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A lot of random, a lot of canine.

"Happy Slappies" -- Guide Dog Aunt told me how much dogs hate getting patted on the head. There was this television show, and this vet talking about that, or something, and then the next day, the show's host saw her kids acting out the show again, only the kids were calling the pat-on-the-head to get the dog to back off "happy slappies".

Happy slappies are really good for getting a licky dog to back off.


Woke up with phone calls and internet-searching about dog-related emergencies. The dog of a friend of Guide Dog Aunt ate a bar of soap. There was much rejoicing when the emergency came to an end.

Dogs seem to be as self-destructive as toddlers, but with no end in sight.


Guide Dog Aunt seems like she'd really enjoy note_to_dog. However, if she appeared on LJ, the universe would end or something. Priorities, priorities.


The downstairs bathroom toilet is evidently much with the touchy. Guide Dog Aunt is re-thinking her priorities on explaining it to guests. If a nicely-calligraphed framed sign on the care and feeding of the toilet appears, don't blame me.


Save the drama for your llama. Now with more drama drama fanon drama / AU angsting cosplay drama / drama drama tinhat drama / drama drama wank. (I need an icon with "now my song is getting thin / I think my ship just sank / time for me to surf the net" on it. Or something.)

Bad cat names, and the Black Tent. Hooray Dragonlance.


Via sraun, a silly bit by some other Listees: Imagine what would happen if the secular celebration of Christmas (trees and Santas, etc.) were a Jewish holiday?


Yesterday's revelry: not much, really. Finished reading A Wind from the South, which is very much a book for Dagger's collection, given that it's about, um, spoiler. I felt it read a little slowly, but that could well just be the combination of .pdf on laptop (I prefer reading HTML), the kind of day it was, and how very ill I still am.

Oh, and then Guide Dog Aunt brought home a bunch of movies, and we wound up watching Mad Hot Ballroom, which was a lot of fun.


Instead of me braving BART, pyrogenic will be picking me up, as he had to be driving this way anyway. I think this is probably for the best, as while ordinarily I would happily walk all the hell over, this while I'm sick is a recipe for disaster.

I think probably the best plan for dinner negotiations is for me to call Az-the-Elder and then turn the phone over to 'Shua, so the locals can scheme without me having to croak too much. (Which reminds me, I should make a phone post at some point to establish exactly how dreadful I sound right now.)
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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