The winner of several ‘ugliest dog’ contests last year has died at the age of 17.
Miss Ellie, a bug-eyed, pimply Chinese Crested Hairless, won her coveted titles over 60,000 other contestants and was currently starring in a comedy show in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Miss Ellie’s owner, Dawn Goehiring has plans to open an animal shelter in her memory. Reports indicate Miss Ellie will be cremated. –Examiner.com
Rest in Peace, you hideously ugly cur.
I am not a canine fan. I’m neither impressed by their loyalty, nor warmed by their affection. We’re on our second one, now, and Guido promises it will be the last – unless, of course, it isn’t.
Among the great pleasures of owning a dog, along with the ear-splitting bark in the middle of the night, the wet snurfling sound and sight of the creature chewing at its own nether parts, and that pervasive stench even when they’re clean and not actually farting, is the opportunity to pick up its shit. Fortunately for us, we subscribe to both the Miami Hurled and the New York Times, which arrive in convenient plastic bags perfectly suited for the task. On walks, we take two in case the creature lays cable twice, which she seems to enjoy much more than I like walking down the street carrying a clear plastic bag of dog shit.
This process – delivery of plastic bags filled with bullshit which we then fill with dog shit – encapsulates the meaning, moral value, and business of journalism.
We have cats, too – five at the moment, four of whom under the age of three – who very thoughtfully find some quiet secluded patch of earth on which to dump and bury it. So I calculate that if it not for the dog, we could cancel our subscriptions and spend the money (over $10/week!) on something more worthwhile, like tequila.
As for the creature in the headlines, I submit that no dog is ugly when it’s dead.
Extra credit: Explain why “bullshit” is one word, and “dog shit” two.