The Initiation of Hamilton

It’s like she knew how I’ve been feeling lately, with the neverending winter and the lack of dogs and the general blah, and she became an angel with a camera.

Let us parse the awesomeness:

  • Hounds – I’ve no need to own one, but I LOVE them. The floppy ears, the ungodly howling, the wonderfully social personalities. Even that weird smell.
  • I’ve seen Hamilton’s face at the Humane Society more times than I can count. He’s so familiar. Sometimes he’s beagle-sized, sometimes he’s coonhound-sized. He’s like old friends.
  • Wtf are people thinking putting dogs like that in the city?
  • Dogs tear-assing around like maniacs. There are few things in this life that make me happier than wandering around the dog park on a sunny day when it’s packed with dogs and is utter, joyous chaos. This is genetic on my part, apparently (though I’ve no idea what breed the bio-mater specialized in). I’m grateful for it. Dogs just know how to have FUN, bitches.
  • Basset Hound. Heh. Put a Basset Hound and a wiener dog in the Octagon and I don’t know who would win, but I would die from the visual and aural awesomeness, and that’s what counts.
  • AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! From a picture I can hear in my head EXACTLY what Charlie sounds like. And I’ve said it before and will say it again: if the dog isn’t yours (and you’re not pissing off the neighbours), there is NOTHING funnier than a howling hound. Especially a short one. 🙂
  • Give ‘er. Ree’s right. A working dog at work is an amazing thing to watch. Hell, just a dog who can haul is amazing to watch. Gordie’s not bad. The times when Barney’s packed up with a bunch of other beagles and gone on a tear (followed by well-meaning larger dogs) are gems in my memory. This is why I can’t do the dog-in-an-apartment thing. Dogs are meant to be out.
  • Dirty — see those legs and feet? As I mentioned to Andrew last week, that was my childhood. That smell of mud and wet dog that’s ingrained into my noggin. And that familiar ache in the lower back after standing bent at the waist, hauling dog legs in and out of a bucket of warm water to melt the frozen slush and wash off the dirt and grit. Pain in the ass doing it 50 times a day (times however many dogs you own)? Yeah, but again, dogs should be out.
  • Small dog trying to school big dog. It’ll never work, but they’ll never stop. Heh.

Alright, March. Enough of this shit. I need Celsius plus temperatures, green shoots, muddy paws, and lolling tongues.

Also, thanks, Ree. 🙂

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