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Found out just recently that "Jajajaja" is how foreign people express laughter in typing. I want to be clear that for me it's just a sound I make. The "J" sound is like "jam!" when I say it.


I've had some requests to discuss the realities of cognition, perception, and sensory experience from a dog's perspective. Apparently scientists and philosophers alike find this intriguing. What I find intriguing is when a dandelion gets blown by the wind and the tiny dandelion seeds fly off in all directions, just a few feet off the ground, and something inside me—competitive spirit, I guess—just says, "Hey, can you catch every single one in your mouth?" I run in hot pursuit. Floating, flying, and dipping, the dandelion seeds dance on the wind. I snap my jaws at the dainty white puffs. Some of them stick to my wet nose. I lick them into my mouth with my tongue. Does that count as catching them in my mouth? It sure does. I make the rules here.

If you rub on a carpet, you get the fuzz feeling. A feeling of fuzz on fuzz. The fuzz of the carpet rubbing on my own fuzzy hair. If you rub on a wall you don't get that. It's more cold, solid. Brick-like, if the wall is brick. There's nothing worse than going to someone's house and they want to rub on the wall. Real cool, I guess. Maybe you could have told me you didn't have carpets? I could rub on a wall in prison. I'm out in the world. My main rule for socializing is, "If you don't have carpets, you better have some Doritos." Cause Doritos to me are like eucalyptus leaves to a koala bear. That's my main thing, I want to talk about it, I want to eat it, I want to lick the cheese dust, I want to have a discussion about it, I want to roll in it, I want to be in it, I want it to be mine in a relationship with me exclusively. Doritos chips on a carpet, licking up the Doritos, crunching them and rolling in the particles, rubbing on the carpet fuzz, then look for more Doritos in the same room. My forbidden fruit.


A perfect day for me: I'm here, I'm there, wherever I want to be, nothing holding me back. Fully at home in this world. Nose is inside a discarded bag of some kind. I'm living.

[Image by Jim Cooke; Photos via Shutterstock]

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