In the St. Paul Skyways - covering a wall that blocks the entrance to what was once a bank and then for years existed as a sort of perpetual flea market - there is a large chalkboard. Like - 40 feet wide and stretching from floor to ceiling. And on this chalkboard wall is written the phrase 'Before I die, I want to _______' somewhere around a hundred times in nice neat rows.
The intention being that passers-by would pick up one of the pieces of chalk provided and fill in the blank with whatever burning ambition they have to check off before they allow themselves the sweet and merciful release of death.*
*Sorry... got a bit dark there...
Every time I pass it I'm consumed with the urge to fill in the blank with "Write on a chalkboard wal...oh crap..."
I haven't yet been bold enough to do it yet, but if you should see it written there it was probably me.
And speaking of chalkboards - let's talk about fingernails.
Or more accurately, claws (as we of the four legs call them)
So, I've got a friend named Stanley - he's a Black Lab. Nice kid. A little on the hyper side, but hey- he isn't even two years old yet so that's pretty much to be expected.
And Labs are OK in my book. If you can't be a Vizsla you could do a lot worse than being a Lab. Nice coat, good nose, could reasonably expect to take out a duck if they had to do so. Yeah, Labs are pretty cool.
So a couple weeks ago, Stanley was going outside to do his business one last time before bed, when he accidentally tripped over the little ridge track thing that the sliding glass door sits on and almost completely tore off one of his toenails.
Once you've finished going 'GGGYYAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHH!!!', I should mention that he's doing fine - had to have the rest of the nail surgically removed and now he's wearing a very dapper looking sock until his new nail grows in, which means he is totally missing out on sandals weather, but what can you do, right?
The point I'm getting at here is this - Not enough people are sympathetic to how big a pain in the butt it is to have these claws and be totally reliant on someone else to trim and maintain them. I mean, sure, you can run back and forth on concrete to try and wear them down, but eventually the two-legged food machine that you live with is going to have to intercede on your behalf and trim them. And dewclaws - don't even get me started on dewclaws. It's like somebody in dog history said 'Hey, you know what would be awesome? If we had opposable thumbs like humans, but without that pesky 'being opposable' part, so they just kind of hang there and occasionally get snagged on things.'
And it's not like we're allowed to do anything cool with our claws in any case. They're great for digging, but that just gets you yelled at, and as a certain Border Heeler at home finds out on a regular basis, jumping up and scratching the hell out of daddy's arms because you're excited he's home does not make you very popular.
Claws. Can't live with em, can't live without em. Am I right, people?
(Hang in there Stanley - and that is one sweet sock you've got on)
No comments:
Post a Comment