(back to ask max)
Archive for April, 2006
Thursday, April 27th, 2006
My owner keeps bringing me doggy bags from local fast food restaurants but I don’t have the heart to tell him that I desire higher quality rashions. Plus the summer is almost here and I want to look good when I play frisbee in the park. What should I do?
Someone actually brings a doggie bag to a dog? Now *there’s* a concept. Around here, I see a greasy white sack in the fridge, and then about lunchtime the next day, out it comes and down it goes – but not down here where it belongs. Either that or it sits for about 6 weeks and then gets chucked. The *horror*! Question about the fast-food variation on the doggie bag: who asks, “Would you like me to wrap that up for you?” and puts the leftovers in the flying saucer thingy? I thought ff employees paid patrons about as much attention as the levee builders paid New Orleans. But you desire cuisine that’s a cut above the curly fry, the chalupa, the thumb-pinch of McGriddle sandwich? You want to look svelte in your pelt? When it comes to discriminating palettes, you’re barking up the wrong advice columnist. I’d eat a rusty used band-aid off the street. So don’t look a gift doggie bag in the mouth. Be like the starlet with her psychotically adoring fans: it’s when they *stop* bringing home the bacon substitute from the Mickey D’s that I’d be worried.
My mommy wants me to do yoga. What do i do?
I am a huge fan of yoga. I’m especially fond of the kind with the fruit on the bottom. No — see, I couldn’t let that go without a food pun. I’m normally not in favor of working too hard for good looks, but my answer here may shokra: put your paws in prayer position and go for it. Yoga truly offers something for everyone. Women love the chance to improve their physical flexibility and balance in a rigorous yet rewarding pursuit that promotes both physical and spiritual well being. And men love the chance to watch a bunch of sweaty women contorting into sexually suggestive postures in leotards and sports bras. This ancient practice has a fascinating history. It was originated in the mid-1700s by the painter Francisco de Goya, who couldn’t keep up in a jazzercise class and kept bending double to catch his breath. The teacher, seeing his name on his shirt backward in the mirror — because of his odd orientation — kept exhorting him to get back in gear: “Yoga! Yoga, Yoga!” He also was the source of the traditional parting wish of the yogi. Asked by his teacher, “Are you gonna leave?” the intrepid Spaniard replied undaunted, “Namaste.”
Figure 1, below: yogi Max, demonstrating downward dog.
Friday, April 21st, 2006
If you were a stripper, what would be your favorite songs to dance to? Also, would you oil up your fur or shave to get that glistening glazed doughnut look?
I’m asked this all the time. What is it about my hairy 18 inches that suggests “stripper”? My play list would run something like this (and tell that DJ I want the full drop – not patron-cheating fadeouts at the 1:45 mark of every number!). Not for beat, but more for pure erotic insinuation: “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?” Then for beat and also band name: “Everybody’s Working for the Weekend.” Segue into “Dancing Queen” (don’t ask me why, but chicks sure dig them some ABBA, and it really separates them nicely from their tens and twenties); maybe showcase my dancing chops with “Vogue” (don’t ask me why, but guys who go to a male strip club sure dig them some Madonna); then, after verifying my bodyguards are still ringing the stage, “Knock, Knock, Knock on Wood.”
As to the look, it’s hard to know. Oil and dog fur don’t mix. Imagine what the tellers would say when they retrieve my drop-off from the night deposit box… all those slimy bills slid under my tight, barely-there collar. Filthy rich indeed. But every time I give myself a glistening glazed doughnut look, I share Narcissus’ affliction – I fall in love with my own reflection. Slather a little raspberry jelly on my belly and it’s fill-up-my-water-bowl and lock the doors; we’re on a one-way ride to Saturated Fat City. Besides, the graveyard-shift clerk at my Dunkin’ Donuts doesn’t respect me. Totally uncalled for! If I earned stripper money, maybe I’d put something more than half and half in his tip jar when he turns around.
i recently having negative thoughts whether my partner is being truthful to me. for the past several weeks she hasnt been her self lately. when she says she going to call me or email she doesnt. im very overprotected about her but i must be over reacting.
Sorry to hear that you’re stricken with suspicion and doubt, uncertain whether your significant other has other things on her mind, and having so much trouble with your keyboard. Jealousy is the green-eyed monster, Shakespeare said, but what’s even more horrifying to most people is an *absence* of jealousy: i.e., the person who’s totally cool that you’re flirting with someone else at the bar or going to the U2 concert with your old girlfriend or boyfriend. What fun is that? Then the question becomes how much is too much of a green-eyed thing. As someone who’s not afraid to reach up and pull half a sandwich off a plate set too close to the edge of a table, I favor the direct approach: don’t ask Max – ask her. Is something up that’s causing her not to keep those little commitments to communicate? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get you, as the bumper sticker says. Maybe it’s nothing, but the whole “She’s just not that into you” movement has a core truism: people’s behavior toward you means something. And if my momma puts garbage in my bowl, I don’t eat it. … Well, that’s a bad example, but you get the general point.
Thursday, April 13th, 2006
I love to chew on my feet, so mommy and daddy spray this very icky stuff on my toes. How do I get them to stop? I like chewing my toes. Is this bad? Or harmful?
Yours is a common malady in the canine population, and apparently among teenage girls waiting for phone calls from prospective homecoming and prom dates. And I, your trusted Shih Tsu Shychologist, heartily discourage foot chewing: I’ve seen too many lost soles. Obsessive chewing or licking is never a good thing, and there is a wide range of possible causes—from infections and allergies to obsessive-compulsive behavior. Click here for Google results on the topic… and paws to read a few! Worst of all, if you develop a sore or “hot spot,” the chewing may prevent it from ever healing. Experts say your parents are right to interrupt you, because it helps you develop better habits, and we dogs are creatures of same. The last thing you need is to be stuck with one of those silly collars (see why in the example below).
And if you must feast on your feet, why not try this? Switch the icky stuff with spray cheese. They spray, you wince and make like you’re in agony, then when they’re not looking, you’ve got a nice paw-infused snack.
I’m constantly running into Californians who complain about feeling the earth move beneath them. I thought that was supposed to be a GOOD thing. All of Danielle Steele’s heroines seem to think so. What gives?
Max, being of tender years and a memory that stretches no farther than last night’s dinner, is not qualified to speak on the subject (or sit or roll over or play dead on it, for that matter). But I, his sister Chelsea, lived through the 1994 Northridge earthquake … and it scared the bejesus out of me. Californians are sensitive to the shake. They’ve been traumatized. There’s nothing quite like having the planet dump all of your stuff on the floor, open a few gas mains, and tear up a major freeway or two. Having a floor under your feet that doesn’t twist and shout without warning is a fairly fundamental assumption; when that goes, you lose faith in all sorts of things. For instance, that’s when I stopped believing I could get a great deal on a used car, even if I had bad or no credit. Interestingly, some people say changes in animal behavior can predict earthquakes. I’m not so sure. If I’d known that quake of ‘94 was coming, I’d have tied a kerchief to a stick with all of my worldly belongings in it and split town. My advice for anyone living under the threat? Find out who’s at fault, and stay as far away from them as possible. Of course, my faith in one thing is unshakable: just when she thinks all hope is lost and life has passed her by, Danielle Steele’s heroine is going to get laid.
Thursday, April 6th, 2006
I think I have a problem. I love Cat-Butts. I’m always following the cat, with my nose up his you-know-what. And afterwards (or when I get interrupted and told to stop) I make weird, twitching faces that I can’t control. My eyebrows bob, my tongue goes in and out, somethin about ‘em, I don’t know what it is. Why do I do this?
Willy (member of Cat Butts Anonymous since 05)
Ahhhhhh…. forbidden love. We’ve dealt with that since the beginning of time, haven’t we? Jets dating Sharks, Cowboys lassoing Cowboys, people from Jersey trying to find love in Manhattan. You my friend, love what you can’t have. You love the challenge of inter-species nooky as much as the actual nooky. But, once you have your way with that cute feline ass, where do you go? You’ll be trying to hook up with rabbits. Then maybe a llama. It won’t end till you bang a kangaroo. It’s a dangerous path you are sniffing down my friend. Let’s stay with the basics though:
1) Does the Cat return your sniff? If not then move on.
2) It’s a Cat! Get a hold of yourself, man!
My tail keeps tormenting me. Is there any way I can get it to stop? Ive tried chasing it, but it never shuts up! What should I do?
Bently Bentley Bentley,
Yours is a tale as old as time. Chasing tail has preoccupied the male since the female first grew one. But as an inveterate tail-chaser, I can tell you it’s a complete waste of time. I spin circles on the floor, round and round trying to reach my objective and get hold of some tail, exhausting myself, spending my entire emotional paycheck, and for what? Once I finally latch on to some tail, I quickly lose interest and move on to something else. So I’d advise that you find another hobby. I’ve always been drawn to collecting (any food that falls on the floor).
Me and Mommy travel a lot. Do you know of any cool places to vacation that are very dog friendly (in Florida or anywhere else too!) Love your column! Keep up the good work! Ruff!!
You’re going mobile? I share your lust for the open road. As long as I don’t have to wait in the parking lot when we get there. (Speaking of which, if someone can tell me how to work a car horn, I’d be much obliged.) I did a little research and found some dog-friendly websites. Click here for Pet Friendly Places In Florida Tip: avoid bone fishing in the Keys. It’s not what you’re thinking. I do know some places I’ve liked around the country, but I’m terrible with names and directions, because I don’t drive. Not well, anyway (I can’t see over the steering wheel, unless I put my front paws up on it — in which case I can’t reach the pedals). I hope you’re not talking air travel, which I find is a fiasco every time. I always end up *under* the seat, when I *clearly* requested an exit row aisle.