My Name Is Heather, and I’m Addicted To My Dog

Dog

My dog and I have a disturbing relationship.

We have best friends necklaces. Like real…best…friends…necklaces. Her half is on her collar. Mine is on a chain I wear around my neck. Both have the “in case I’ve been found” number on the back.

I routinely and out of nowhere break out into serenades to my dog. None of them really make much sense, but they’re often to the melody of either Moon River or Lady In Red.

When my dog climbs onto my lap, the first thing I always do is put my face in front of hers and ask “can you make sure my nose is wet?” Because you know, I sort of think I’m of the canine variety too. Well at least I started thinking that when we adopted our dog (two years ago).

For Christmas I gave my dog a heated pad to lay on and an expensive fountain. For her birthday (February 1st) I got her no less than seven toys. And I wrapped them. In a gift bag. Covered in dogs.

Then I apologized to her for making a mockery of her kind out of gift wrap.

For Valentine’s Day, my dog got me a card and a new paper towel holder. The card said she woofed me. I spent the next three days shouting “YOU ARE MY VALENTINE” every time she came into the room.

I’ve written about my dog on this very blog at least three times. I’ve never painted or drawn my dog, but that’s just because I see these drawings and paintings all the time of dogs in pajamas and I’m afraid mine would turn out like that.

That being said, I have photographed my dog 283 times. This year.

When I get a glass of water for myself, I share it with my dog. Actually, we’ve gotten to the point where she just leans over and helps herself without even having been offered any. Same goes for my food. The other day I was about to eat some cheese and crackers. I got up to get a glass of water for us to share. When I came back she had eaten exactly her half of the cheese and crackers off the plate. Exactly. No more, no less. I mean it was originally just for me, but she and I both knew I’d be sharing in the end.

My husband and children are absolutely disgusted by my relationship with my dog. Like grossed out. Like “GOOD GOD WHY NOT JUST RUN AWAY WITH HER” horrified with our love.

So I have two kids: 12, and 8. My husband and I don’t go out on date nights, but were we to we wouldn’t be missed by the children. And to be fair, we probably wouldn’t miss them much either. But the reason why we don’t go on date nights is because when we leave the house I whine about how much I miss the dog within five minutes.

I have Skyped her while out.

I could go on, but I think you guys get the point. I’m addicted to my dog. Obsessed with her to a level that is probably unhealthy.

But you know they keep saying in the news that such and such a study says dogs are good for people, and prolongs the owners’ lives and shit, so I’m sticking with that as enabling my addiction.

I think it all boils down to the simple fact that my dog tolerates me. She doesn’t talk back. She likes to cuddle and watch Netflix, rather than do things like chores and run endless errands to Home Depot. When I get home she’s happy to see me, which I can’t say the same for the rest of these people. And she accepts me for who I am, or at least I think she does.

It probably would have been more appropriate to just refer to this as my dog update, because the crux of all my other posts about my sweet Amelia have been along the same vein. She is a drug I cannot kick. A drug of wet noses, sloppy kisses, long days of napping and playing with a ball. I figure that as long as I allow myself to be addicted and officially obsessed with her, I can live the fanciful life of a dog too. Because really, who doesn’t accept that a dog’s life is the best of all possible lives?

 

 

Advertisements

We Need To Talk About Cecil

CeciltheLion

I was called an idiot over social media today. Facebook. Comments. Big surprise.

I had commented on one of the hundreds of articles shared this week regarding the death of Cecil the Lion. If you don’t know what happened – i.e. you live under a rock – Zimbabwe’s, and perhaps the world’s, most beloved black-maned lion, Cecil, was shot with a cross-bow by a hunter that paid roughly $55,000 for one of his routine hunting excursions.

The details and the truth of how Cecil – a radio collared animal – was killed and beheaded are still to be uncovered, and the bullshit needs to be filtered out. The dentist who fired the shot, from Minnesota, claims that he was unaware it was Cecil, and that he believed he was paying for legal hunting led by professional trappers. But the semantics are muddied, and I’m sure it’ll be a while before everything comes out.

Today, news has broken that the many cubs Cecil fathered will likely fall the same untimely fate as their father; but not by the hands of poachers, rather the animal kingdom. As I scrolled through my Facebook feed this morning, I counted no less than fourteen shared articles explaining to us laymans of the world how the cubs will likely be killed by the new head lion of the pack, to assert his dominance as well as to bring Cecil’s bitches into heat (you know, so he can spread his own seed around the pack). One analyst actually referred to it as “like an episode of Game of Thrones” – as though we Americans are too stupid to understand a concept without it being analogized with a popular television show.

Not a single, however, called it what it is: what happens in nature.

What we do know is that the world has lost its fucking mind, yet again, over someone that has hunted for sport – more so now, I believe, because Cecil was so beloved. The man has had to close his dental practice for the safety of his patients; and the world of social media commenters has joined in the demand that he (the dentist) be poached in the way that Cecil was.

People have called him everything from murderer to limp dick, and Jimmy Kimmel broke down crying on air last night as he asked the dentist if erectile problems were the reason for hunting poor Cecil.

Some are even calling for the United States government to break its own laws and extradite the guy back to Zimbabwe; even after hearing from lion protection groups that the guy didn’t do a single thing illegally, at least as they can tell now; and it was the two “hired professionals” that had acted wrongly.

So before I go on, lest I befell the same sort of Internet mayhem as anyone else not clearly on the side of the majority: I think that poaching is wrong. I think that even legally hunting innocent animals is – at best – questionable. I am skeptical that selling licenses for hunting exotic animals goes back into a financial reserve to preserve endangered species, as many of the African governments claim.

To be clear: I think it was terrible and tragic that Cecil the lion was killed. And, I hope that the truth to what happened, and adequate justice, is found.

But, on the flip side, I am horrified by the way the general population is handling its feelings about this.

1. There are a lot of other animals and people dying unjustly every day, and no one gives a single fuck about them.

For every cause, there are twenty like it that go undiscussed. I know, I understand that.

This was like when people were doing the Ice Bucket Challenge, and all sorts of analysts and fundraisers came back and said “hey…hows about you guys spread some of that love over here.” The truth to the matter was that – logically – every dollar donated to ALS was a dollar not donated elsewhere; and while every cause needs funds, the love should – from a philanthropic standpoint – be spread around a little more evenly. That’s the problem with overly popular campaigns: they make things less equal, and more like capitalism.

There is no such thing as capitalism in social causes.

The same goes for this outrage of the death of Cecil the Lion. People – if they really cared about the social good of both human as well as animal society – would be spreading their outrage a little more evenly.

They would be calling out the murderers in positions of power who continue to commit genocides on a daily basis.

They would start online petitions and awareness drives to end death by starvation in their own communities.

Jimmy Kimmel would break down crying on air every time there is a mass shooting, or a race-related death (i.e. he would break down crying nightly).

But this is not what anyone does. What they do is they get really really REALLY fucking upset about one thing; one thing that happens to be really popular to be upset about. Then they go ballistic online and in other forums about it for whatever period of time everyone else in the world goes ballistic about it. Then it all sort of fades away and everyone forgets about it, going back to regular life until the next big popular thing to get up in arms over comes up.

People respond to that criticism by saying “well, you can’t spend all your time mad at the world.” OK, sure – that doesn’t seem healthy. But you know what else is unhealthy? IGNORING PROBLEMS THAT EXIST BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT YOUR FEELS TO BE IN A JUMBLE ALL THE TIME.

I would never – not in a million years – do a cancer walk or an ALS run and yell as I went through it: “there are several other diseases you people are ignoring here!!” But the truth to the matter is just that: there are several other issues that no one knows of or gives a shit about. At. ALL.

Maybe, just maybe, people need to find the right time and the appropriate place, and start talking about that. They need to learn more and have more of a conversation, on a regular, if not daily, basis.

I have chosen routine Facebook comments. That’ll be totally effective …right?

(I am half-kidding.)

facebook-arguments_o_297545

2. Death threats and public suggestions that a person be murdered make me think we aren’t much further along as a society than the lynchings that when on during the time of the Salem Witch Trials.

Jesus Christ on a piece of toast: we have not come very far as a society.

Mob mentality is still a very real, and very frightening thing. I already knew this, and I hope all of you did too. But beyond that, it isn’t just mob mentality, it’s lynching mentality. We – in America – are so quick to jump to conclusions, judge what we deem the appropriate responses to said conclusions, and grab our flaming sticks to go out on a witch hunt.

Do any of you know how many innocent men, women, and children lost their lives during the Salem Witch Trials because of mob mentality, lynching mentality, and public witch hunts?

There are a lot of times in recent history where tragedies have struck at the hands of others, and it’s obvious what happened and how it should be handled. And then there are other times that the facts are more muddied in speculation, or there are a lot of factors involved that need to be carefully weeded through by professionals before the lynching mob heads out with their guns and flamethrowers.

The most terrifying thing in all of it, though, is that we – as a society – just don’t trust anyone anymore. We don’t trust our governments. We don’t trust our laws. We don’t trust our law enforcement. All of this is with adequate and good reason, and yet rather than try to fix the problems with all of those so that we can trust our governments, and our laws, and our law enforcement again, we’ve somehow decided that none of that will be as good as taking matters into our own hands.

Arming ourselves with our guns. Sending our death threats. Banding together with flames in hand to fix matters without any sort of due process or time to let our emotions cool down a bit.

Ironically, this mob mentality is the state of nature that we created laws to prevent; and we don’t like the state of nature. We don’t like that when a lion gets killed, his cubs will be killed by the next incoming leader. We don’t like that the innocent fall to the hands of those with the bigger and better weapons.

I feel as though we need to remind ourselves that what makes us special in this animal kingdom on Earth is the beauty in our ability to reason, to think and to talk. Death threats, calling people limp dick, forming emotion-driven lynching mobs, all-the-while keeping silent about real and pressing issues going on around us all day, destroys that beauty of the human experience. Open your mouths, and say something reasonable. Open your mouths and talk about all these issues.

Cecil the lion was a majestic creature. All animals, except ones that have me inside their mouths, are beautiful. But human beings are – or have the capacity to be -beautiful too. We, after all, are just animals ourselves.

I Have Another Baby, and This One Is My Favorite

10471266_754622653543_1511210079449926239_n

If you are a close and personal friend, or you follow me on any number of my social media outlets (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest – I’m a bit of an Internet whore), then you know I got a dog roughly two months ago. You would know this because my dog is basically all I’ve talked and posted about since bringing her home from the shelter.

I’m like a new parent. You know them, maybe you are one of them. Constant talking about your new baby. Every discussion leads back to your philosophies as a parent. Suddenly you are an expert at everything related to babies and kids, and by the way you are also the first person on the planet – apparently – to have one. At least thirty Instagram photos of the precious, new baby daily.

Only with me (this time), all this stuff is happening over a dog.

Today when the worm head from her tape worm finally came out as she shat in the living room, because she’s a puppy and completely un-potty trained; as I inspected the worm head in both horror and intrigue, I even considered posting a photo of it to Facebook. You know, to get back at all my friends that share photographs of dirty baby diapers, and exploding baby butts. Or because I was proud. Also because I wanted to discuss the efficacy of our deworming pill of choice.

You see what I mean?

1797629_743115439093_1755179033319100415_nWhen I say I have a new dog, and by that we’re talking about a puppy; I mean I feel like I have a new baby, as I said as though I’m a new parent. This creature; this new entity; my newest little-bitty baby is my favorite of all the people in our house that I am responsible for. This includes, but is not limited to, my husband.

You know kids always ask their parents “who is your favorite,” and you’re supposed to say “I love you equally,” or “you’re all my favorite?” None of that bullshit here. My favorite is the dog.

Everyone’s just going to have to wrap their heads around it, because that shit is not going to change.

Here are some details to help you understand how I came to this conclusion:

She’s about one. She’s a shelter dog – because really, who buys bred dogs anymore? – and she was likely attacked before being brought to the shelter, as evidenced by her utter fear and terror of other dogs. So basically she’s a new baby. A needy, new baby.

I’m a big needer of others in need.

oh-you-breed-dogs-i-didnt-know-there-was-a-shortage-3c5bc

We named her Melia. It’s short for Amelia Earhart, the pilot. I am the only one allowed to refer to her as Amelia.

When she came home from the shelter, she basically sat on my lap and slept the entire first two days. Shelters can be pretty exhausting, and she seemed to be really overwhelmed; so for two days she slept on my lap. I even considered buying a baby carrier so I could get some shit done.

Maybe this was a ploy to wrap me around her little paw. If so, it worked.

When we take her out, she always comes in smelling like oregano and rosemary. There are no oregano or rosemary plants outside, and the bushes don’t smell like anything particular. But somehow, it happens every time.

Those happen to be my two, favorite seasonings.

I bought her a bed for every room in the house. That way she’d have a place wherever she was comfortable – I mean, our house is pretty big, and I didn’t want her to feel as though she was left alone. So she got three beds.

And yet she sleeps in my bed. Either under the covers at the foot, or on my husband’s stomach. It’s something he’s learned to deal with.

1904248_750944434723_343723457368307545_n

Melia is a Norfolk Terrier, so she’s pretty tiny. She weighs about 8 pounds, and I say “about” because she’s filled out since we first brought her home. So she may be more. This might be a good time to mention that I make her dog food from scratch. Every two or three weeks, a big batch goes in the crockpot and is frozen in separate baggies.

10474284_747818229663_4030891692269052227_n

I am that pet parent.

Above everything, though, she is a very good dog. She listens and is obedient. She comes with me just about everywhere, and is polite and quiet. She rarely barks. She never bites, unless she’s trying to play which is a nip and she’s just about beyond that.

In fact, the only nipping she does anymore is when she bites me in the ass to try and get me to play with her. Literally. In my ass. She might be trying to tell me something, though…

So basically: besides the biting my in my ass thing, she’s much nicer to me than everyone else in this family.

10473115_750085740553_243068384676887694_nWhy Amelia is my favorite of all these people around here, though, is that she – as is the case with many other dogs  – seems to be more in touch with human emotions than even some humans are. When I am happy, she plays. When I am sad, she sits on my lap and doesn’t leave my side. If I am in need of snuggles because I had a bad day, she just so happens to nuzzle her wet nose in my neck, falling asleep like an actual, little baby.

My husband never nuzzles his wet nose in my neck when I’ve had a bad day.

Perhaps it is just a coincidence, or – again – nothing more than a dog manipulation device. Inside her tiny, quiet, little head she’s calculating just how far she needs to go to get exactly what she wants. How to get me in the palm of her paw, permanently. Some people would argue that. I, on the other hand, can’t fathom such a thought.

 

This Whole Cat Thing Is Getting a Bit Tiring…

So when I first started blogging, I posted a blog called “Hello, Mr. Biglesworth…” It was a long time ago when I wrote it, and still one of my proudest pieces. In a nutshell, I was outlining – in a really silly open letter to cats – why I hate them.

I guess I just didn’t have many blog fans then. Not many people responded to the post negatively. Some agreed to disagree. We all walked away chuckling.

983697_579422125435615_1137414111_nFlash forward to now and this huge controversy started with a picture I posted on Facebook, originally found on Epicfail.com. Again, I found it on the Internet and just thought it was funny. I did not take the photograph myself. The cat didn’t look particularly bothered by the makeup. It definitely looked healthy and unabused. I ended up having to follow that up with a blog post, though, after someone wished me to be “mauled by a herd of cats” for posting the photograph.

That was two weeks ago.

Things have not been going so well since then. I have received death threats – yes, “I’m going to send my cat to kill you” threats. I have been given the lesser form of a death threat, the death wish: “I hope you die in a tragic accident involving cats and you burn in hell.” People have suggested I need mental help. They have offered me online mental health counseling. I have been told that my statement “I hate cats” is aggressive, hostile, abusive, psychotic, and illogical. I have lost multiple Facebook fans, and even one Facebook friend.

To say that this whole cat thing is getting a bit tiring is probably an understatement. It’s getting pretty goddamned old, people. I think it’s time we clear a few things up here, once and for all. See if you can pry yourselves away from your daily task of pampering your forty felines for a few minutes to hear me out.

931157_679669560143_553468030_n

It Is A Fact That Not All People Like Cats

… and those people that do not like cats are actually – in some cases – clinically sane. Or clinically insane for reasons other than their dislike of cats.

There are a lot of reasons that people don’t like cats. It could be because they had a bad experience with one. Or maybe they are allergic: my reasoning for disliking them. There are all sorts of reasons why people don’t like cats, just like there are all sorts of reasons why others do. And why people like or dislike dogs. Like or dislike bubblegum ice cream or red furniture or high heels or the Chicago Blackhawks.

Having an emotional attachment to an animal does not make it wrong for others to not feel the same way you do. It’s called an opinion based on feelings and personal preferences. We are all entitled to them.

It Is A Fact That All Cats Are Gross

I’m going to go out on a limb here and offer a piece of universal criteria for gross. By “universal” I mean that it applies to all things, and is the case for everyone and everything. It doesn’t matter if you are a cat, a dog, a mouse, a person, a plant, a ghost… if you meet the criteria, you are gross.

Anything that shits in a box and licks its own asshole clean is gross.

So cats are definitely gross, because I have never seen a cat shit in a toilet, and I further have seen every cat I have ever seen – in my entire life – lick its own asshole clean. It’s natural! Of course it does it. Still gross.

This isn’t to say that cat owners are gross. This isn’t to say that cat owners shit in a box and lick their own assholes clean (although, you never know…). It just means that cats are gross, and that is a fact by the criteria I outlined above.

It Is A Case In Point Fact That Cats Are Not Humans

I know that a lot of people consider their cats to be family. And human. I myself consider our fish and guinea pig to be a part of our household unit.

But the fact remains that a pet is a pet. Not a human being. An animal. Not all people like them, and more over: not all people can be around them. A lot of people out there have very serious allergies to animals. I am one of them – when I get around cats I wheeze, my throat gets tight, and I even have had asthma attacks from being too close.

The problem with a lot of the cat owners I have encountered, though, is that they actually believe their cats are human beings, and members of their families whose lives are worth more than actual human beings. A lot of them refuse – under all circumstances – to be sensitive to their guests. Now I would never go into another person’s home and demand that they remove their animal, or start bitching and griping about how much a really despise those balls of allergens. But if someone invites me over, it tells me they care about and respect me enough to not let their little box-shitter climb all over me and my things, causing me to have an asthma attack. I mean, if I say nicely that I’m very seriously allergic… would it kill them to put the cat into the other room?

Many cat owners I have encountered don’t give a fuck, though. They just cannot seem to grasp the fact that people are all different. They have different experiences. They have different situations. I have been in a cat owner’s home before, using my inhaler because I cannot breath, and the owner has actually set the cat down on my lap and said “ohhhhh… Pickles wants you to hold her!!!” I don’t dare eat dinner at a cat owner’s home anymore, because I’m allergic to shellfish too and know that even though I nicely say I’m allergic they will likely feed me shrimp.

It is a case in point fact that cats are not humans. If you want to have a relationship with actual people, then you may want to consider putting the pets away for a while. Or else you’ll wind up one of those crazy cat people that has no friends and fifty felines.

Please stop with the angry comments and the death threats and the Facebook fighting and the deletions, people. This whole cat thing is getting a bit tiring. A girl’s allowed to her opinions, just like you’re all allowed to ignore them and walk away.

hi-we-understand-you-are-not-married

All I Want For Christmas Is An Animal Carcass

hipster-taxidermy

Is that weird? I think it might be.

I keep seeing all these commercials about what men should get their wives for Christmas. Get her diamonds, they say. Get her a kitchen appliance, they condescend. Get her gift cards to the mall, they suggest (as if I wouldn’t spend all my husband’s money at the mall anyway).

I want none of those, though. I want an animal carcass.

For a few years now I’ve been on this organic, nature-y decorating kick. Two years ago on our anniversary I got my husband to buy me a set of moose antlers, which are now covered in leaves and sitting on my bookcase. I made a ‘birds on a wire’ decal to put around our kitchen window. I even got a breakfast table that had iron branches and birds for table legs.

Don’t mistake this for me being into the outdoors, though. I fucking hate the outdoors. I’m allergic to pretty much everything. In fact, I can’t even walk to the laundry room without sneezing. I’m also easily terrified by things in the wild – birds, possibly poisoning plants, bugs. I’ll never forget that one time at Girl Scout camp when we had to use a rope to climb up a relatively small hill and I was so horrified by everything we climbed through that I vowed to never enter the woods again.

And besides those few times in high school (which compromised my Proud to be a Dare Graduate t-shirt, as well as my virginity), I’ve stayed out of them since.

So it isn’t about loving nature. It’s also not about loving animals. I think animals are so gross. First and foremost, they piss and shit. Sure, all living beings do but not typically on my carpet or bed or hand. The majority of them are out to murder people and each other and shit too. Survival of the fittest and all that, right?

Not to mention that if I actually loved animals, it wouldn’t be shown by hanging their large carcasses and various body parts in and around my home. I’m also not really an animal murderer, per se, either; for Christ’s sakes, I was a vegetarian for six years.

You faithful blog followers are probably asking yourself now just why? Why the animals? Why the nature? Why the carcass?

I have three, very specific reasons why I am really into decorating my apartment with animals and nature shit now, and why I want to complete our home with a large animal head or carcass, mounted on my bedroom wall.

#1 Animal and nature decor provides topic for conversation

It should be no surprise for me to describe myself as a little misanthropic. That’s actually putting it really, really nicely. I fucking hate people. I hate having to put on a smile and fake pleasantries with people that I know are not always pleasant. And I hate having to figure out small talk topics with people that either (a) have no brain to speak of, or (b) think they are better than me, for whatever reason they think that.

Having a piece of an animal hanging around provides ample conversation topics. So does bizarre, nature-themed decoration.

#2 Body parts of deceased animals implies I own guns

I don’t own guns. I wouldn’t ever allow them in our home. But I still would love to scare the shit out of people that might be interested in stealing and/or attacking me.

Say robbers walk into my house. They see body parts everywhere. Taxidermy on the wall. Antlers on the bookcase. They trip over my snake-skinned ottoman. This implies that were they to get caught, they’d also get shot and wind up with the same fate as the many animals that adorn my home. It also totally deters them from attempting to kidnap or rape any of us, because who knows? I may be sleeping with the guns I probably killed all those animals with. Or what if I murdered those animals with my bare hands and a knife, that I happen to keep strapped to my leg at all times?

There are so many implications that come with a house full of dead animals.

#3 Possibility for permanent chastity

What could be a bigger turn-off to Poor Nick than having a large animal staring down at him? Judging him for those awkward thirty seconds. Questioning him. Implying that he is less virile than the dead animal on the wall.

Having kids changes your sex life, but not permanently. And my razor-lined chastity belt always comes with the risk to my own hoo-ha.

But the head or entire carcass of an animal – any animal – would serve as two wins for this lady. It would complete the organic, nature-y feel I’ve been going for in our apartment, for years now. And it would provide permanent chastity.

So who’s going to call Poor Nick and tell him to get this lady the carcass of an animal? Or maybe just a head. I’ll take any animal, really. Zebra. Lion. Bear. Deer. I’d even take a minx.

6 Animals I Wouldn’t Mind Being

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be an animal? Or a fish? A lizard on the desert floor; or a whale floating to and fro with your mouth open whilst millions of krill innocently find their way into your gut?

I think about these kinds of things all the time.

Here are the 6 Animals I Wouldn’t Mind Being:

#6 The least favorite animal that I would like to be, and in fact that I hem and haw on whether I would actually like to be one frequently, is a lizard. It doesn’t really matter what kind of lizard, preferably a big one if I were. Lizards are cool in the sense that they can slither around easily and eat just about anything to survive. They do however live in hot, dry desert, though, and I unfortunately don’t do hot, dry, or desert. I take pride in the fact that my skin is always moisturized and soft, so I’m fairly certain being a lizard with scaly, dry skin wouldn’t work out. Still it might be cool.

#5 A duck because then I could do the duck face all the time without feeling like a complete sell-out, whoreface just trying to get attention and look hawt all the time for the fellas.

#4 I would definitely enjoy being a bear. Not a polar bear, because those guys have it pretty rough with all the cold and the melting snow caps, but something like a brown bear or a panda bear would be BAD ASS. For one, I could easily pounce into the river and fish would just fly into my mouth all the time. People would fear me, they would bow down to my sheer awesome bearness. And if they didn’t, I could harm them without going to prison or being ostracized from society – because when you’re a bear, all bets are off.

#3 A preying mantis. No, a preying mantis is not really an animal, but it’s a part of the animal kingdom and is a member of the animal food chain and really I would just love to bite off my husband’s head sometimes. Is that too much? I know most wives agree…

#2 I think it would be fan-fucking-tastic to be a koala. And actually, when I get to koala, I realize that most of the animals I wouldn’t mind being are centered around my need for anger management. The koala is cute and cuddly, people love how squinchy their faces are. But then you get within five feet of one of those fuckers and it’ll pounce the shit out of you, like I would a fish in the river were I a bear.

#1 The animal I would really and truly love being is a blue whale. This one fortunately has nothing to do with slithering around, looking like a whore, or having justification to let out my genuine anger at the world. Blue whales sort of gracefully float around in the water all day, being a dominant presence in the ocean. More importantly, though, when they get hungry all they have to do is open their mouths and millions of krill just fall into their stomachs. It’s amazing how easy it is to eat dinner when you are a blue whale. Never again would the “ugh, what to make…” conversation be had; dishes (and washing them) will be unnecessary as well. I also wouldn’t feel offended if someone referred to me as looking like a beached whale – I’d slap them with my large blue fin, then open my mouth for another helping of krill.