Video: Ode to Mutts

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had “favorite breeds.” As I have mentioned before, I come from a long line of dachshund lovers–which means that a love for the yappy little long dogs is embedded in my DNA. Equally congenital is my love for German Shepherds, after years of hearing stories about Pasha, my parents’ first (wunder)dog whose black snout appears in almost all of our baby pictures. And of course, after working at a doggie daycare, I’ve become enchanted by breeds I had previously never heard of — our spunky little puffball Schipperkes, our jet-black, shaggy flat-coated retrievers, our speckled, blue-eyed Catahoulas.

But even with so many breeds on my wish list (and believe me, there are a lot), I am a mutt-lover. There’s nothing like a good old fashioned mongrel. Some of our daycare’s most awesome dogs are mixed-breeds (see examples here, here, and here).

I’m not going to get on a soapbox about the wonderful world of rescue, nor am I going to preach against supporting puppy mills or backyard breeders. I’m just going to share a video tribute to the wonderful mutts of the world. I made this video for a class, and I hope you enjoy!

(And no, that’s not my voice.)

How to Get A Cajun Weiner Dog to China In One (Long) Piece

Sounds like the set-up for a really bad joke, I know. But I had to share a recent success story with my sister’s dachshund, Boudreaux (he’s Cajun). And yes, since Boudreaux attended my daycare with great zeal, this counts as blog-worthy. Continue reading

Chowhounds: Dogs With Food More Expensive Than Mine (And How We Make Them Eat It)

Bella: 2 c. dry

Charlie: 1 c. dry + treats!

Jersey: 1/2 c. dry + 2 tbsp. wet & 1 greenie (am only)

Fritz: 1/2 c. dry + handful raw broccoli, tbsp. diced carrots, & 1 tbsp. canned chicken + 4 crinkle-cut carrots (administer as treats) & 2 squirts fish oil mixed w/ 1 scoop glucos. powder. Add hot H2O if won’t eat.

Wait. What? Continue reading

In the Hip, Newly Gentrified Part of Town, Breedism is as Uncouth as Fast Food and Sarah Palin

I happened to stumble upon this 2009 Dog Bite Fatalities Report on the KC Dog Blog, and it got me thinking about breedism–and how, thanks to the slightly pretentious, socially conscious Prius jockeys in our neighborhood, it might one day be going the way of the tapered pant. Continue reading

Pupwardly Mobile, or, Why I Wore Dog Hair to My Magazine Internship

Telemarketer. Urban Outfitters graphic tee folder. Under-tipped waitress at a family-style Italian joint. Paid lab rat at a university. Seriously, I have had my share of part-time jobs.

All of this, of course, in the hopes of something better. That “something better” involves the glamorous-yet-tragically-underpaid world of magazine publishing. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m both a writing student and a writer. I’ve completed three internships with magazines based in my (major, but unnamed) city. And as the editorial world isn’t exactly bloated with funding, all of them have been unpaid. I’ve had these bizarre part-time jobs to supplement all of them, but had perhaps the most interesting experiences working at a national music magazine and a doggie daycare at the same time. Continue reading

Hair of the Dogs: An Introduction

Where do I work? Depending on my mood, such an innocent question could garner a variety of responses from me. Gushingly, “I get paid to play with puppies all day! Sweet, soft, warm, wonderful dogs, dogs of all different shapes and sizes, full of unconditional love and adorable quirks!”

Or, sardonically, “I get paid to pick up poop all day. Disgusting, warm, stinky poops, poops of all different shapes and and sizes, full of various household objects and undigestable matter!”

Or, simply, “I work at a doggie daycare.”

I’m a 22-year old writing student who spends most of my days chasing down unruly boxer puppies, trying to scoop up a mess before a certain Rottweiler does it for me, showing up to my internship covered in golden retriever, praying for a ritzy Chihuahua or Yorkie to eat her owner’s expensive jewelry and “deliver” it to me the next morning, sweeping up the ubiquitous white cotton fluff of a Great Pyrenees, and attempting (in vain) to play tug-of-war with a pit bull. But I also get to spend my paid hours oohing and ahhing over lanky, clumsy, goofy puppies, deciding which dog would be what high school archetypal character (Bette the Bull Mastiff would be the cross-eyed fat girl in band, for sure), and in general being nuzzled, licked, hugged, goosed, and loved by hundreds of dogs. What can I say? I deal with poop for a living, but I also play with dogs, all the while with a neurotic monologue streaming through my hyperactive brain. It’s a dog’s life, I suppose.