How To: Make Friends

So on Sunday, when I may or may not have been very hung over (the jury’s still out on that), I met Barton and Rachel at Centennial Park. They brought Rachel’s dog, a GeneriDog puppy named Emmet, and I brought my dog, a furry cocktail weiny named Chloe. That’s her on the right, on one of her good days.

I was kind of concerned about this, since Chloe doesn’t usually make friends with other dogs. When she first traipsed into my family’s life, I brought her over to The Across the Street Starbucks. At this time, there was an older guy who was a regular there, and he had a big, friendly, white dog that looked kind of like a husky. He brought his dog over, the two dogs sniffed, and Chloe morphed from a happy, Dug sort of behavior to a snarling I-Will-Shank-You convict. Her face contorted into a demon’s, and the growl was terrifying.

The man and his dog retreated, I apologized, and Chloe calmed down and reverted to her attention-seeking normal self. Since then, I’ve figured out that she only likes dogs she can dominate. To wit, her “friends” are a miniature dachshund, a Jack Russel Terrier slightly smaller than herself, and a… dog named Hot Dog that seems to be oblivious to most things around it.

So I got the call Sunday afternoon when I was sitting around watching a discussion about U.S. – China relations (because I am a nerd of gargantuan proportions), and was a bit weary. But, I figured, I needed to get out of the house, and this was a good excuse to do so.

So Chloe and I left, went to the park, and met up with the three of them. Emmet, the GeneriDog, immediately submitted to the terror of Chloe–a dog who, if you don’t remember, looks like this:

Ten minutes later, Chloe was ignoring Emmet, and the latter was walking around chewing sticks and plastic bottle caps.

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The Nashville Metropolitan Government’s Apparent Reaction to Snow


The setting of our story.

I, i

Early afternoon, January 20, 2011: Precipitation in the form of freezing rain that, over the course of ten minutes, turns to sleet. Inside the Metro offices, a group of decision-making employees wearing khakis and button-up shirts bought from Wal-Mart crowd around the scummy, unclean windows. (It would cost too much to have the windows cleaned, and the budget must be clear so that road work downtown may continue.) They watch, enraptured and awe-struck, as the drops turn to flakes.

Bureaucrat 1: What is this?

Bureaucrat 2: I know not. [pause] Consult the Codex.

[Audible gasp from the Metro government workers.]

Bureaucrat 3: Surely, we do not need to consult the Codex quite yet. Verily, the objects falling from the sky are truly frightening—Louis hath shat himself quite thoroughly.

Louis, the Bureaucrat: Sorry.

[Louis exits to clean himself.]

Bureaucrat 3: But one man’s soiling of himself doth not warrant the gathering of the Codex.

Archie, the Intern: What’s the Codex?

[A hush falls over the group of city employees. They turn from the windows and stare, slack jawed, at the one who does not know of the Codex.]

Bureaucrat 1: Ask thou, “What is the Codex?” Yea, thou shouldst surely ask “What is the sky?”

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