YSaC, Vol. 908: Dogina(mail)bag.
2011 January 21
pomerainen dog
i have one that im giveing away to good home he dosent get along with other mail dogs
Let us reiterate the YSaC Doggie Prime Directive ONCE AGAIN:
If you can’t spell the breed of dog you’re adopting, no dog for you.
That said, this is a mail dog, and I have a soft spot for those. I remember spending many happy hours as a child watching a cartoon about a mail dog, trudging through snow, sleet, and dark of night, swiftly completing his appointed rounds. I’m not sure WHY I remember that, mind you, because no such cartoon ever existed.
Probably the drugs.
Thanks for the link, Nikki!
Pffft, who wants a mail dog these days? Everyone knows text message and express delivery dogs are all the rage.
I shall name him Fedex…
ring …. ring ….. ring…..
Hello, please hold.
Hammy the phone’s for you, someone who claims to be a lawyer at FedEx.
Bananaphone!
(Curse you, Balthazar!)
How does he get along with email dogs?
Or she-mail dogs?
I only project message dogs through the wind.
Dogs in the wind
All we are is dogs in the wind
I hope not. Dog wind is pretty nasty…. Almost as bad as cat wind.
Laurelhach, you get a door for that comment as well as for your avatar.
Aww, I love it when people can make any sort of sense out of my avvie–I must say, Dave, your quilt is a most flattering shade of blue. It really matches your ferret.
My dog doesn’t get along with the mailman.
*always gets up too late to post snark before someone else steals it* I was gunna ask if he hates himself or something to that degree. Rats.
A femailman delievers my male.
Does it go postal when it sees other mail dogs?
Pomeranian*? Nope. Pomerramen? Nope. Pomrainy? Nope.
Must be pomerainen.
*Now that I think about it, I don’t actually know how to spell it, but at least my first one looks right.
You were right the first time, NMN. They’re named after Pomerania.*
*A real place, albeit not one I’m sure you can find on modern maps.
Uncle Wikipedia (Uncle Google’s wiser, older brother who’s sometimes prone to fits of Tourette’s and abuse by strangers) says that Pomerania is what they still call a region of northern Poland and Germany.
Yancy, that parenthetical may be the best thing I’ve read all day.
I like to think of Wikipedia as a wacky cousin, rather than an Uncle.
Now, it won’t continue to be the best thing I’ve read all day, as I’m happy to report that Books 2-4 in the Dune series have just arrived in the mail, and I’ll be starting Dune Messiah later today.
Astro – It still might. Folks either love the later part of the Dune series, or hate it. It’s a lot like the Ender’s Game series that way. (I’ve got a friend who refers to “God-Emperor of Dune” as “God-Awful Dune.”)
The talents of the father were not visited upon the son.
In other news, Meej, you were in the box all day yesterday! Your punch might still be warm.
Don’t believe Uncle Wikipedia, *anyone* can post stuff on that web site. Uncle Google, on the other hand, never gives me bad information. If it’s on the Internet, it must be true.
BTW, did you know the star Betelgeuse will go supernova in 2012. The end of the world is truly upon us.
NO! Ford’s planet will be destroyed!
It’s okay, wasn’t it already destroyed by the Great Collapsing Hrung Disaster of Gal./Sid./Year 03758?
Better know where your towel is.
Don’t Panic.
Mmmm…Pomerramen noodle soup.
I am reminded of a Triumph the Insult Comedy Dog skit wherein he calls a restaurant looking for his brother and keeps asking if he’s in the kitchen.
Perhaps his brother was a Pomerramen.
Ow, Moira! Good one.
Remember “I” before “E,” except in Budweiser.
The I before E rule is weird.
And also doesn’t work. There are more words in the English language that don’t follow it, than do. According to Stephen Fry, anyway, and I always believe everything he tells me.
I do as well, ratwoman.
Well, the “rule” gets applied to words as often germanic as frankish–so ‘weird’ seems ever-so-apt.
For germanic words, the rule is easier.
If it sounds as long “E” it is spelt “ie”; if as long “I” then “ei” is correct. And vice versa, for spelling to proununciation.
Mind you, that spoils the Young Frankenstein joke a tad <G>
And is no help at all for pieces or nieces (but, is not ‘wierd’ since we know that makes puppies cry).
Weimaraner puppies?
If I buy him from you, can you mail him to me? I don’t know where you live.
No, but I’m sure she can male him over to your address.
Maybe I can cross him with my parrot and get an air mail dog.
Windy — that’s a little scary to think about.
* I started wondering how … stopped that quickly
* I started wondering what it would look like
* What would it eat
Lola please pass the flask. This is way to disturbing.
*passes flask and coffee slices*
Sorry, Artsy! I was thinking of genetic tinkering, not anything sordid. But you raise some valid questions. More research is in order. Pass the flask when you can.
Here you go Windy — special Friday blend.
Ugh, I’ve been very distracted today. Typically, just as I’ve (foolishly assumed) had uninterrupted time to devote to this (nothing like having a single event up and erase and entire week’s worth of work–Friday to Monday like chunked off a seven-storey building).
In any event, it has taking a while to process that Sparq was talking about the canine quadruped, and not the furniture item in the photo.
Been trying to remember which aspects of over-stuffed puffy-chairs were identified with Silesia or Pommeraina (or Polish at all).
Mind you, I blame part of this upon the lolverse; had Sparq’ used “goggie” I’d not thought of the comfy chair at all (other than for worries about Cardinal Fang and the soft pillows).
Right! Nothing To See Here! Move Along now! And, you, too . . .
If only carrier pigeons weren’t extinct, I think you’d be on to a sure thing, Windy.
They aren’t. Carrier pigeons are homing pigeons, which are very much non-extinct. You may be thinking of passenger pigeons, which are.[/corey]
Passenger pigeons? *imagines a pigeon the size of a Buick, with a multi-seat saddle on its back* That’s kinda cool… Until you remember the droppings…
If what Wacky Cousin Wiki says is true (And who doesn’t believe everything they read on Wikipedia?) passenger pigeons travelled in flocks that covered several square miles and at times would block out the sun. Nesting sites and roosts could consist of several hundred acres, all coated with several inches of droppings. That’s a lot of … droppings, even for Wikipedia.
Last year I fell head-first for an April Fool’s Joke that claimed the Carolina Parrot had been cloned from the stuffed remains available. I wanted it so badly to be true! If the guy working on the Mammoth is sucessful, I will petition him to work on the parrot and the Passenger Pigeon.
Thanks for the correction, sj. I apologize for the pigeon mix-up. They’re not my cumpets of choice, anyway.
I can just imagine one of those flying by the window and barking at me.
I wouldn’t want to be sitting by the statue in the park…
Weekly car washes, however, would become mandatory…
Lara, I would train them to play a sound bite; “Whoop! Whoop! Mail’s in.”
Sparkette –I have a really big dog. She seems to like the mailman. I’ll bet she would like a small mail dog for a snack. Please call 1-888-id10tsRU
There was absolutely no good reason not to be in a good mood. It was lovely and warm, the sun was shining brightly in the sky, and aside from the constant nettle of being named Horse, he was a proud Pomeranian, and an equally proud mail carrier. He couldn’t think of a better career path he could have chosen. He got to be outside all the time, he got to bring things to people, and people loved him for it. They always gave him pettings or little treats on his way, and sometimes they’d throw the mail back towards the end of their walkway just so he could have the joy of fetching it again.
Yes, life was good. Horse made his way to the next house he had a delivery for. He sauntered up the porch steps, set his bag down, and grabbed the next letter on the pile with his mouth — he liked to keep organized. This one was for the Wunderbuns. They didn’t have a doorbell he could make a jump for, so instead he placed his forepaws on the door and scratched several times. He heard the sound of footsteps approach, and the door opened with a creak of its hinges to reveal Mrs. Wunderbuns looking out over him expectantly.
“Mail!” Horse said, though what everyone else around heard was, “Wuff!”
Mrs. Wunderbuns looked down and noticed Horse. He began to wag his tail. “Oh, Horse! I didn’t see you there!” She leaned down and gently grabbed the slightly soggy letter from his jaws. “Oooh, you’re such a good boy, Horse! You always bring my mail on time!”
Horse panted, wagged his tail and gave a little shimmy as Mrs. Wunderbuns gave him a scratch behind the ears for a moment before retiring back inside and closing the door.
It was good to be a mail dog.
Horse ducked his head under the handles of his mail bag and returned to the sidewalk to make his way to the next house — until he saw him. Horse stopped dead in his tracks.
“Youuuuu…” Horse growled. Twenty feet away was another dog. Another mail dog. An annoying, yappy, ugly dachshund. His name was Oscar, and the boss said he was going to be taking over half of his route — but Horse wasn’t having any of that. He told Oscar not to bother. So what if it took him two trips to deliver all of the mail on his route just because he couldn’t carry the full load in one go? It wasn’t like that added any significant amount of time to his route, and he hadn’t gotten a single complaint from anyone. Not one, not ever. He didn’t need help, especially from some uppity wiener dog.
Oscar froze mid-stride. At any other time that would have looked comical, but Horse was in no mood for shenanigans just now. “I told you to go home.”
“B–but…” Oscar was shaking ever so gently. “The boss … he told me I couldn’t go home. He gave me your other bag and told me to get out there and deliver or I’d be fired. I didn’t have a choice! I had to!”
“Had to?” Horse spat. “No, you didn’t have to. You could have just brought me my bag and let me do my job on my route while, you — I don’t know, go do whatever the hell it is you balloon animal dogs do.”
If Oscar was offended by the dig at his breed, he was careful not to show it. “But, I’ve got–”
“Go home!” Horse menaced, baring his teeth to their fullest. “Leave the bag and go home, or the boss will be the least of your worries.”
Oscar gave a quick yelp, ducked out of the bag handles and scampered back down the way he had come.
Horse watched him go for a few moments to make sure he wasn’t coming back, then went over to his other mail bag. He poked his head inside and saw that he’d already delivered about half of the mail, which was bad enough.
But then he saw it.
Set in between the two remaining stacks of mail was a rawhide bone with a red bow on it.
Someone gave Oscar a treat. Oscar! They didn’t even know that mutt and he got a treat! That was supposed to be his. Horse’s! These were his people. Those were his treats. This was his territory! Nobody took those away from him, nobody! Horse’s outrage was tempered only by the calm and absolute certainty of what he was going to have to do about it. Horse stood straight as an arrow and surveyed the area. His area. He would make sure of that the only way he could.
He was going to have to piss on everything.
Greek yogurt’s a hard thing to clean off of a computer screen when one has not yet had coffee. At least I didn’t do that nasally.
Now you of all people should know not to read here either without having had your coffee slices yet, or with a full mouth. Or bladder. Or while holding a full and really hot beverage. Especially if naked.
What can I say? I hadn’t had coffee yet, and this has been a gruelling week after working all weekend and last week. I forgot. And I was hungry.
Your office must have a much looser definition of Casual Friday then mine does, Mindfield.
OT I love Greek yogurt! 8)
Perfect ending!
Just wait for the sequel when he gets into a turf war with a gang of Saint Bernards and a mastiff. It’s galoshes for everybody!
I was expecting a lead a horse-to-water joke.
Dunno why I called him Horse actually. Just kinda came to mind. Although upon consideration (and why I’m even considering this I don’t know) the phrase “pee like a race horse” comes to mind.
Dorothy Parker: You can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her think.
Possibly my favorite quote of hers (they are myriad).
I need to get me some Dorothy on the Kindle. Thanks for reminding me!
Please tell me you have seen Mrs. Parker and The Vicious Circle. I love that movie. 8)
Yes! Not for ages, but yes.
I discovered her in high school* … that explains a lot about me, actually.
*While I was in high school. Mrs. Parker was not in high school at the time. She was deceased.
Brings new meaning to the phrase, “hand-canceled”…
If it’s not one of those flat-rate mail dogs, I’m just not interested. I don’t want to have to pay those ridiculously high shipping charges.
Woaaa! Lookit the cute goggie! Does he want walkies? (or she as the case may be)
He, and I’m sure he would love some walkies. Unless there’s some mail dogs around. He’s not fond of them.
Wook at da puppeh!!!
*ahem*
Hello, Ly. Welcome!
Thanks 🙂 My brother pointed me in this direction and I haven’t been able to leave.
Your brother is holding you hostage at YSaC? The Snark Lounge closes at midnight.
It’s all right. I’ve been given a cot in the store room.
That mail dog doesn’t look very friendly. Perhaps it’s conflicted because it has to deliver the mail and hates itself for doing it.
Anagram fun: pomerainen dog
Peeing Doorman: Not what you want to see coming home to your apartment
Enema Drooping: What you REALLY don’t want to see
Egad, Mine Porno: The oath escaping from a writer’s lips upon seeing what the director did to his opus
Aged Moron Pine: What Sparky’s birdhouse is made of
Idea Gnome Porn: I don’t know what this is, but it sounds hilarious.
Gonad Rein Poem: An ode to someone’s personal piercing (with restraints)
Maid Gone Prone: Saw a droopy enema and fainted
Damn, Poor Genie: What we keep thinking about those pigs’ trials and tribulations
Neap Dirge Moon: A sad song at low tide
Near Mined Goop: Just don’t ask what that goop is…
Magi Donor Peen: You’re just lucky about the tissue match!
Uhmmm…. I’m afraid to ask, but… Is the poem restrained, or do the piercings have restraints attached?
An ode of restraint to zygote-producing organs gives an all-new meaning to “rhythm method” . . .
Ok, bad mental image: A Haka for ovaries . . .
Ovaries are paired
Each month one will make an egg
Unless you’re E B.
Ovaries produce
Crazy hormones in women
Usually monthly.
Follicles grow and
Release an egg. Sometimes there’s
A cyst and it hurts.
Ok, somehow reading that made it all dark and cloudy with Galoise smoke and less-washed hep-cats in berets snapping their fingers arhythmicly to the stand-up bass and bongo accompaniment.
You probably need to translate into Maori and have a bunch of rugby types make it into a Haka.
::Googles “haka”::
Oh, those! I’m pretty sure the BYU football team does one of those before each home game, because we have about 8,000 Polynesians on the team.
**looks carefully at eyes of dog in picture, gasps**
ALL HAIL HYPNO-DOGS!
OT — Astro (any anyone else finishing up a semester of school) – Congrads on finishing finals. I hope they all went well.
*does end of testing dance*
I seriously love testing though. We only get half days and then we all pile into a friends car and go play at the park. We’ve been back in school for only a month now, but I’m already looking forward to the end of the year. Which, with all these snow days, is getting farther and farther away.
Laurel – my son is doing his version of the “end of test dance” by going out to lunch with friends for a “heart attack special” at 5 Guys. He told me he’d rather take 3 honors chemistry and calculus finals instead of one Spanish 3 final. I guess we all have our strengths.
Mmmmm… 5 guys….
It would be worth mentioning to everyone who isn’t familiar with the area that 5 Guys is the name of a restaurant.
The food is the kind that ought to come with its own defibrillator.
It’s so good, though. Also, the portions are huge. Their “little” cheeseburger is about the size of a normal cheeseburger from McDonald’s. And when you get a large fry, they take a big brown paper bag and just fill it.
SJ, thank you for the clarification. I was wondering if BombDude was trying to tell us something. 8)
The picture would have been taken from closer, but he doesn’t like the camera dog much either.
I beg to differ
Edit: OMG! do I suck at HTML…
Don’t worry Bombdude, we all have our strengths. I can do HTML; however, you don’t want me to try to blow anything up. However, it is kind of an interesting idea. If there is an unexpected explosion in Cary, you know it will be your fault.
OMG – Pluto was so funny!!!
Don’t mess it up too bad, I have to go thru Cary to get to FV tonight… I’d hate to have to reroute through (GASP) Garner…
My mom had a chair that looked like the one in the picture. It was ugly, but so comfortable. Which describes at least one guy I dated.
I had a chair like that one too. It wasn’t stained or torn but I’d replaced it and so I put it out on the curb for bulk garbage pickup day, along with a corroded cheap-o poolside recliner and a rusted metal gate. The pool chair and the gate were taken by passers-by within minutes – I live on A1A and there’s lots of traffic – but the comfy chair stayed there ’til the men from the garbage company came to take it to its eternal rest. Poor unwanted comfy chair.
That kind of goes with my experience of putting out or trying to sell a variety of objects. The ones that are still “nice” (my definition)/were originally expensive/are still useful are passed over for crappy/useless/broken items.
Slightly OT: at my last residence, we put the garbage out at the curb the night before pickup, and one time my contributions included a grocery/laundry cart (not to be confused with the types one uses at stores, this is one of the lighter and smaller ones). I had to get a new one because this one developed a tendency to pull to one side and was beginning to be difficult to control when full of groceries, but it was still useable. I put it out with the garbage, but suspected it would not last until the official pickup, as someone who was stronger/could fix it/did not care would likely come by (people picked through what we put out every time, so the likelihood was high). Some things we put out disappeared right away, but after a couple of hours I noticed it was still there, even though I could hear people sorting the items. I guessed that nobody needed it. I also noticed it was getting dark.
As soon as the sun set, it was gone.
I guessed it still looked new enough to deter someone taking it who didn’t want to possibly be accused of stealing; however, once under cover of darkness …
I love rummaging through interesting trash and I won’t hesitate to stop in broad daylight to grab something interesting. If I had been in your neighborhood it would not have lasted ten minutes.
Oh, poor comphy chair. I’d have TOTALLY stolen it if I could!
Our city has a twice-yearly cleanup day when you can put anything out at the curb for trash pickup. They come around with a thing with a big ol’ crab claw on the front to collect whatever doesn’t get scavenged. Being in a college town, quite a lot of furniture gets passed around on the days leading up to our cleanups.
When we left North Carolina the second time, I filled up two of the really big totes with my kids old stuffed animals. I then put them out on the curb with a sign that read, “Free to good home”. Woke up the next morning to find that someone had dumped the toys and taken the totes.
According to a completely random childhood memory suddenly dredged up by this post…..
yes Virginia, THERE IS A MAIL DOG.
Seriously.
I never learned my multiplication tables in 3rd grade and I certainly don’t remember much else except for a LOT of social awkwardness & crying myself to sleep at night…..but by God, I DO remember a story in our reading book called “Owney the Traveling Dog”.
Wikipedia enlightens all:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Owney
Owney was the embodiment of what a “mail dog” should be. No other dog has ever come close. As a testament to his awesomeness, Owney’s stuffed & preserved century-old body is currently on display at the National Postal Museum, one of the nation’s hottest tourist spots.
Therefore, the ONLY logical conclusion I can draw from this Craigslist post, is that the “Pomeranien” in question has VISITED the National Postal Museum with his owner. And upon seeing Owneys’ formaldehyde-y, moth-eaten, creepy looking stuffed body encased in glass….Pomeranien fell into paroxsyms of spitting rage and urinated all over himself and his owner. A perfectly understandable reaction. In fact I believe my grandmother did the exact same thing during her retirement-home bus trip to Washington DC (but we didn’t have to put her on Craigslist since we’d already dumped her in “a good home” pre-emptively).
I’d get rid of a dog who got all spit-pissy-ragey on ME, too. And I’d warn prospective owners to avoid any & all “mail dogs” so they wouldn’t make the same mistake when THEY took their yearly vacation to the Postal Museum. It sounds to me like this dog’s owner is being PERFECTLY reasonable.
I for one am always glad when Sparkies clarify that they’re selling “pomerainen dogs.” If they only wrote “pomerainen” and I agreed to buy/adopt, expecting a “pomerainen” person or cat, I be disappointed.
Ah, mail dogs, the distinguished, dedicated corps of the Puppy Express.
Get it now while it’s a ‘Forever Dog’, there’s a price raise comin’.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-northamptonshire-12230283
I’d say something, but most comments seem to be redundant at this point.
Most comments seem to be redundant at this point.
Doesn’t it seem most comments would be redundant at this point?
There is a point when most comments become redundant.
Isn’t it redundant for these point comments?
I thought that this was the point at which comments become redundant.
Isn’t redundancy the point of most comments?
I’d comment, but my horoscope says that due to the alignment of the Moon and MakeMake in my Snark Sphere, any comment would become redundant.
Did you take into account the new horoscope? It might mean that comments made are rendered redundant.
It took me four readings of that headline to figure out WTF they were trying to say. That is one of the most nonsensical sets of words I have ever seen!
I just figured it was one of those British things meant to confuzzle foreigners.
We have a great tradition of headlines consisting of random collections of nouns. Trust me, it’s not just foreigners who get confuzzled.
Do Brits not believe in placing hyphens in noun strings?
In an attempt to avoid the aforementioned redundancy, I thought I’d spice this comment up with some OT, in the form of a link to my latest musical project, which is explained in-depth on the page at which it is located:
O’er the Misty Mountains Cold
Dog in a mailbag,
I know, I know,
It’s spurious…
Hammy. In the box. Again. *mumble mutter dogs mutter mutter grumble* Ahem. Well Deserved Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Jomsburg!
This photo of an apparently Munchkin type of dog who is obviously being punished by being made to sit in the Really Big Chair of Doom (and probably gagging in the Remnants of Past Occupants’ Flatulence) makes me want to break in to their house and dognap the poor critter immediately.
So this might take the cake for Most Random comment added long after the fact, but there IS a cartoon about a mail dog trudging through snow, etc. It’s a Pluto cartoon and you can view it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLz3jtDYL9w
In order to be less redundant I tried to skim the comments to see if anyone had already posted it, but it’s possible that I just missed it.