Jokes

SCHUTZHUND BARBIE

The rarest of the “Dog Series” of Bar­bies, SchH Bar­bie fre­quently must be impor­ted from Ger­many, Bel­gium, or the Czech Repub­lic. Although the European coun­tries will give you a quote on the cost of ship­ping SchH Bar­bie to the US, you can reas­on­ably expect the cost upon arrival to be roughly 30–60% higher. It may be cheaper to fly to Eurpoe and bring SchH Bar­bie back yourself.

Unlike most Bar­bies, SchH Bar­bie will only have from 6–9 com­plete fin­gers from bait­ing dogs while in high prey drive. From doing agit­a­tion, SchH Bar­bie will also have amaz­ing biceps and cal­louses on her hands & the small of her back from repeated long line burns. All SchH Bar­bies come with USA or DVG rule book, maps & dir­ec­tions to every verein

within 500 miles, leather gloves, track­ing lines, tie-out lines, stain­less steel fursaver col­lar, pinch col­lar, agit­a­tion col­lar, jute roll, 87 ten­nis balls on dif­fer­ent lengths of nylon cord, and a year’s sup­ply of liver. Addi­tion­ally, SchH Bar­bie will come with a soft sleeve, dumb­bells, and an expres­sion that asks, “How did I ever get sucked into this?”. SchH 2 Bar­bie comes with a hard sleeve, dumb­bells, Ray Allen dog har­ness, and the sheer will to suck it up and go for the 3. SchH 3 Bar­bie has a smug, self-satisfied grin along with all of the pre­vi­ously men­tioned equip­ment. Do not be sur­prised by the thick skin, espe­cially on the back of the neck, of the SchH Bar­bies. This is from Train­ing Dir­ector Ken breath­ing hot air down the back of her neck. Some SchH Bar­bies (espe­cially the SchH 1 and 2s) may also burst into tears spon­tan­eously at the sight of Train­ing Dir­ector Ken and/or pull out chunks of their hair. SchH Bar­bie comes with your choice of dog: GSD, Rot­tie, Dobe, Malin­ois, or Giant Schnauzer. Other breeds are avail­able but SchH Bar­bie will never win any­thing with them. Strong nerve is extra.

At the time of pur­chase, please request Eng­lish, or Ger­man SchH Bar­bie. Other lan­guages occa­sion­ally avail­able. A-Frame, jump, and blinds must be pur­chased sep­ar­ately. Sei­ger, HIT, FH, AD, and V-ratings much, much extra and not always avail­able, no mat­ter how badly she wants it.

By Martha Bur­ton. Martha trains with the St. Croix Val­ley SchH Ver­ein in Wis­con­sin, where she works her 18 month dobe, Gunther.

Chil­dren As Pets — The Cat Years

I just real­ized that while chil­dren are dogs — loyal and affec­tion­ate — teen­agers are cats.

It’s so easy to be a dog owner. You feed it, train it, boss it around. It puts it’s head on your knee and gazes at you as if you were a Rem­brandt paint­ing. It bounds indoors with enthu­si­asm when you call it.

Then around age 13, your ador­ing little puppy turns into a big old cat. When you tell it to come inside, it looks amazed, as if won­der­ing who died and made you emperor. Instead of dog­ging your door­steps, it dis­ap­pears. You won’t see it again until it gets hungry — then it pauses on its sprint through the kit­chen long enough to turn its nose up at whatever you’re serving.

When you reach out to ruffle its head, in that old affec­tion­ate ges­ture, it twists away from you, then gives you a blank stare, as if try­ing to remem­ber where it has seen you before. You, not real­iz­ing that the dog is now a cat, think some­thing must be des­per­ately wrong with it. It seems so anti­so­cial, so dis­tant, sort of depressed. It won’t go on fam­ily outings.

Since you’re the one who raised it, taught it to fetch and stay and sit on com­mand, you assume that you did some­thing wrong. Flooded with guilt and fear, you redouble your efforts to make your pet behave. Only now you’re deal­ing with a cat, so everything that worked before now pro­duces the oppos­ite of the desired res­ult. Call it, and it runs away. Tell it to sit, and it jumps on the counter. The more you go toward it, wringing your hands, the more it moves away.

Instead of con­tinu­ing to act like a dog owner, you can learn to behave like a cat owner. Put a dish of food near the door, and let it come to you. But remem­ber that a cat needs your help and your affec­tion too. Sit still, and it will come, seek­ing that warm, com­fort­ing lap it has not entirely for­got­ten. Be there to open the door for it.

One day your grown-up child will walk into the kit­chen, give you a big kiss and say, “You’ve been on your feet all day. Let me get those dishes for you.”

Then you’ll real­ize your cat is a dog again.

From an email mes­sage dated 8/17/99 5:10:40 PM Pacific Day­light Time by YOYBUD@webtv.net.

DOG HAIKU

I love my mas­ter;
Thus I per­fume myself with
This long-rotten squir­rel.

I lie belly-up
In the sun­shine, hap­pier than
You ever will be.

Today I sniffed
Many dog butts — I cel­eb­rate
By kiss­ing your face.

I sound the alarm!
Paper­boy — come to kill us all —
Look! Look! Look! Look! Look!
I lift my leg and
Wiz on each bush. Hello, Spot —
Sniff this and weep.

How do I love thee?
The ways are num­ber­less as
My hairs on the rug.

My human is home!
I am so ecstatic I have
Made a puddle.

The cat is not all
Bad — she fills the lit­ter box
With Toot­sie Rolls.
Sleep­ing here, my chin
On your foot — no greater bliss — well,
Maybe catch­ing cats.

Look in my eyes and
Deny it. No human could
Love you as much I do.

Dig under fence — why?
Because it’s there. Because it’s
There. Because it’s there.

I am your best friend,
Now, always, and espe­cially
When you are eat­ing. >
You may call them fleas,
But they are far more — I call
Them a voca­tion.

My own­ers’ mood is
Romantic — I lie near their
Feet. I blow a big one.

I hate my choke chain —
Look, world, they strangle me! Ack
Ack Ack Ack Ack Ack!

Cat Haiku

You never feed me.
Per­haps I’ll sleep on your face.
That will sure show you.

You *must* scratch me there!
Yes, above my tail!
Behold, elev­ator butt.

The rule for today:
Touch my tail, I shred your hand.
New rule tomor­row.

Grace per­son­i­fied.
I leap into the win­dow.
I meant to do that.
Blur of motion, then —
Silence, me, a paper bag.
What is so funny?

You’re always typ­ing.
Well, let’s see you ignore my
sit­ting on your hands.

My small card­board box.
You can­not see me if I
Can just hide my head.

Ter­rible battle.
I fought for hours. Come and see!
What’s a ‘term paper?’
Small brave car­ni­vores
Kill pine cones and mos­qui­toes
Fear vacuum cleaner.

I want to be close
to you. Can I fit my head
inside your armpit?

Wanna go out­side.
Oh, crap! Help! I got out­side!
Let me back inside!

Oh no! Big One
has been trapped by news­pa­per!
Cat to the rescue!

Humans are so strange.
Mine lies still in bed, then screams.
My claws are not that sharp.

Cats meow out of angst
“Thumbs! If only we had thumbs!
We could break so much!“

The Big Ones snore now
Every room is dark and cold
Time for “Cup Hockey.“

In deep sleep hear sound
Cat vomit hair ball some­where
Will find in morn­ing.

We’re almost equals
I purr to show I love you.
Want to smell my butt?






DALMATIANS

A nurs­ery school teacher was deliv­er­ing a sta­tion wagon full of kids home one day when a fire truck zoomed past. Sit­ting in the front seat of the fire truck was a Dal­ma­tian dog.
  The chil­dren fell to dis­cuss­ing the dog’s duties.

“They use him to keep crowds back,” said one young­ster.
  “No,” said another, “he’s just for good luck.”
  A third child brought the argu­ment to a close.
  “They use the dogs,” she said firmly, “to find the fire hydrant!“

Blonde Joke

A blonde returns home in the after­noon to find her house has been broken into and the place ransacked.

She calls the cops — and is stand­ing on the front porch, wringing her hands, when a K9 officer arrives with his dog.

“Now I KNOW this is the worst day of my life!” she wails. “First my house is burg­lar­ized and then they send me a BLIND cop!“

A Talk­ing Dog Story


A guy toddles into the bar with his mutt at his side and says to the bar­keep, “My dog here is the smartest dog ever was, and he can talk!“

The bar­tender says, “Getoutahere…dogs can’t talk.“

The guys says, “I’ll prove it to you for a drink.“

OK, you’re on.”, says the man behind the bar.

The guy looks down at the dog.…“What grows under a tree?“

ROOT!“

The guy says, “There you have it! Give me that drink.”

“Not so fast”, says the barkeep…“that’s just a dog mak­ing sounds…he ain’t talkin’.“

OK…How’s about this then.…”, looks down at the dog again and says, “What’s over a house?“

ROOF!“

There’s steam startin’ to come out of the bartender’s ears and he says, “Don’t get me mad…you are tak­ing advant­age of my good nature.“

“Allright…allright”, says the drunk, “don’t get upset…give me one more chance to prove to you how smart my dog is and show you he can talk.” “OK, dog…”, says the drunk. “who was the greatest ball­player of all-time?“

RUTH!“

With that the bar­tender grabs the drunk by the seat of the pants and tosses him and the dog right out the door and into the gut­ter. The drunk is brush­ing off the dust when his dog looks up at him and says, “DiMag­gio?”.

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