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Humpy, the dog who humpy humps...




So, here I am taking this hiatus, and I realize, with mounting horror, that practically half of the people with online journals out there are on "hiatus," only they're not nice enough to tell their readers. I found out by having a conversation with one of them, that went like this:


OTHER JOURNALER: So, dude, when are you coming out of hiatus?

OMAR: I don't know. As soon as I make some headway on this thing I'm writing.

OTHER JOURNALER: That sucks. Being all lazy.

OMAR: Well, when was that last time you updated?


OMAR: The fuck!? You're calling me lazy?

OTHER JOURNALER: Hey, I'm not the one on hiatus, fucker.


But I came back, temporarily. To tell you about the humpy dog.

Sometimes, when you love someone a lot, you do things for them. It's not even that. You let them talk you into doing things you would never in a million years do on your own. Like salads. No man in the history of the world would ever have invented salad if it wasn't for some woman in the cave living room, calling out, "Oh, can you make me something light, maybe with some creamy stuff on top?" The salad was made of bushes and tree bits and rocks. The creamy stuff, you don't even want to know about.

But it was love.

Which goes a short way into explaining how I ended up at the SPCA Humane Society building in north Austin looking at cats and dogs that I might want to take home.

Bear this in mind: I already have a cat. I never wanted a cat in the first place. I still question the logic in having an animal of a species that I never liked or wanted to cohabitate with in the first place.

But who's at the SPCA, looking for a kitten to bring home into my anti-cat-except-with-one-cat home to fight it out with my Evil Black Cat of Pissyness? Me. That's who. Salad for two, right here.

There was Jeeves, this cat with a very long neck who had impossibly white whiskers and eyebrows. I mean, he looked like a Jeeves. But he was huge. And he looked smarter than me.

There was a tiny black cat who looked exactly like Cosa did when she was smaller. I wondered how Cosa would react to a cat that would give her a similar sensation to when she sits in front of the mirror and stares at her evil self.

And when there were no more cats to look at (I sure as fuck wasn't going to take home the 25-pound cat that was sitting on its back like some feline Marlon Brando), we wandered back to where the dogs were.

Oh man. This is where things start to suck.

There he was. His name was Jax. He started bouncing up and down in his cage the moment he saw us. He was light, honey brown with a big white patch running down his chest and up on his nose. He looked like a collie, but he was a golden retriever mix. He was small, compact, like a Toyota. When I say he was bouncing up and down, I don't mean he was jumping. He looked like he just had little rockets on his feet and was popping straight up and down with no bend anywhere.

After he went on a long walk, we got to visit with Jax in the Visitation Room.

The Visitation Room is a tiny, windowed room where there's a small toy, a roll of paper towels (for accidents — the dog's, not your own) and a little area to sit.

This is Jax, pre-hump.

They brought in Jax, and he was just incredibly friendly. He was sweet. He didn't bite. He was small enough that he wasn't like those big dogs that come up and get all in your face and can stand up and reach your shoulder with their paws. He was cute. And manageable.

We filled out the SPCA application that asks if you plan to use the dog for fighting purposes or keep it chained to an industrial threshing machine in your backyard.

Apparently, somebody else is interested in Jax, so my application is waiting in line.

Oh, and there's this. I was accompanied by two ladies in my SPCA visit. Jax proceeded to hump each of them. A lot. repeatedly. We'd keep pushing him off, and he'd just climb back on a calf and go at it, like he was Ron Jeremy's dog or something. The dog only humped ladies. It had no interest in my calf, no matter how sexy I though my leg might be.

Then the female SPCA worker came in and Jax started humping her, too. Jax, who is three years old, has no shame. He'll hump anything with a pair of ovaries. Calf ovaries.

I asked the guy at the front desk if this was common. "Oh, Jax? Yeah. He's a humper."

He liked it when I called the dog, "Sir Humps-A-Lot."

Poor Jax is going to get fixed this week. We're supposed to go visit him again, post-surgery, to see if he's gotten over his Humping Phase.

The thing is, I can't have a dog.

It's tempting.

I have this huge yard, and I can see Jax out there, running around, humping the trees, keeping away any stray gnomes that might want to bring their punk asses to my 'hood.

But I'm never home. I would never have time to take him on walks. My cat would try to abuse his sweet soul while I was at work.

I keep thinking Jax (minus the humping) belongs with a family. With kids. With someone who can give him some real love and time and attention. I can't even find time to mop my floor or pick clothes up off the floor. How am I supposed to take care of this friendly, but needy creature who wants only to be loyal and to be loved?

So I'm waiting. For the SPCA to call and ask if I want him. And I don't know what I'll tell them. Because I have a home and it's a great place for this friendly dog.

But what's worse? Letting him stay in a cage where some family might find him? Or keeping him in an empty house where his only companion will be a crazy, insane, hissy cat?

And do I really want to take care of a dog that's all depressed and coping with the deballing of his cojones?

Jax, if you're listening: Don't pay attention to those prudes who push you away. You hump like there's no tomorrow, you hear me? Hump, Jax, hump!

Because pretty soon, it's going to seem like a pretty hollow gesture.



Two quick things. I wrote a guest entry for Anna Beth on her site. I keep apologizing for it, but whenever I say anything, she just throws knives at me. Good thing her aim is so bad.

Also, a new Smaillville recap and another to come later this week. By the way, MightyBigTV changed its name. It's now "Television Without Pity," which is much more accurate than the old name . Keep reading, folks. I'm cranking them out as fast as I can.



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