Caturday came and went, smug as always, with the cats preening like they own the joint (and to be fair, they probably do). But now the dogs have stormed the gates, demanding their turn. They insist Sunday belongs to them, and frankly, have you ever tried arguing with a Labrador who thinks democracy means “fetch until collapse”? So here we are: Sunday, split down the middle. Cats glaring from the back of the sofa like minor royals forced to mingle with the peasants, while dogs skid across hardwood floors, ears flapping like busted parachutes. Every household is currently a Cold War between the aloof and the overeager. This is your chance to document the madness: cats who plot from the shadows, dogs who weaponize drool, or any creature who believes the couch is a throne and you are but their valet. Extra credit if you catch the rare détente—cat and dog curled up together, pretending they’re not sworn enemies until breakfast. Post your tyrants, loafers, divas, and bed-hogs. The stage is y...

Cats leaned against lampposts and smoked in the dark. Dogs showed up on time. Terriers guarded props. Shepherds kept extras in line. A basset hound napped by the director’s chair like he owned the place. Mutts wandered into Westerns and stole the scene without even trying. They weren’t divas. They were union men in fur coats. Hollywood didn’t break dogs. It didn’t have to. Dogs weren’t chasing billboards or marquee lights. They wanted steady work, two meals, and a warm lap when the day wrapped. They didn’t storm off set or throw tantrums. They didn’t sue the studio head or demand a bigger trailer. A dog’s contract was written in loyalty, not ink. Look closely at old films and you’ll see them — corner of the frame, padding through the scene, making the whole picture feel real. The ranch looked like a ranch because there was a dog by the barn. The street looked like a street because some mongrel trotted across it. Cats brought mystery. Dogs brought believability. Cats got columns. Dogs g...

 

  Post those Darlings, we want to pretend to snuggle with them. 

  It’s Sunday, which means we are honoring the tail-wagging therapists, the four-legged philosophers, the drool-covered dreamboats who keep us tethered to this earth: the dogs. Today is for the grumpy gremlins, the butterball seniors with eyes like melted root beer, the snorty little weirdos, and the terrifyingly chic greyhounds who look like they exclusively date French architects. It’s for the dogs who got you through breakups, breakdowns, breakouts and demonic family Zoom calls.     If you’ve got: a pug with a face like a crumpled old man’s knee a lab who thinks he's the CEO of your life a rescued mutt who’s more emotionally intelligent than half your coworkers a dog who photo bombs your selfies like it’s a side hustle a Dandie Dinmont who needs a new home... POST THEM.
 Post them with reckless abandon. No stories too small. No snout too slobbery. And for god’s sake, someone post a pit bull in a tutu—we are low on serotonin and the world is on fire. Don’t have a dog? 
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  Let me start with a confession: this isn’t really about dogs. It’s about you. It’s about us. It’s about the inescapable absurdity of trying to be a human in 2025, where the world is on fire, the algorithm is watching, and somewhere in the distance, your neighbors just joined a dating app for swingers. Against this glittering backdrop of digital dread and quiet existential thrum, enter the dog. Not just a dog. An emotional support dog. The kind of dog who stares into your soul at 2am and says with their eyes, "No, you are not in fact too much." This is part one of a series exploring the profound, often hilarious, sometimes heart-shattering, always very real relationship between humans and their emotional support animals. Dogs, specifically, though the occasional rogue cat or guinea pig may sneak in as supporting cast.  As many of you know I have one that is an extension of my soul, my pain, my stability, and my capacity to love my pup deeply and feel grounded and secure. ...

Aussie and bit of history of the breed. A sweet rescue girl getting her groom on.  This one made me cry. I miss my Tavi boy so much. When does the grief stop? Never. I would do anything to have a fun day with him again. Just one day but life doesn't work like that. :(   Huskies crack me up. I had to babysit one before and it was such a clown. I got no rest but it was fun.