popcorn. She set the bag down, and it spilled. I ate it. Excellent. Way better than air popped pop corn she makes for the birds. But I eat that, too.

Today I share* an image of myself from a summer picnic in my days of youth. It looks like I am interested in the biped conversation taking place out of view. I do not recall what they were blabbing about. Some biped talk is tolerable: beach, ride, treat, sleepy night night on the bed, nice bone, squirrel, car. Those words have power. Otherwise, it’s enough hot air to solve any energy crisis for the next 500 years.

* Sharing is for liberals, but when the humans say they want to 'share' something, they mostly mean 'spread gossip' or 'show off'. ~Ed.

Photo mphoenix

Corgis are naturally cool dogs. This very evolved human named mphoenix takes her Corgis everywhere it looks like. She deserves some major respect.

Reuters photo.

These dogs are obviously bored. They could visit me for a few days to loosen up. Right now I am munching on a Hostess powdered sugar Donette. Excellent with a cup of coffee, if an absent minded biped puts hers on the floor.