smart radioactive dogs...hmmmmmm

for today's history lesson, google LAIKA. Learn something for pete's sake!

Serious Dogs*

I had always thought dogs to be playful and spirited; to me they were animals who loved to chase sticks and romp around and lick you. That is, I used to think that, until that day I met the serious dogs. When I first saw the serious dogs, they were sitting on a small hill out to the side of my house watching the sunset. One dog was standing on his hind legs, leaning his elbow on a tree, lost in melancholy thought. They all watched this particularly glorious sunset, then each sighed in turn and strolled in a pack over the hill. Were these the dogs I had thrown bones to for the last several months? These day-dreamers?

Several days later I saw the serious dogs lunching under the willow. They were not gulping their food down like Spritzie does; they seemed almost refined. After dining they buried their trash, cleaned themselves up, and disappeared over the horizon. I waited half an hour and then took my shovel over to that willow and dug up what they had buried there: several wrappers of cheese, some half-eaten doggie biscuits, and Good Lord! . . . two empty bottles of fairly expensive Bordeaux! I turned, confused, and saw a small pamphlet lying on the ground. I picked it up and read the title, "Federal Migratory Waterfowl Stamps." "Well," I thought, "some poor stamp collector left his book here. . ." Just then, one of the serious dogs appeared and gently took the volume from my hands and padded off.

I stopped. This was something more than just some dogs who didn't like to play fetch. I decided to secretly follow this dog. I laid about a hundred yards back and watched him. I was impressed with his courtesy to other animals and his compulsion to leave his pathway neat. If a branch had fallen over he would right it; if leaves had blown over this trail, he would brush them back onto less traveled ground.

Then I saw him crawl through an opening in some thick brush. As I approached, I could hear the sounds of other dogs moving lightly. I moved toward the opening and cautiously peered through. I could see a few dogs staring intently at something, as though studying it. I could not make out exactly what it was so I moved in closer. I was sure not to make my presence known. As I parted some branches in the brush, I saw a most incredibly sight. A fully-constructed skeleton of a cow! The construction was crude to be sure, but, missing only the head and feet, it was well-formed and highly commendable. I remembered throwing them bones now and then, and I could recall several of the dogs seemingly analyze it before accepting it, I looked along the ground and saw several of the books I had thrown out months before. They were well kept and stored upright. Most were reference, but I recognized several of the better novels. Then I noticed some dogs all facing something and sniffing judiciously like connoisseurs would sniff wine. I could not make out what they were looking at as a bush blocked my line of sight. I moved ever so slowly through the underbrush, with such caution that it took me a full ten minutes to travel five feet. Then, with some trepidation, I lifted my eyes at the object of the dogs' curiosity and saw. . . My God! . . . THE LOST MONET!

* = written by Steve Martin

Anyway, though the title is uninspiring, Louis's attachment gives hope.

And that's the best these Russian dogs can do? Ride a trolley? Bah! Let's see 'em bounce a basketball off their snout and score the winning point in a game. Air Bud would kick their commie canine asses! It would be like the US Hockey team taking down the Russians...uh...only played by dogs. And you know, even now some studio exec at Disney just read that and said "Whoa! That's gold, Baby! I'm smelling another direct to DVD movie!"