Friday, September 19, 2003
Just a rant about my dog
Why do I even bother? Really. Do I think that my words will somehow carry the weight to change anything? To effect anyone? To stop a war or prevent starvation?
Probably not. With all the "bloggers" out there you, the reader, have enough to look at without adding my page to your list of stops. Eventually, maybe I will find something that amuses you to the point of returning again and again. Eventually maybe I will have links that are important to you or other links will bring you here.
On the other hand. Maybe I am just writing this for me.
It is a beutiful sunny day today and I just got back from taking the dog for a w-a-l-k. He had to come to the office today as he was sick this morning and I did not want to leave him home alone all day. "Alone all day!", I hear you think, "What kind of sick bastard leaves his dog home all day?". Well, I do. And he's used to it. I am certain he would like it better if there were someone in the house with him from 9 till 5 or someone to walk him at lunch-time but, you know what, he is used to it. He plans his own meal times (I free feed him) and has grown accustomed to a meal when I get home and a meal before bed. His dish stays full but he leaves it alone during the day until he is certain I am home and he can get out to answer the calls of nature.
There is some fear, or so I am told, of "bladder stretching" which leads to trouble holding it in later in life. Perhaps this is true but he is generally good about water too. He knows the schedule. On weekdays he is keen to get out in the morning and on weekends he generally sleeps in till about 10:00, knowing, somewhere in his tiny doggy brain, that there is no rush to get outside before I leave and take with me his ability to open the door to the yard.
In many ways, he is not as stoopid as many people I know. He certainly is better at looking after himself than a young child. He stays out of trouble and has his rituals. One is, of course, the post-man, who causes the dog no end of grief. On weekdays when I have been home, the dog waits with one ear half-cocked for the sound of the boot on the porch steps heralding the man in blue's arival. Then it is all rushing and growls to the sofa in the living room to watch and bark as the mailman comes out of the porch and leaves the yard. Usually there is a small, disgruntled "wuh-hoof" as the postman passes from site and then it is back to bed for the dog. His daily chore complete. Once again he has kept that strange guy from entering the house. Once again he has fulfilled his duty to me.
Once again he has been up on the coach without anyone scolding him.
The rest of the dog's day is spent in a fairly deep sleep. Deep to the point where some days, upon my return, he does not even hear me come in. Other days, he stays on the bed and waits for me to get upstairs before jumping up and wagging hello. On those days he looks at me as if to say "I would have barked but I knew it was you."
Today in the office he is bored. He is probably a bit worried about what will happen to the post-man if he is not home to shout "Hey! Hey! Hey!" ad nauseum.
Which brings me back to why he is lying on his dog bed in my office in the first place, whining when I speak to people on the phone.... nausea. Poor little guy.
Why do I even bother? Really. Do I think that my words will somehow carry the weight to change anything? To effect anyone? To stop a war or prevent starvation?
Probably not. With all the "bloggers" out there you, the reader, have enough to look at without adding my page to your list of stops. Eventually, maybe I will find something that amuses you to the point of returning again and again. Eventually maybe I will have links that are important to you or other links will bring you here.
On the other hand. Maybe I am just writing this for me.
It is a beutiful sunny day today and I just got back from taking the dog for a w-a-l-k. He had to come to the office today as he was sick this morning and I did not want to leave him home alone all day. "Alone all day!", I hear you think, "What kind of sick bastard leaves his dog home all day?". Well, I do. And he's used to it. I am certain he would like it better if there were someone in the house with him from 9 till 5 or someone to walk him at lunch-time but, you know what, he is used to it. He plans his own meal times (I free feed him) and has grown accustomed to a meal when I get home and a meal before bed. His dish stays full but he leaves it alone during the day until he is certain I am home and he can get out to answer the calls of nature.
There is some fear, or so I am told, of "bladder stretching" which leads to trouble holding it in later in life. Perhaps this is true but he is generally good about water too. He knows the schedule. On weekdays he is keen to get out in the morning and on weekends he generally sleeps in till about 10:00, knowing, somewhere in his tiny doggy brain, that there is no rush to get outside before I leave and take with me his ability to open the door to the yard.
In many ways, he is not as stoopid as many people I know. He certainly is better at looking after himself than a young child. He stays out of trouble and has his rituals. One is, of course, the post-man, who causes the dog no end of grief. On weekdays when I have been home, the dog waits with one ear half-cocked for the sound of the boot on the porch steps heralding the man in blue's arival. Then it is all rushing and growls to the sofa in the living room to watch and bark as the mailman comes out of the porch and leaves the yard. Usually there is a small, disgruntled "wuh-hoof" as the postman passes from site and then it is back to bed for the dog. His daily chore complete. Once again he has kept that strange guy from entering the house. Once again he has fulfilled his duty to me.
Once again he has been up on the coach without anyone scolding him.
The rest of the dog's day is spent in a fairly deep sleep. Deep to the point where some days, upon my return, he does not even hear me come in. Other days, he stays on the bed and waits for me to get upstairs before jumping up and wagging hello. On those days he looks at me as if to say "I would have barked but I knew it was you."
Today in the office he is bored. He is probably a bit worried about what will happen to the post-man if he is not home to shout "Hey! Hey! Hey!" ad nauseum.
Which brings me back to why he is lying on his dog bed in my office in the first place, whining when I speak to people on the phone.... nausea. Poor little guy.
I Suck
Now I do not understand where in "cyberspace" my last blog is.
Did you know that in 1986 I could do absolutely anything with a computer. In 1987-1988 I was a computer major and was on the top of my game. In 1990, I was employed putting them together at the hardware end during a "leave of absence" from the request of the University I was attending.
Now? Now I don't know sweet-f-all about computers. Actually, I should not say that. I am a pretty good user. I can do all the standard Word Perfect and Office Stuff and can even fiddle may way around in databases and spreadsheets. I can play with lay out and design software quite well and can even do some photo editing. I do not, however, know what is going on behind the screen.
And this Blogger thing appears to require some sort of basic knowledge base that I do not have. How are you reading this? Where are you reading it from? How do I read what you have written?
It is all so confusing. Perhaps I should just stick to my own web site at ephunter.com.
I was told by a good friend and cyber-celebrity that Blogger was the way to go. That I would have more control over my web-pages (they are pretty boring) and that things would be great once I came over to the bloggerside. Now I am killing time trying desperately to fathom what he possibly could have meant.
I'll get it sooner or later though. I have faith in me.
Now I do not understand where in "cyberspace" my last blog is.
Did you know that in 1986 I could do absolutely anything with a computer. In 1987-1988 I was a computer major and was on the top of my game. In 1990, I was employed putting them together at the hardware end during a "leave of absence" from the request of the University I was attending.
Now? Now I don't know sweet-f-all about computers. Actually, I should not say that. I am a pretty good user. I can do all the standard Word Perfect and Office Stuff and can even fiddle may way around in databases and spreadsheets. I can play with lay out and design software quite well and can even do some photo editing. I do not, however, know what is going on behind the screen.
And this Blogger thing appears to require some sort of basic knowledge base that I do not have. How are you reading this? Where are you reading it from? How do I read what you have written?
It is all so confusing. Perhaps I should just stick to my own web site at ephunter.com.
I was told by a good friend and cyber-celebrity that Blogger was the way to go. That I would have more control over my web-pages (they are pretty boring) and that things would be great once I came over to the bloggerside. Now I am killing time trying desperately to fathom what he possibly could have meant.
I'll get it sooner or later though. I have faith in me.
INTRODUCTION
Everything has been on the net for years. There is so much complete crap out there (in here?) that I am not certain why I feel that it will make any difference to add to it. Probably it will not. On the other hand, why are you here?
The irony of that question does not escape me. How do I know that you are reading this. How can I be so certain. What if my words are simply floating around in cyberspace with no one accessing them.
If a tree falls in the forest ...
I know you are here because otherwsie these words would have no meaning. I know that it will make a difference in the world when I write words on the page because I have something to say to you. I have warnings and friendship and laughs. I have the ability to shine light on otherwise cloudy ideas and to pull those who hide in the shaddows into the light.
I have ways of making you talk....
No. Wait. Don't kid yourself. I am just another goof writing his thoughts in "cyberspace". I am not going to "change" the world. I am not the harbinger of absolute truth. I'm just a guy who wants to be "out there" and feels like he is trapped, the same as most of the rest of the cyber-inhabitants, "in here".
Of course ....
Well, I won't make any promises but maybe (just maybe) you will eventually find something here that will be of some help to you. Maybe, just maybe, I will hit a topic that interests you and clear a path through the insanely thick ideas and ideologies that pass for intellectual discussion these days.
Maybe I will be able to show you some hope in the world.
Maybe I won't. Maybe I am just reading what I have written to myself.
Everything has been on the net for years. There is so much complete crap out there (in here?) that I am not certain why I feel that it will make any difference to add to it. Probably it will not. On the other hand, why are you here?
The irony of that question does not escape me. How do I know that you are reading this. How can I be so certain. What if my words are simply floating around in cyberspace with no one accessing them.
If a tree falls in the forest ...
I know you are here because otherwsie these words would have no meaning. I know that it will make a difference in the world when I write words on the page because I have something to say to you. I have warnings and friendship and laughs. I have the ability to shine light on otherwise cloudy ideas and to pull those who hide in the shaddows into the light.
I have ways of making you talk....
No. Wait. Don't kid yourself. I am just another goof writing his thoughts in "cyberspace". I am not going to "change" the world. I am not the harbinger of absolute truth. I'm just a guy who wants to be "out there" and feels like he is trapped, the same as most of the rest of the cyber-inhabitants, "in here".
Of course ....
Well, I won't make any promises but maybe (just maybe) you will eventually find something here that will be of some help to you. Maybe, just maybe, I will hit a topic that interests you and clear a path through the insanely thick ideas and ideologies that pass for intellectual discussion these days.
Maybe I will be able to show you some hope in the world.
Maybe I won't. Maybe I am just reading what I have written to myself.
