August 28, 2018

karma's doing ninety down a quiet city street

Someone around here predicted that Karma might come get me for making fun of an English teacher spraying extra commas onto a page like a six-year-old with a loaded Super-Soaker and a bloodstream full of birthday cake.  It didn't just come for me.  It sped the whole way.

And I'm only making it worse for myself, because I'm about to offend a whole lot of people through expressing my dog-prejudices.

Molly isn't a German shepherd mix.

In fact, there isn't any German shepherd in her at all, unless you count the tiny dab floating around in the 19% "Super-Mutt" designation.  You have to squint to even see it.

We got her Embark results back in pieces last week and this week.  I'm happy to report that she has no genetically predisposed medical conditions, and I'm impressed by the company's communication, product, and commitment to ongoing scientific modification of results as they learn more over time.  Today, however, we got the breed report, the part everyone actually wants, even though they say they're getting their dog tested for health reasons.

I think maybe this is how a conservative parent must feel when a child comes out as gay.  I couldn't tell you from experience, because my parents never discussed their mental processes after I came out, but I imagine it's something like this.  Who are you?  I love you, but right now I feel like I don't even know you.  After the blue hair, the nose ring, and changing your name at school, you tell me this?

Molly is comprised almost entirely, and evenly, of the four dogs I would have listed as the top four dogs I never, ever want to have:

Chihuahua.  I have a hard time respecting chihuahuas as actual dogs.  This is irrational because I'd love to have a blue rat as a pet, and a hedgehog, so I'm not anti-rodent, but I can't even look at chihuahua faces.  There's just something about them that repels me.  I can't get into them.  Even when they're wearing stupid little sweaters.

Pomeranian.  Ditto on the rodent perception thing, especially since they are sometimes carried off by larger predatory birds.  Their barks are shrill and trigger my startle reflex.  A Pomeranian on the floor usually equates with me stuck to the ceiling of a nearby room.

Cocker Spaniel.  I've known two of these in my life and they were both watery-eyed and dumb as shit, and they both bit me.

Chow-Chow.  One almost blinded me when I was eight years old.

There is also a bit of Boxer, which accounts for her facial features, and a fifth of her that is designated as Super-Mutt, a catch-all contains some Lab and some German shepherd and some things I've never heard of before that have names I can't pronounce and look like they should have pink bows in their hair.

I'm glad for the Boxer bit.  I think that's what's offsetting the more rodent-oriented aspects of her genome.  She'll be roughly fifty pounds when fully grown, maybe just a wee bit smaller, but you wouldn't be able to carry her in any sort of dog-tote.  That matters to me.  A lot.  Someone at the airport years ago had a little dog in a green leather dog-tote and it bit me when I walked by and accidentally waved my hand too close to the bag.  I don't even know what kind of dog it was.  The lady sitting beside it looked at me like it was my fault.  I just kept walking.

Reality check:  What we have here is a happy, healthy, non-tote-bag-able puppy who's intelligent, cunning, affectionate, physically proportionate and downright adorable, especially when she's snuggling on the couch or tilting her head to sounds, and it sure as Hell seems like a bunch of ingredients went into a big bowl and became this miniature German shepherd with magical ears named Molly.

So when I cope with this news by flapping those ears back and forth and calling her Mijita or telling her there's a big, scary owl outside that might pick her up and carry her away, just remind me that I'm an asshole, and that Karma's got a radar detector and my address plugged into the GPS.


  1. That's one of the things I fucking admire about you, Lille -- you are not afraid to look Karma in the eye as it comes hurtling straight for your ass at 90 mph; speaking to it like you were Russell Casse flying a suicide mission toward some alien predator in Independence Day, "UP YOURS!" So what if Molly has a little chi-pom-cock-chow-errier in her somewhere. (Oh, God, did I really just write that?!!!!) It's like what you said in your "Reality check" paragraph. Even so, might I suggest a good, solid helmet and lots of bubble wrap to go along with mean, COURAGE! Yeah, that's a good word. We'll just go with that! Ya know, just in case! Heeheeehee! Glad to hear all is well with Molly!


  2. So when you put all these dogs together, you get a well-behaved German Shepherd??
    Genetics is not science, it's magic.

    1. I think cooking is magic, too. At least, it is to me, because I don't understand it, hence the ingredients in a bowl visualization. Pinch of salt, bake, yields one German shepherd!