Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Better Homes and Dog Fancy

Had a job interview this afternoon. Small telecom company in Maryland. Could be promising...definitely promising a long commute until I get back into my house in Charm City. It's only been damned near TWO YEARS since the contractors started working on the unassuming 1.5 bedroom rowhome in Canton. You'd figure they *might* get done sometime for yet another Bush is elected President. Considering they've taken about 1/2 of W's term, what, will it be done when Billy, Jeb or even one of those spunky Bush twins take the oath of office?

I am not holding my breath - even if I had that oxygenated gel used in "The Abyss."

Wrote a couple of bits for both my spec script for Family Guy and my entry into the Bravo sitcom writing contest. It's nice to carry pen and paper with me - amazing how few jokes and bits I forget when I'm actually writing them down as I'm thinking about them.

One of the exercises I vaguely remember from college was to develop characters, and see how they'd react to a situation that you as a person had experienced. It's an interesting mental activity, and a good way to see how well you know your characters. But, in the same light as dealing with a fictional character in real situation, it's more fascinating to see how *you'd* react in a real situation that a friend is in. Case in point - tonight, one of the best friends called to say that his dog had a seizure, a potential stroke, and would probably have to be put down soon. The dog in question is pretty old, especially for a bigger dog, and definitely one of the sweetest canines I've ever met. Kind, gentle, and pretty obedient. Little hyper when she was younger, but, hey, most dogs are.

So, while the inevitable loss of the dog is sad, I began to wonder how I'd react when the same news would be delivered to me about one of my two dogs. Kramer is still young and pretty much indestructible. Bubby, on the other hand, is an old seven. Hip has been bad since she was a pup, and she hates to exercise. Food is her drug of choice, sleep is her M.O., and we all saw how well that combination worked for Elvis. Chances are, I'll be getting one of those horrible calls from the vet by 2007, maybe 2006.

Or, maybe by the time my house is completed.

Hopefully I'll catch the warning signs in time, to help ward off any suffering. Bad enough to see a human after a stroke, but a dog...jeez. I couldn't be a vet. No way. The way I get about pets - it is easier for me to imagine another dimension than to tell a little girl that her cat has died. Nope. Forget it.

I think if Kramer and I were stranded on a desert island, and it came down to him or me...he wins. I wouldn't. Couldn't. So, if you're travel agent, I think you can figure out that I won't be doing a dining tour of Southeast Asia anytime soon. Too many islands, and I don't munch on pets.

Uncle Larry was stationed in Vietnam. He said he found out he ate dog soup. I asked him what it tasted like.

"Kind of like cat," he replied.

- me

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