Tis' the season

To forget about shitty customers. So, for no apparent reason, here is Marlon Bran-dough with a stack of dough dressed up like a male doe-which is technically a buck, but it's my blog here, so if you want to split hairs, go suck a d'oh.

Speaking of things that don't make sense, last night I was taking my dog on her normal 20 minute "This spot's not quite right to bless with pee" walk (the sweet momma one, not the demon), when all of the sudden these two mops-I mean rats-I mean dogs-come tearing up to us with their owner shouting at them, and they are piiiiissed. They were seriously all like "maah! We're evil little cockapoos and we're bitter because we're not a real breed! maah! Fie on you and your dog for bequeathing this ground with pee!" Also, I'm pretty much in possession of the worst reflexes. Ever. Young Anakin I am not. Ever heard that quote "he who hesitates is lost"? I would be the first to die on the battlefield in times of yore. I often reflect upon this minor tragedy of life-often while I should probably be reacting to the urgent-and sometimes dangerous-situation at hand. Anyways, that's neither here nor there-the point is, it's because of these "reflexes" that I have to almost manually engage, that it wasn't until the little beasties were almost upon me that I reached down to pick up my dog, who was currently standing with her feeble little chest puffed out and her head back-looking more intrigued than anything. Suddenly, just as I'm about to lift her up and out of harm's way, I hear the familiar click of an extendable leash and the dogs come to an abrupt halt-half choking themselves. Just like that. The woman who owned them had a leash on them the entire time and for some God knows why reason decided that the best solution to keeping them under control is to run after them, shouting nonsensical half-formed commands. As they're slowly pulled away (apparently controlling two dogs who weigh all of twenty pounds put together is a very laborious task), barking all the while, my dog and I walk back to the apartment, she determinedly snuffing in a very "psh, I could have taken them" way. Later on, as I saw the same lady walking the same dogs down the same sidewalk, the same 10 feet in front of her, I had an epiphany: I hate little yappy fucking dogs.