In the beginning was the dog the real name of Jehovah is Rover. Adam's rib is buried in the garden
The dog won't bite if you beat Him with a bone
Picture a tall, dark figure, surrounded by cornfields. . . NO, YOU CAN'T RIDE A CAT. WHO EVER HEARD OF THE DEATH OF RATS RIDING A CAT? THE DEATH OF RATS WOULD RIDE SOME KIND OF DOG. Picture more fields, a great horizon-spanning network of fields, rolling in gentle waves. . . DON'T ASK ME I DON'T KNOW. SOME KIND OF TERRIER, MAYBE. . . . fields of corn, alive, whispering in the breeze. . . RIGHT, AND THE DEATH OF FLEAS CAN RIDE IT TOO. THAT WAY YOU KILL TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE. . . . awaiting the clockwork of the seasons. METAPHORICALLY.
In this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.
[Tyson] looked him over with that massive baby-brown eye. “You are not dead. I like it when you are not dead. ” Ella fluttered to the ground and began preening her feathers. “Ella found a dog,” she announced. “A large dog. And a Cyclops. ” Was she blushing? Before Percy could decide, his black mastiff pounced on him, knocking Percy to the ground and barking so loudly that even Arion backed up. “Hey, Mrs. O'Leary,” Percy said. “Yeah, I love you, too, girl. Good dog. ” Hazel squeaked. “You have a hellhound named Mrs. O'Leary?” “Long story.
There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond; And do a willful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dressed in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity profound conceit; As who should say, I am sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
Dogs are dim creatures, do not speak to me of their good sense--have you ever heard of a team of tomcats hauling a sled across the frozen wastes?
I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?
People often write me and ask how I keep my wood floors so clean when I live with a child and a dog, and my answer is that I use a technique called Suffering From a Mental Illness.
With Browns' ticket prices what they are, you just know that all those dads who brought the entire family to sit in the 'dog pound' are secretly calculating how much blood they're going to have to sell next week to put groceries on the table.
Many of us have to spell words such as "out," "cookie," and "bath" when conversing with other people, lest we unnecessarily excite our pets. And even then they often understand. I've actually had clients who resorted to using a second language around their dogs, but after a while their perceptive pooches caught on. Who says dogs don't understand us?
Dogs are angels sent from heaven in order to help us to be better people.
I think we are drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren't certain we knew better. They fight for honor at the first challenge, make love with no moral restraint, and they do not for all their marvelous instincts appear to know about death. Being such wonderfully uncomplicated beings, they need us to do their worrying.
These glorious things-words-are man's right alone. . . Without words we should know no more of each other's hearts and thoughts than the dog knows of his fellow dog. . . . for, if you will consider, you always think to yourself in words, though you do not speak them aloud; and without them all our thoughts would be mere blind longings, feelings which we could not understand ourselves.
A child who had been introduced to misery in Saudi Arabia, a teenager who went to wage jihad against the Soviets in Afghanistan, a deeply devout Muslim who had graduated with honors in medicine, a man who had fed a stranger to wild dogs in Damascus, a zealot who had dosed three foreigners with smallpox and watched them die in agony, gave thanks to Allah for the blessings that had been bestowed upon him.
Dogs aren't born knowing what or what not to do; they only learn like children.
I like to call myself an "equal opportunist," as I love both dogs and cats, but over the last couple years, both Howard and I have become champions for cats. They are so independent and loving and playful and bring such happiness to our lives.
These are things that only dogs and women understand because we tap into the pain directly, we connect to pain directly from its source, and so it is at once brilliant and brutal and clear, like white-hot metal spraying out of a fire hose, we can appreciate the aesthetic while taking the worst of it straight in the face. Men, on the other hand, are all filters and deflectors and timed release.
As long as you are stationary, no one will complain. Dogs don't bark at parked cars.
When the little dog snarls, the big dog does not connect the snarl with himself, simply fancying that the little dog must be uncomfortable.