Everyone needs a spiritual guide: a minister, rabbi, counselor, wise friend, or therapist. My own wise friend is my dog.
I'm not a potato sack; I've never sat on my couch. If I'm home, I'm cleaning, feeding my dogs, doing stuff. Life is too precious to waste time.
People care about my personal life. But really I'm dorky! I drink beer and go to football games. And ya know, sit in my house in a t-shirt on the weekends and play with my dog!
I look like a real bag lady when I go to Starbucks with my dog and get my chai.
We should be licensing everybody with a gun. I have to have a license for my dog. I have to have a license for my car. If you’re going to do my hair later you have to have a license ... We don’t require a license to own a firearm?
I like to hike with my dog, Webster. It helps clear my mind.
My dog does have his failings, of course. He's afraid of firecrackers and hides in the clothes closet whenever we run the vacuum cleaner, but, unlike me he's not afraid of what other people think of him or anxious about his public image.
Fate is trying to kill me. I miss my dog. What's a doctor going to say? You're not ill, you're mad as a muffin? They'll either lock me up or tell me to get a grip and no one will believe the truth anyway.
Sometimes when I watch my dog, I think about how good life can be, if we only lose ourselves in our stories. Lucy doesn't read self-help books about how to be a dog; she just IS a dog. All she wants to do is chase ducks and sticks and do other things that make both her and me happy. It makes me wonder if that was the intention for man, to chase sticks and ducks, to name animals, to create families, and to keep looking back at God to feed off his pleasure at our pleasure.
The strangest thing has happened. I really missed my dog. That's never happened to me before. You know, on a long tour you do hear people saying they miss their pets. I never have. But last night I started really missing my dog. It's very odd, 'cause I don't have a dog.
When I was a kid if I was unhappy, I'd stroke my dog. I was into bringing injured birds into the house, RSPCA activities. And the relationship that you have with animals, you can get that from your children: that unquestioning love and adoration and equal need.
I love my dog. I hate bankers. I have issues with women. In my head, I’m a great guy.
Im at that point in my life where I definitely want to get married soon. Ive got my dogs as surrogates, but Im ready for kids.
My dog doesn't worry about the meaning of life. She may worry if she doesn't get her breakfast, but she doesn't sit around worrying whether she will get fulfilled or liberated or enlightened. As long as she gets some food and a little affection, her life is fine. But we human beings are not like dogs. We have self-centered minds which get us into plenty of trouble. If we do not come to understand the error in the way we think, our self-awareness, which is our greatest blessing, is also our downfall.
If I loved a guy as much as I love my dog, the guy would be in serious trouble because I'm all over that dog, all of the time.
I like to take pictures of lots of things: people-such as my nephews, my dogs, and just interesting objects that I see. For instance, I might take a picture of flowers by the side of the road, an old sign or a fence.
If you want to hurt me, fine. Take my books. Burn down my house. Shave my head while I am sleeping. But nobody, nobody screws with my dog.
To lose the approbation of my dog is a thing too horrible to contemplate.
My dog doesn't like dogs, and I kind of get where she's coming from; I'm not too keen on people.
My dog watches me on TV. So, if I may take this opportunity, "No! No! No!"
My dogs have never been good at things like "sit," "stay," or even "come." I think that we've given the tourists a few laughs, especially when the dogs hit the end of their leashes hard enough to drag Gloria down the street.
I grew up in a home where animals were ever-present and often dominated our lives. There were always horses, dogs, and cats, as well as a revolving infirmary of injured wildlife being nursed by my sister the aspiring vet. Without any conscious intention on my part, animals come to play a significant role in my fiction: in Three Junes, a parrot and a pack of collies; in The Whole World Over, a bulldog named The Bruce. To dog lovers, by the way, I recommend My Dog Tulip by J. R. Ackerley -- by far the best 'animal book' I've ever read.
My dog, Ginger, is jumpy-like me-sensitive to sound and sudden movement. She wasn't that way at first, but not long after we got her, my grandfather told me to stand still outside and hold her leash tight. Then he shot a gun off by our feet, several times. "This is how girls learn to obey," he said, "how to be seen and not heard."
You know how most dogs lick you on the cheek? If you're sleeping and not ready for it, my dog, Joe, will get his tongue inside your mouth. It's by far the worst kiss I've ever had.
I went to the dentist. He said "Say Aaah." I said "Why?" He said "My dog's died."
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