Links
Archives
The inner workings of the mind of Malcolm, distinguished canine.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Log 005:
I would have preferred to spend an evening in quiet contemplation the past Monday night. The autumn season has begun, and I have been enjoying a leisurely stroll through the backyard, letting the cooler November winds tousle my hair and chill my feet. I look forward to spending the afternoon in the cooler air and then retiring to the cabernet-colored couch in the evening, where I relax and think upon the wonders of the natural world and how, in such a time of political unrest and sagging economy (they say it is looking optimistic but my blue chips say otherwise), the simple joy of an early-setting sun and a full bowl of sliced beef in a gravy sauce can make a mature dog quite content.
However, humiliation came to visit me once more on Monday evening. As I was lounging on the floor, performing a few yoga poses (in this case, the kneeling dog, as it were), the metal clasp on my neckwear become ensnared in a long fiber in the carpet. I worked to free myself from this long thread of yarn, but to no avail. I cursed my lack of thumbs yet again! Why, O Creator, was I made thus? Not a day passes in which I do not pine for a thick digit at the base of each front foot.
As I sat there, tethered to the carpet, Callie came bounding into the room and stared at me. I noted the glazed-over look in her eyes; she does not have the intellect to comprehend that I was in need of assistance. Instead, she approached and sniffed me, and proceeded to drip saliva from her loose-lipped mouth onto my person. I shuddered and waited for her to depart and leave me in my sorrowful state to brood alone.
Several hours passed before Tom arrived home and noticed that I was imprisoned there on the carpet like an untamed circus elephant. To my horror, he began to laugh a deep, hearty laugh and only after a few agonizing long moments did he reach down to free me. I could not bring myself to make eye contact with him through these humiliating moments. Callie stood nearby, watching with feigned interest as she waited for him to turn his attentions back to her and her ridiculous "squeakie egg" toy covered in saliva and hair.
I believe my next project may be the creation of a glove, of sorts, that can be fitted over my front paws and would enable me to grip objects. Using a modified spring mechanism, I believe I can fashion a hand that, if my orders arrive from Boeing next week as planned, will be operating using a pneumatic device with titanium steel fingers for grasping and pulling. Of course, I am pondering whether I should move back production on the amphibious vehicle in order to accommodate this project, but it may prove fruitful to do so. Hands would be of extraordinary use.
Until next we meet in cyberspace,
Malcolm
I would have preferred to spend an evening in quiet contemplation the past Monday night. The autumn season has begun, and I have been enjoying a leisurely stroll through the backyard, letting the cooler November winds tousle my hair and chill my feet. I look forward to spending the afternoon in the cooler air and then retiring to the cabernet-colored couch in the evening, where I relax and think upon the wonders of the natural world and how, in such a time of political unrest and sagging economy (they say it is looking optimistic but my blue chips say otherwise), the simple joy of an early-setting sun and a full bowl of sliced beef in a gravy sauce can make a mature dog quite content.
However, humiliation came to visit me once more on Monday evening. As I was lounging on the floor, performing a few yoga poses (in this case, the kneeling dog, as it were), the metal clasp on my neckwear become ensnared in a long fiber in the carpet. I worked to free myself from this long thread of yarn, but to no avail. I cursed my lack of thumbs yet again! Why, O Creator, was I made thus? Not a day passes in which I do not pine for a thick digit at the base of each front foot.
As I sat there, tethered to the carpet, Callie came bounding into the room and stared at me. I noted the glazed-over look in her eyes; she does not have the intellect to comprehend that I was in need of assistance. Instead, she approached and sniffed me, and proceeded to drip saliva from her loose-lipped mouth onto my person. I shuddered and waited for her to depart and leave me in my sorrowful state to brood alone.
Several hours passed before Tom arrived home and noticed that I was imprisoned there on the carpet like an untamed circus elephant. To my horror, he began to laugh a deep, hearty laugh and only after a few agonizing long moments did he reach down to free me. I could not bring myself to make eye contact with him through these humiliating moments. Callie stood nearby, watching with feigned interest as she waited for him to turn his attentions back to her and her ridiculous "squeakie egg" toy covered in saliva and hair.
I believe my next project may be the creation of a glove, of sorts, that can be fitted over my front paws and would enable me to grip objects. Using a modified spring mechanism, I believe I can fashion a hand that, if my orders arrive from Boeing next week as planned, will be operating using a pneumatic device with titanium steel fingers for grasping and pulling. Of course, I am pondering whether I should move back production on the amphibious vehicle in order to accommodate this project, but it may prove fruitful to do so. Hands would be of extraordinary use.
Until next we meet in cyberspace,
Malcolm
Comments:
Post a Comment
