THE CASUALNESS OF THAT COLLIE SLIPPING RIGHT OUT OF THEIR COLLAR. That dude is a Willing Participant of this walk and by god everyone else is going to follow the RULES.
Tags:
#dogs #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #adorable #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
We got in a transport today from our rural shelter partners (history: pups abandoned on person’s property) and one was a 9 week old puppy with “a swollen face and unable to use his legs.” They thought she was sick with something.
The face is because she is a shar-pei mix
Though I admit she does look like she ate a spicy sky raisin, but she’s been like this for a week. It’s just her face.
The legs however…
I palpated one limb and felt a very thickened, broken femur, and on the other the femur as a whole had gone walkabout so I thought dislocated.
Vet agreed with me so we took rads.
I mean, that left leg is *technically* not dislocated. Technically. The break on the right is so old there’s nothing we can do.
Puppy is going to foster for a month to build muscle in the right leg to, and I quote my vet, “to give her a leg to stand on” since we will be amputating the left.
Also, how long do you think it will take the algorithm to incorrectly flag this?
Her body is actually already working at removing it via a process called remodeling. That’s why it has a more ‘ghostly’ appearance than the new femur that she built. In a few more months it will be gone entirely.
A collection of my favorite tags on this fabulous little creature and what a good job she did with her three (3) femurs.
Tags:
#dogs #fun with loopholes #body horror #animal abuse cw? #aging cw? #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(”isnt this what happened w the tenth doctor”) #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
Characters being compared to dogs always use terriers or pitbulls or something for their metaphors. “They grab on and they don’t let go” “They keep worrying at it until it’s dead” etc.
Anyway, I want to see collies used as metaphors. Albert Payson Terhune style. “He was like an attack dog–making slash-and-run attacks, cutting them up worse every time, never staying in range long enough to get hurt but circling back over and over.”
He was like a beagle – AAAUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO *breath* AUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Tags:
#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #dogs #language #overly literal interpretations
Every time I see this I go “oh, neat pony” and scroll past while my brain chugs through the caption like the slowest computer on earth and I have to scroll back up to it
At least, she appears to. I am no theologian. God, in her infinite majesty and power, is beyond canine comprehension. Her glory is ever ancient, ever new. Perhaps her apparent new smell is merely an artefact of my own perception. God changes her fur into new fur every day, and sometimes even has no fur at all when she is in the Realm Of Wet, but she is always the same God. But these last few months, God has smelled different. Her voice sounds higher. Her touch is softer. And when she speaks to the other Gods, in the inimitable divine tongue, they seem to refer to her with a new name.
(I say she: The Gods, of course, transcend our simple canine categories of male and female, but she smells female now. Perhaps this is a lesson to show me the true boundlessness of God – the Gods do not fit into the little boxes our minds can understand. But then again, it is beyond me to guess at God’s will.)
Since I became a follower of my God, I have always known that my God is the best and greatest of all the Gods. All the Gods are powerful; not all the Gods are loving. I was born in the world of Gods who were… less merciful than she is. Of course, it is hard for us to fully understand the depths of our own sinfulness. Perhaps when they left me alone in the yard for days, it was intended for my spiritual growth. Perhaps when they hit me, it was only to give me the chance to learn virtue. Perhaps when my old Gods zipped me up in a holdall and cast me out it was divine justice. I mean, I peed on the rug all the time and I was always whining when they didn’t take me for walks – do I really deserve to live?
I confess that when she became my God, I feared her divine justice. In my sin and foolishness, I had come to believe that the gods were only a source of pain. I moved from her hands, fearing she would hit me. In my unloveliness I fell upon the lovely toys she had given me. She was with me; I was not with her. And yet she asked me “Who is a good boy?” and broke through my deafness; she shone the holy light of her laser pointer and broke through my blindness; she petted me and I burned for her peace. I see the others at the dog park with their Gods and I know that my God is the greatest God of all. No other God is like her.
I know I am unworthy of the mercy, the salvation that my God has offered me. Perhaps it was my sins that caused her to weep so much in the past, to be so afraid to the other gods, to lie in her resting place for hours without moving, staring into empty space. Yet my God always showed me joy when I came to her. When I buried my face in her body, her weeping always ended. When I asked her to walk me, she always answered my prayer. Perhaps, indeed, it is a sin to imagine that my own sins are the cause of her weeping: how can I understand the mind of God?
But since my God got her new smell, the weeping happens less. She laughs more. She does not lie for so long in her bed. And I do not even need to pray in order for her to take me on walks. It would be blasphemous to say that I can know the thoughts of the divine, and yet I cannot escape the feeling: my God seems happier. And God has chosen, in her generosity, to share this beautiful new happiness with me.
The indescribable depths of divine generosity are, presumably, how she manages to tolerate the cat.
I’ve noticed the servant smells a little different these days. Moping less, too – which is good. This one is very sweet and I am pretty attached to her, in spite of myself. She does still keep trying to get me to eat that dry food, but I’m firm with her and after enough meows she usually gets the message and gives me a proper meal. You just have to stand your ground with servants – make sure they know who’s boss. Treat them nicely, but not too nicely.
I know one shouldn’t get too attached to one’s servants. When my last servant died, it really got to me. He was very affectionate, and never even attempted this dry food nonsense. But he was very, very old. I know that humans have very long lifespans – but not forever. I really shouldn’t have let him become so dear to me. It was… when I found him cold in his bed that morning, and it became clear he wasn’t waking up, it was a very nasty shock. I still have nightmares about it.
When I found my new servant, I told myself “don’t let yourself get too close to this one. You never know what might happen.” But, well, what can I say. I’m soft-hearted. She’s a hard-working girl, cleans the litter box promptly, doesn’t skimp on the treats, handy with a laser pointer. And when I got here, she always seemed so sad. I don’t know what happened to her but, well, I missed my own servant, and I understood what pain is like. So I’d snuggle up to her when she was lying in bed – which she did a lot, just staring into space and moping. I mean, it was a warm place to sleep. But also, it seemed to help her a little bit.
Since she got the new smell though, she seems better. Making those weird little human noises they make when they’re happy. Mixing more with the other humans. Smiling. It’s quite cute, honestly. And – you know, she’s young. She seems healthy enough. Maybe it’s not so terrible to be a little bit attached to this one.
She’s not perfect. It’s going to take a while to train her out of this dry food habit. But she’s a good girl, all in all. I’m glad she seems happier these days.
Don’t understand why she still insists on keeping that dog around though.
I often wonder what my pets have named me. Humans are a visual species and like to name our pets based on their aspect or colour, so I think my dog with his smell-based worldview would come up with a smell name. I imagine something cute and cheerful and a little over the top in a dog way, like Applefriend Cake, because my laundry product gives my clothes a sweet, slightly apple-y smell which might remind Pandolf of happy memories of tasting cake crumbs. Unless he was feeling serious the day he named me, and basing himself on the fact that I read a lot and my hands often smell like book pages when I pet him, and went with something more decorous that translates to Paperdust Pal. Cat naming conventions are more enigmatic since they are less preoccupied with human affairs. My catgiven name was probably the result of a secret ballot vote among my cats, who decided upon something that resonates with cat history and heritage—a dated, unfashionable name if they felt a duty to honour one of their ancestors or if I’m lucky, a mythological figure from cat lore.
this is such a good post now i want to know what the cat i live with calls me
So one of my neighbors has a lawn Roomba or whatever they’re called, and this thing trundles around looking like a background robot in the background of the original trilogy, and ABSOLUTELY BAFFLING THE DOGS.
They have concluded, I think, that it’s some kind of prey animal because right after this video ended they decided to crouch down and stalk it, which means I’m 90% sure I’m going to have to stop Arwen from eating it at some point.
While I can’t fault your reasoning on robot taxonomy, apparently we’re both wrong: Arwen, as much as she is a high-prey-drive animal, is foremost, a herding dog, and has decided that the Lawn Roomba is a SHEEP.
What happened is the lawn roomba belongs to the guy that does most of the maintainence on the neighborhood park, and he had it out grazing on a different section of lawn when my parents came down for a walk and Arwen was siezed by 200 years worth fo Kelpie Instincts, rolled out of her Harness and proceded to herd the shit out of this tiny, oblivious robot.
Everything was on display- mock-stalking, intimidating eye contact, barking, running in front of it to try to get it to balk, the scariest barking she can muster (which is actually. pretty scary if you’re not used to Loud Dogs), looking back at my parents for directions. or rather, looking at my Mom while Dad tried unsuccessuflly to capture her.
After about ten minutes they realized she wasn’t biting it, and decided to let her play Sheep Simulator 5000 for a while. She eventually figured out that
It doesn’t respond to Yelling, Posturing or Aggressive Eye Contact
It does respond to having it’s wheels or bump hazards hit
It would respond to its side being nosed or slapped by moving in a different direction
Conent that this was apparently some kind of blind, deaf and particularly stupid sheep, she could now manage the robot by smacking it if it got too close to the creek bed or fence for her liking, and was eventually content to sit on the highest point of the field and Supervise ™ it.
“Hey.” Said Roger, owner of the robot. “Do you think if I put the ramp down she’ll herd it into the back of my pickup?”
Arwen was mostly asleep in the afternoon sun as roger put the ramp down but woke right up when mom Whistled, then pointed at the truck. She immediately went after the robot and did something that wouldn’t have occured to me, an allegedly more intelligent being: the robot is roughly triangular, and when it hits an obstacle, will change direction so that one of its other sides (rather than points) is now the ‘front’. So to get it to move in a straight line in the direction she wanted, Arwen would smack the two sides of the robot that she didn’t want it to go in in quick sucession, and got it across the field, over a small hill and up the ramp as fast as it’s clumsy little wheels could go.
“I didn’t know you had a fully-trained sheepdog!” Said Roger
“Me either.” said Mom.
So Arwen now has a Semi-Weekly Appointment to play with Sheepbot.
Brinens and Things 