It’s her. I know it’s a dark pic, but look closely. You are actually getting a chance to observe – nay – marvel at She. She who is the Bunny-Blaze. See that look on her face? All sort of shy? Innocent? All “Who, me?” Don’t let it fool you. It has drawn many a human in, and they are caught in her spell before they realize what has happened to them.
I knew when she was a puppy. A cute, little purple-collar-clad puppy all fluffy and sweet. She had come in and joined three older, one would think wiser dogs. Her first victim was a goner from the second he saw her. T. He followed her around like a …. uh …. puppy (not a very creative metaphor for this purpose…wait… didn’t I use “like”? Would that make my reference a simile? Ugh. The stress.. (but is it just me, or do you always see “smiley” when you read simile? Sorry, I digress.) . Anyway, he followed her around and worshipped her and held her cape (Okay, too far. No cape.). And, at any given time, whenever she wanted, perhaps just after she yielded a prize toy to him (all toys were hers)….THE SNARK!
The snark. The out of the blue, sinus clearing declaration that either A., the thing you have is, indeed, hers; B., the fact that you want her attention matters not and how dare you not make an appointment; or C., she is done with you. DONE. And you are, therefore, dismissed. NOW. I am certain that, if you are a professional dog trainer – or have trained your dog for a while and now consider yourself sort of a professional dog trainer – you are now wanting to scream at me “SHE IS RESOURCE GUARDING!” or “SHE MUST BE RELEGATED TO THE BOTTOM OF THE PACK” or “YOU ARE A COTTON-HEADED NINNY MUGGENS!” (That last one is a left over from this past Christmas season. Huge Elf fan here). I assure you that none of what you screamed at me – and thanks for that – is true. She’s snarky. Never at a human, no matter what size, only at her fellow canine family members. Mostly the one who loves her most. Yep. She’s a girl. My guess? Regardless of what chronological age she is, times seven for the dog year equivalent (Yes, literal people, I do know that the ‘times seven’ reference is not really accurate! Geez, just go with it!)…Anyway… whatever age she really is, and whatever age the calculus-based computation to get her to ‘dog years’ is (Shouldn’t it be ‘human years’? I never quite understood the ‘dog year’ concept. In dog years the dog is what the dog is in actual years from his/her date of birth right? Shouldn’t it be ‘human years’ that we convert to? I dunno. It’s bothered me since early childhood. When I was doing calculus.). Anyway (again), no matter how you convert Blaze’s age, and no matter how young she was (we got her when she was 12 weeks old), or how old she gets, I estimate her equivalent age to be… hormonal teenager.
I mentioned in a past post that Blaze has a thing for young men. I think I said that, if Channing Tatum walked in that would be it. I was serious. AM serious. Blaze will take a treat from you, but you won’t be able to buy her with it (unlike Fred-the-harbor-seal lab, who will walk right out the door with you if you offer him a potato peel). She might accept a nice massage or belly rub, but she won’t be yours and certainly won’t leave with you. Are you a fairly handsome young man, preferably under the age of 25? She’ll know it. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I don’t know if handsome young men smell different. I don’t know if she has a thing for nice, white teeth. I don’t know if she has any preference at all on hairstyle, skinny jeans, or muscle tone. But she knows. While she may be willing to greet and escort any new person into the house, she won’t end up with just anyone. If I hear her coo-ing and snout-whistling in the other room, I know exactly who she is with. It’s a guy. And he is young and handsome.
My background is in creating businesses, and I’ve been home working on our family for over a decade at this point. Having always loved writing (but had a discouraging mom who was fairly certain all creative types – artists, writers, etc. – would be starving and living in her basement for, like, ever), I’m now spending time writing. Working on that next chapter of who I am and who I want to be. But if this writing thing doesn’t work out, I feel like I can always fall back on my old experience in business. I’m fairly good at figuring out trends and envisioning where the world is going and what customers will need. And I have an idea. A real gem really.
America’s Next Top Model should expand. There needs to be an America’s Next Top MALE Model. Seriously. And I think it needs to expand beyond the template of the current show. I think the goal should be to find the guy that people want to see all over the place all the time. Sure, he’d look good on the cover of a magazine, but he’d also be great to watch in a movie, in an interview, etc. The winner of this new show may or may not look good on a runway, but he certainly isn’t a super skinny, super tall, stick of a man who looks good in skinny jeans and a man-cape (and no, Indiana Jones didn’t have one of those. He had a satchel). He’s Richard Gere (showing my age, I know), or Hugh Jackman (still?), or Bradley Cooper (better?) or, yes, Channing Tatum (I’ve got a 20 year old). But how, how, am I going to make money off of this venture? Me. From chic and trendy Dunstable, Massachusetts? I know no one in Hollywood. I can’t pitch this myself. I can’t try out for it myself, even if they DO decide to green-light the effort (I sound Hollywood already right? I’d fit in). But I do have a secret weapon. A dead-on eye for handsome young men. Someone with a sixth sense who, I am absolutely certain would be the Simon Cowell of judges for this show. Snarky and, yet, sometimes sweet and encouraging. Someone who comes out with barbed quips when you least expect it and yet can freely express pure adulation. I’ve got a ringer. And I’ve got my pitch all ready, should I manage to get the phone number of the casting person (which, of course, in this fantasy I will get). My pitch goes something like this:
Have I got the judge for you…
Good right? Direct. Yet provocative. I’m comfortable with it.
I’ll deal with their stunned silence when I show up with a certain german shepherd dog once I get there.