There are a couple of things that I’ve been meaning to say, and just haven’t got around to it yet. But they’re spilling over, and you can’t hold good things to say for too long with hurting something:
Dogs don’t really know what they’re doing when they bark. Think about it for a second. You’re a dog, and your daily routine consists of tiny sparks of emotion that generally point you in the direction of a.) food b.) sleep c.) goofing around with other dogs/people d.) sniffing/licking in embarrassing ways e.) perpetuating the species. So when a dog barks, it’s just overwhelmed with one of these emotions, and, if we could put it into words, says to itself “dang, you know, I really gotta just start opening my mouth and make a big loud noise, maybe something good will happen”.
I always think, when I see a Chevy with a gun rack in the window, that all it would take is one good pothole and you’d end up with your head on a meat hook with a shotgun flopping around.
Nature is a funny thing when you stop and think about it. It’s constantly building up amazingly intricate and complicated things like trees and Praying Mantii (Mantises?), and even some stuff that takes millions of years, and then it comes along and destroys it with the same enthusiasm.
Leah pointed to the knob on my wrist where my ulna bone (or is it radius) meets my hand a few weeks ago and without encouragement declared “birthday cake”. I wasn’t even aware she knew the phrase, and furthermore, that that is what you called that knob.
And finally, take a look at the Wall Street Journal tomorrow. To keep it all mysterious, I will say one thing: I was interviewed by a WSJ reporter today for something truly special. Beyond that, I will say nothing. I can’t even guarantee that the story will print.