LKH's thoughts on dogs

[tybalt-quin.livejournal.com]

I feel a little bad for sporking the latest entry from LKH's Blog because I think she's actually writing from the heart (and not the fanny) for once, but the last paragraph is just begging for it. LKH in bold, me in normal understated text:



Remember, for many people in America today that dog is going to be with you when your spouse is not, your kids will grow up and go off to college, but the dog won't.

Any dog that's around to see the kids grow up and go off to college is going to be pretty ancient. It's reasonable to expect that Rover won't be around to see the kids graduate college unless you've got him on a respirator and doggy Zimmer frame.

Pick your dog with that in mind, that this is your companion for life. If not your life, you are his, or hers, for her life.

What the fricking hell does that second sentence mean? Please - someone translate the batshit for me. Unless you're planning on checking out early, no dog is ever going to be a companion for the duration of your life unless you cryogenically store it in the hope that future vetinary medicine reaches a state where dogs can be both brought back from death and rejuvenated. The most you can be is a companion for the dog's life.

They say you can't buy love, but anyone who says that has never looked into the eyes of a dog, or felt that tail wag as you talk to them about your day.

I'm now picturing Laurell chatting to her poor hound about the progress of the books:

LKH: "And then I wrote another scene where I described Jean-Claude's penis and then I wrote a three-way between him and Richard and then I wrote an orgy and then I forgot what I'd put in a previous book about Anita's powers but that's okay because I fixed it by having Anita do it doggy-style with Edward!"

Phouka: "Kill me. I mean it. Take me to the vets so I can be put out of my misery. I'd rather get rabies than listen to any more of this shit."

You can buy love, and it's warm, and furry, and it loves you when you are silly, and it never, ever, sees you as a failure.

I think that this is actually a metaphor for Anita's vagina. Like a dog, Anita's vagina will love you when you are silly and provided you can stick your dick in it, her vagina will never, ever, see you as a failure.

Comments

[avierra.livejournal.com]

I feel sorry for her. If she's more than usually incoherent, perhaps it is the stress of it all. Watching a beloved pet die is as hard -- sometimes harder -- than watching a beloved person die. At least you can talk to the person. All you can do with a pet is watch.

So basically, I cut her some slack in this case.