He's Never Done That Before
I don't know why, really, but this story put a big smile on my face today.
Depending on how much of this work of art you may have read to this point, you might know that I have a fairly unpopular opinion when it comes to pets. I wouldn't have one. This isn't to say that I don't like animals. We have a good mouser at the shop, and that's okay, but she gets really, really needy when I'm trying to work. She'll lie down on the paper on the desk if you ignore her, or stand in front of the monitor. Or stop in the middle of the room and start coughing up a hair ball while you're eating your lunch. Nice. Then there's the hair.
I could live with a cat if I had to, though I think a fish would be better. At any rate, nothing is as annoying as dogs. Oh sure. so many of them are as cute as all get out. Then they nuzzle up to your fresh, clean khakis and coat you in saliva. I don't want other creatures' spit on my skin and clothes, especially ones that can and do lick their private parts every time they get the itch.
And then there's all that barking. I'm an aural person. Noise pollution is worse to me than litter. To me, incessant dog barking is like a garbage truck that's been leaking papers for the last five miles down the road.
And I hate big, mean dogs. At times my job takes me into the working poor neighborhoods, and these people have Dobermans, pit bulls and Rottweillers up the wazoo. I hate it. I fear for myself, and I fear for the children who grow up in such an environment of terror. I fear for the whole damn human race, that the image of a child being mutilated by these hellish beings isn't enough to stop a potential owner from finding another security solution.
And so back to the story. On Wednesday, in London, a vandal did $900.000 damage to a teddy bear museum. Not your ordinary teddy bears, the collection included the boyhood companion of Elvis, and several extremely rare stuffed animals. They didn't have to look far for the perpetrator, a six year old Doberman named Barney, who, strangely, was left minding the store.
Now, the aptly named Barney, I would assume, is a pro. Isn't that what these owners will tell you, that the breed is not the problem with the proper training, nicht wahr? But apparently, one of these cuddle buckets looked at Barney the wrong way. Or maybe he had a toothache.
I guess the reason this story tickles me so is that I know that somewhere over in London there's a Doberman that's lost his job. Good.
posted by sequoit @ 6:23 PM
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