The Theory of Relativity

After a week flittering around the galaxy, I caught up with my bud, Albert. That’s the poster guy who used to have wacky hair and a Nobel certificate.  He and I were talking over some of his Commandment-like theories when I had my own revelation: Some relatives ought to be chain-sawed off the family tree.

Now as a deceased pack member, I never really spent much time with my littermates. I was whisked away from them at the ripe old age of 6 weeks to join up with another pack. Not much time to get connected or build a history with my siblings. However, my pack members were my surrogate relatives. Some of them were endearing and essential. Then there were those who, well, let’s just say they were memorable.

While kibitzing with Herr Einstein, I mentioned I thought it probably had a lot to do with his notion of Probability. According to physics principles, we’re a mass of energetic particles occupying some space at some time. So really, Probability Theory is just a big Maybe. That’s my point. Some of our relatives are really just a Maybe.

According to one of my close family members, their family tree closely resembled the genealogy of cooked Top Ramen noodles. Inbreeding was rampant with their family’s genetic probability rivaling any poodle breeders (Nothin’ against my poodle brethren).



Grandpa Hennessey



As a Maybe example, let’s take a look at my Grandpa. Now I’ll admit the dude had a suave surname. The Big Guy (my alpha leader) christened him, Hennessey after some amber colored libation he found likable. But Grandpa on more than one occasion tried to kill me. Yup, grandparents, indeed, do eat their young, or in my case, enticing me a time or two in trying to get acquainted with the reflective properties of speeding car chrome bumpers. Grand old Grandpa would cajole me with the possibility of catching some recently grazing deer, only to lure me towards the crosshairs of a traffic-rich thoroughfare.

So what’s the point of all this dribble? No it’s not, “You choose your friends but you can’t choose your family.” That clique, although applicable is not the point. The cosmic message is: some of your relatives aren’t going to become your golfing buddies or knitting partners, but they have a reasonable Probability of enlightening you on how you don’t want to do life. See, no soul is wasted, even those families whose gene pools could use a little more chlorine (another cliques I really like). And that’s Dodger’s Theory of Relativity!

That’s it from the cosmos. Me and Al are off to find out the answer to another crucial galactic question, what’s the meaning of navel lint. See ya next time.-Dodger

Dog Drool

Dog drool, now that's something that most of you have been salivating to know more about. Okay, I'm sure this seems like a topic lacking in overall cosmic significance for my first communique with humanity. But this spontaneous viscous material has more relevance to your life than you might be giving adequate attention. Drool is visual. It immediately stimulates emotions in others. It may even be on par with the emotional consequence of seeing elderly people naked. It's creates, without much needed assistance, a visceral response. Generally, what I heard throughout my entire tenure on earth was "Yuck!" Usually repeated in a barrage of exclamations from my pack members hoping that one of their other numbers would be cleaning the stuff up.

For most canines it is your immediate visual cue that we're thinkin' about food. Not always, though. Sometimes, especially if you're a Newfoundland, the stuff just leaks out continuously. No kidding, those dudes could definitely use a lip tuck. I once overheard a story told to my Big Guy (my alpha pack leader) about another pet owner that had Newfoundland drool on the ceiling over their two-story spiral staircase. "Yuck!" Is that really possible?

I'm telling you those dudes at corporate R & D departments are actively researching on how dog drool can be incorporated in helping to save our planet. So, the new green idea their looking into is how harvesting Dog Drool can be utilized as natural engine lubricant to reduce our dependence on foreign oil. I think it would only take maybe 10 or 15 Newfoundlands and we could be totally green in this regard. Just think what revenues their pet owners would reap.

Actually, my belief is that those folks that make paper towels conspired to mutate the saliva dog gene to create copious amounts of Dog Drool as a method of peaking stockholders' dividends. Most dog owners have a less than gentle manner when it comes to wiping drool from the corners of our lips. Yet, I have to admit that having one of those clear slimy shoelaces hanging down, nearly in contact with the floor, would usually spur one of my family members to a none-to-gentle facial cleaning to this once earthly inhabitant.

Obviously your question to this oh-so-wise cosmic entity is how do you stop this dog stuff from gushing like the flood waters of the Mississippi. My honest answer to your desperate question is, you don't. It's like flatulence. You're gonna have both if you're a dog owner whether you wanted it or not. Good thing we have such soulful brown eyes to melt you with, otherwise you might not ever let us enter your den to lick the leftover stuff off your fingers.

Okay, gotta go, there's some new comet blasting across a neighboring galaxy that I want to check out and get there before Albert or Isaac beats me to it.-Dodger