Okay, by request I am blogging the dog story. To understand the dog story, which, by the by, has nothing to do with writing, you must know that characters, the players, the movers and shakers of the Anderson dog world.
My mother lives in our house. And with her she keeps four dogs which feel, and smell, like about four thousand dogs. Three of these dogs are genetically mutated rats and not actually dogs at all but my mother calls them miniature schnauzers. One is clearly the matriarch and is the literal mother of the other two. She is about seven hundred years old in dog years and as she moves pieces if her fall off like she has dog leprosy. As a side note Mike thinks she is actually dead, like a zombie dog that is still in a suspended state of animation.
So, the other player in the dog story is the genetically mutated thirty-five year old, super model/librarian midget but I call her my three-year-old daughter, E. E likes chips. She likes them with the white hot intensity of a thousand burning suns and I am frankly surprised that she didn't jump into the falling literal dog fight to get her chip back.
But as I chatted with my on-line friends/heroes/whip welding motivators the FlanTastic chat Divas E wandered over to the computer with a bag of chips. In the course of shoving them into her mouth lest anyone else in the house actually get one she dropped a chip onto the floor. Right in to the swirling mass of rancid smelling dog humanity guarding my feet. They all attacked the chip like lions on a straggling zebra and then there was growling, barking and yelping.
The geriatric, and consequently almost completely toothless, oldest dog had attacked and left two teeth holes in the ear of the youngest and biggest dog, a two year old lab mix. Then they all started fighting. Rolling around on the floor barking and biting and I tried kicking them. I didn't actually think that was going to break them up but I just really wanted to kick them. But they kept fighting until finally my mother came along and broke them up and the aged mother dog gummed her chip into oblivion and the dogs went off to eat poop out of the litter box as a consolation prize.
So what's the moral of the story? I don't think there is one but since I just spent twenty minutes blogging a pointless story I'm going to dig deep until I find one. Just because you're the oldest and the smallest, and frankly the ugliest, you should see this dog *shudder*, doesn't mean that you can't be the one who comes away with the chip. Or whatever it is that you're currently fighting for if it doesn't happen to be a soggy, half three-year-old masticated chip.
This is a story of success for the underdog. Or something like that.
Song of the Day--Who Let the Dogs Out, because they peed on my carpet.
Quote of the day--Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any one thing.
Amber
