January 26, 2004

• We, surely, need monkey business cards. No? ...to include your dog
• Playing poker, I s'pose.
• "drawings for angry monkey business cards and corporate identity"
• Say, isn't it a new minute? Wasn't a sucker just born?
• I think this is intended for that market of people who have confused the notion of "pet" with the concept of "child." Then again, people who have dogs and think their dogs have hobbies probably should stick to having dogs and not kids. (Ouch! Maybe I haven't had enough caffeine today.) Or else they are brag cards for show dogs, touting their latest wins. And yes forky, some people cannot spend enough on their pets.
• chasing a tennis ball, sleeping on the couch/favorite chair, barking at the postal worker, chewing on sticks - I dunno those sound like dog hobbies to me. Not that they need to advertise. This sounds a little like a Jean Teasdale venture . .
• but ambrosia! >>Trade
• Order a carton. Wallpawper your collie's doghouse.
  
• Yes, SideDish, but nobody would want to trade PawCards with me! The dog is too scary-looking, and he seems not to photograph well either. [Oh, and hobbies? Let's see: stalking the doberman next door, opening the kitchen cabinets to help himself to his kibble when no one is home (and remembering to close the cabinet when he's done), being too smart to play fetch ("why do you keep throwing it away if you want it? I'll go get it for you once, but if you want it, why throw it away? I don't understand you.") and sleeping a lot.] hmmph.
• Business cards? This is my business card... (poops on foot) ...and that's my hobbie too. (/Triumph)
• Bah! None of these are hobbies. Doberman-stalking, tennis-ball chasing, sleeping - this is work, y'understand, these things are a vocation...
• my collie Skye tried to herd the first cricket to make it into my bedroom this season it stridulated nonstop right up to the point the dog opened her jaws and engulfed it I made a choked sound and Skye opened her mouth the cricket scuttled off rapidly diving underneath the door of my closet where it is now making just as much noise as before but I am appalled to see a small hind leg - far too thick to be a collie's whisker - hanging from Skye's fringed black lips
• Glenfillan Sheepdog Trials Brendan Galvin Once it took the field we forgot its ripsaw profile and the tail barely a rope fray, no rudder, and the whole satchel-with-legs look of it alongside the Sampsons and Delilahs of the breed. Locked in its work trance, mind over sheep-fuddle, streaking out low it collected and bullied them as though they were stray thoughts of the shepherd who stood, cap over brow, canny, whistling his dog through all the right moves: when to charge, lie low, display just the exact hint of threat to back that big ewe down, then go neat-footed, closing the distance, adjusting the angle, black-and-white verb to the flock's blackfooted milling. How long after these canids willingly approached our fires did it take for some magus to train one up to these workaday marathons, this serious play that involves everything from pick-up-sticks to a log-roller's quickstep over the backs of Charolais built like a herd of tractors? Now it has queued the flock up at the second gate, walked them through it and home again to that foxy whistler who's swapped his Wellingtons for soft Italian loafers today. The dog cuts two out of the flock, melds them in again, heads them toward the pen while a beauty without vanity shimmers unaware of itself over the rough field, shivers the spine as—applause like a smattering of stock doves flying—the white gate closes.
• Satchel-dog? *stares reproachfully at the elderly dachshund*