Fur face

Feb. 4th, 2013 08:47 pm
yakalskovich: (Lupus in fabula)


This is Masha, the office dog at work.-
yakalskovich: (Urquhart is looking at you strangely thr)
Awwww dog!

I had heard about something like that, vaguely, and got some RP mileage out of it here, but it is nice to have a proper article about it.
yakalskovich: (Here there be ghosts!)
i recall rainy evenings
something or other
on the television
as i sat on the sofa,
placidly, with the dog,
his funny white face
on my lap, his eyes
half closed while i stroked him.
there was a fire to warm us
and now and then we had a nut.
then i was at ease with the world.

i recall windridden days
clouds piling up
over the grey-green sea
roaring forever
as i walked along the beach,
joyfully, with the dog,
the gale in his white fur
also ruffling my hair;
he jumped about excitedly,
his tail straight in the air,
his nose down on the ground,
following upon his short legs
the path i went along.
then i did love all the world.


Old poem of my own; I cheat and toot my own horn.-
yakalskovich: (Default)
Just now, in the train: a bloke and his dog. The bloke was sixty if he was a day, and looked like a character portrayed by Clint Eastwood in a movie: hard-bitten, work-roughened hands, very lived-in face that looked as if the man had spent time in a war, in prison, on the road, or a combination of it all. He could have been a demon-hunter, too, as in 'Supernatural'. Yep, he definitely had a touch of Bobby about him.

The dog was a sensible-sized critter of the collie type, with longish silky hair, black and white and some hints of brown, and fluffy upright triangular ears. I think an Australian sheepdog looks like that, but I don't know if that breed isn't a tad bigger.

The dog kept asking his human for cuddles and scritches, and the man provided them, to the open, blissed-out and abject happiness of the dog. He kept putting his paw in the man's hand, nudging the fingers with his nose, and leaning his profile against the man's jeans-clad leg to have the fur at the throat ruffled. And the man did as he was told, with a sort of dry, wry amusement, but with great, infinite tenderness. The love between dog and master was very, very obvious and palpable.

This wouldn't have been so cute if the human hadn't been this Bobby type, with those hands you'd expect to see working with big tools, chopping wood, pumping a shotgun, or throwing punches in a brawl. His face had that monosyllabic Clint Eastwood expression, too; but the dog gave him away. Soft-cored, very gentle inside, and he was the centre of the world for that adoring, fluffy animal. They meant everything to each other, and they were happy to have each other in a big, bad world where you have to be tough as nails or go under.

Together with [livejournal.com profile] essayel's link to the vid of the orang-utan and his hound dog yesterday this reinforces my impression that people and dogs belong together, that is, evolution has driven primates and canines together in order to cooperate, seek safety with each other, and face the classic nature-red-in-tooth-and-claw together from very early on. Cats are charming companions, but humans and dogs are meant for each other on a very deep-down level.

Like those two on the train just now.
yakalskovich: (Mummy smurf)
The dog, his cop, their language problems, and the rabbi.

A Hanukkah story from Montana, in the NYT, via donewiththisshit on Tumblr
yakalskovich: (Default)
Stephen Fry puts it very well!

Yes, indeed, Mr. Fry, why shouldn't I love cats and dogs, as I do?
yakalskovich: (Lucifer the cat)
There is a tumblr blog entirely dedicated to the pictures of animals in casts...

**follows**
yakalskovich: (Mummy smurf)
Cat content defines blogs, of course; but some things can only be expressed by dogs:


more Fail Dogs
yakalskovich: (Blacherniotissa)
Closing of the Gates

There's no more point in opening the doors,
Folded back gates declaring working days;
Routines hang loose; the time is set no more
By his reliable and regulated ways.

Subtly, the huge black creature's trotting paws
Proclaimed the ceremonies every week and night;
Our ordinary lives all breathed around that core
On which our steps unquestioningly relied.

Still in the corners, chewed-on toys are left,
There are just two where there were two and one;
Tonight, the houses and the courtyards stand bereft,
Our soul, our lir, our secret lar is gone.


(Sorry, is cryptic, but refers to my post before this.)
yakalskovich: (Blacherniotissa)
Yesterday, the Metropolitans' big black dog died. He'd had cancer of the prostate since the end of last year, and had been quite ill since Easter.


Q

April 15th, 1995 - April 11th, 2005


Image hosted by Photobucket.com



More pictures of the dog to remember him by )
yakalskovich: (The Princess' typist in RW)
They had "Going Postal" at Hugendubel; so I am now taking to my sofa in order to read it.-

The cover has two "black dogs with orange eyebrows" on it - now I finally get to know what that notice in "Men At Arms" was all about. I noticed, because of Q, the Metropolitans' dog. And the inside of the cover has stamps from Ankh-Morpork. I am so going to put that on the scanner and start using it for all sorts of things...

Yes, and a happy Soul Cake Tuesday to everybody who knows what that is.-

Howl

Jun. 5th, 2004 12:01 am
yakalskovich: (The Princess' typist in RW)
Hei, [livejournal.com profile] woelfle, tonight I did howl like a wolf!

I was at an impromptu party with some friends, barbecue in the rain and all that, and they had a dog, and demonstrated how that dog would howl with them if they howled first. I chimed in, and in the end the whole partyful of people howled like wolves, the dog ecstatically joining us:


Aaaaaaah-OOOOOOOOOOoooohhh!!!!!!
yakalskovich: (The Princess' typist in RW)
Remember Q, the Metropolitans' dog? I did post pictures of him at some stage.

Canine yuckiness inside! Read at your own peril )

Edit: When I just posted this, Deepest Sender informed this is my 100th post on my LJ. 100 posts, and what do I use the jubilee for? A funny quiz? No. A happy squee about my newest enthusiasm (how hilarious [livejournal.com profile] ottochriek is even when the occasion is serious, for example)? No. Some deep insight or new flotsam from the memepool? No. At least some irate rant about technical idiocy? No. Embarrassing stuff about private dog anatomy.-
yakalskovich: (Default)
Even if I'm not yet home, I am at least back at my own computer, having returned from the outermost leg of my journey.

My mother went straight back to her own little foldup puter, which unfortunately consented to boot up after only ten tries or so, and immediately proceeded to play a quiet evening's mahjongg...

And Paolo, the cute little mutt in Berlin, was the first dog I ever met who was actually afraid of me. Normally, dogs love me on the spot; little Paolo took one look at me and fled, shivering abjectly with deep-rooted terror. No obvious reason for his fright was discernible; and as I like dogs, this outcome was somewhat hurtful to me, but I tried to bear it like a man.-

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