Archives for the month of: January, 2012

I think I figured it out today, the question that has been plaguing me. The reason people become such dog people is that moment when you get home and they are just the happiest to see you ever. They may have torn up all your things, crapped every where or just slept all day, but they are still just so happy.

The dog owner on the other hand was probably much shittier all day. Might have spent a whole day doing something completely useless and monotonous, might have been a complete dick and made someone’s day shitty, hell you could’ve shanked a hobo just because you both happened to be in the same alleyway and just couldn’t shake the thought that it was either you or him.

Anyhow what it boils down to is that the animal doesn’t care if their owner is a total moron or hammered, as long as they are feeding it and not kicking it around all the time.

I think if the dogs new how goddamn boring the people are half the time they would be a lot less interested each time you open that door when you get home from work.

Today’s drawing is trying to illustrate the excitement my dog feels and how she is a goddamn star:

The goal is to draw the dog differently each day but I’m thinking soon I’ll have to be painting the little bugger to keep it interesting.


Protest as we do about not becoming one of those dog people, the type that refer to you by your dog’s name, we are not at that point yet. I say yet because I go to find a picture on my dear lady’s phone and find that the breakdown of content is the following:

80% Dog
10% Me
10% Scenery (flowers, trees, that kind of thing)

Now that part is not all that strange. She is incredibly photogenic, the dog. The breakdown reminded me of another time that I was at a loss for words. As is the usual for my memorable occasions (that do not occur within my own house) I was in a nearby bar. Not the nicest bar by any means but also not one that I worry about getting shanked, or that appear to be having an awards supper for homeless including a shrimp ring.

So while at the bar I strike up a conversation with a man. Construction worker. We get talking, I tell him I used to work construction, but that is about all the chit chat I have for him. He tells me about his life, family and whatnot, but when he pulls out his phone to show me pictures he skips over any of his family or anything else and goes straight to photos of the dump truck he drives. The photos are followed up with way too much talk about his driving the dump truck.

This is what I worry might happen to my lady or I if i am not careful. No one wants to be that guy.

So here is a drawing of the dog laying around like a little baby princess:

So I’ve been way too into the Christianity schtick lately. Apocalypse, antichrist, you know, that whole dig.

So last night after drinking too much wine I went into the corner store, asked the man where he kept his finest cured meats. He looked at me like I had two heads. I said nevermind, I’ll find the meat on my own.

I did find the meat.

It was one of the best meatsticks I have ever had, or its just been a while since I’ve had a meatstick, or I had just drank too much wine.

So in the street I started yelling about how if others wouldn’t eat this holy meatstick when the meatpocalypse came round they would not be saved.

They ate the meatstick too.

Sometimes I think that my dog enjoys meats and cheese just as much.

Did you know the depiction of the antichrist is a seven headed dog?

At least I like to think I haven’t fallen into that strange zone in life where people consider themselves to be dog people. When or if you ever end up in a dog park, hoping to have your dog ‘socialize’ so she’s less racist and less of a little jerk, there are many things about it that you, like me, find quite strange.

For many of the people that are there it is like a bar where you don’t have to drink and the whole thing has a strange sort of anonymity to it. You can socialize with the other dog owners, but they will ask more about your dog than anything, and refer to you as ‘Margot’s’ Dad.

I think that is weird as shit.

On that note they will also talk about their dog’s poop surprisingly often.

Like when I go to a bar I often just sit off in a corner, bring a book and try to pretend these grown adults aren’t just sitting around talking about dog shit.

I’m going to put up a couple of drawings today so I’m forced to do new ones everyday instead of sitting round on my laurels.

The dog has pretty cool hair, crimped up by the neck, like some kind of jazzercise dancer in the 80s and early 90s. Sometimes I wish though that she had hair like in the future vision of the 90s (aka Keanu in Johnny Mnemonic).

Really makes you disappointed when you watch older movies that had predictions of the 2010s and how cool they are. I am pretty disappointed I don’t have a servant robot or hoverboard. All I’ve wanted since Back to the Future 2 is a damn hoverboard.

Here’s a drawing of a dog:

Walking back from the pool today talking about how much pool water we drink got me thinking. Pool water can’t be good for you if how red my eyes turn is any indication. Whenever we are back in Ottawa the dog is always drinking the pool water and my dad says ‘oh it’s no worse for you than drinking water, she can drink it.’

I think that has to be bullshit. One thought volunteered was that we re-route the pool water into the house water taps and secretly have the house drinking pool water all the time and see how they fare, but that’s the kind of thinking that really gets you into trouble.
On that note here is today’s drawing:



Today is one of those days. Not too much interesting going on here. She isn’t barking at the tv or trying to her us like dumb little sheep. So instead of boring you with writing about her obsessions with cheese, her carrot, or belly rubs here are 2 pictures of her instead of one:

This second drawing of the dog asks the question ‘what if the dog and the carrot are one in the same, the dog is the carrot and the carrot is the dog?’
What if?

Dogs will be dogs right? They crap, they bark, sniff each others butts, and they chew things. The problem this week is what she decides to chew. She has some kind of expensive taste.

On top of the fact that she has expensive taste this is a tale of oral hygiene. No one looks cool talking about oral hygiene.

So I go to see my alarmist dentist (you know the kind that says ‘beware the end is near for your teeth, unless you have $800). It’s the kind of dentist office that smells like cheap Asian, ham-filled buns, is located in in the metro,and hasn’t updated the office since ’84. So this dentist tells me that if I keep grinding my teeth at night I’m going to grind them right away. I’ll be that toothless dancing man just shouting about Jesus in front of the liquor store before you know it is pretty much what she’s telling me.

Buy a personalized mouth guard is the only solution she tells me. at $500 this little piece of plastic is a steal she tells me. I should have told the bitch right then that she was crazy, but the vision of me without teeth was horrifying.

I get the thing, I’m even wearing it often. I get to bed though and I’m lisping and drooling like an awkward pre-teen with head gear on.

I won’t go pretending like you guys are stupid and don’t know where this is going, but that little hell-raiser tore the whole thing into tiny pieces. Ripped it to tiny plastic shreds. The problem then became which became more valuable, the dog or the mouth guard (the mouth guard was already gone but I wanted to kill her anyhow. It’s the kind of situation you wish could be fixed like you were a bookie, or Micheal Jackson and you hold the dog over the balcony and tell her to cough it up or she’ll be sorry, see.

All that to say I didn’t skin her and make a scarf out of her. She’s still here, and still cute, and here’s today’s drawing of her:

There are a lot of great things about having a small dog at the park with you. I am pretty sure less people would come up and want to talk to me at the park or stop and say aww if I was juggling flaming knives and babies at the same time. It is pretty great.


‘Oh, I’m sorry, did my adorable dog just come and sit with you ladies and make friends, I’ll get that little rascal out of your way.’


What could be better right? Only downside about the whole thing is that somehow I’ve ended up with a racist dog. I feel terribly guilty about the whole thing, but you can’t really sit a dog down and explain why racism is wrong. Little white kids come up and she is all ‘what’s up man wanna hang?’ but anyone else and she’s all barking and scaring the kids.


So here is a drawing of my little asshole racist dog in all her glory :

(she is a proud but stupid dog)

What are 2 things the world loves? I’ll tell you: dogs and blogs. Fact. So here is day one of my daily drawings of my dogs. Mixed in with a few musings as to her day to day thoughts.

Day 1:

The first night we had the dog at home we were well more than a little drunk. I fell into bed and this little jerk just stares at me without saying anything, her tiny judging eyes. They said to me ‘if I were a child you would be a terribly unfit parent right now’. Damn judging dogs.

Day 2: