The wonderful and talented Brandon Botto will now share with you the story of his tall, dark, and handsome dog. Commentary in italics by the beautiful Celia (don’t forget: #followceliaproject on instagram! @cwalterm).
Today Woodrow stood up. Well, he sat up… but only for a moment. To the casual viewer, this may not appear to be too significant of an accomplishment, nor too earth-swelling of an event, but to his owner — a math teacher “enjoying” his unappreciated snow day — it is an occasion worth noting.
In this prison-military complex we call America, one may overlook the yawning and stretching of a retired greyhound, or dismiss his quick three-to-four step rotation from sleep-with-head-to-door to sleep-with-head-to-couch as the forgettably cliché move of one of the least active and most plant-like creatures on Earth (this list including coral reefs and plants themselves). I however, do not subscribe to this academy of thought. More than anything I am fascinated by this amazing, albeit quick, confirmation that Woodrow is more like you and me and less like the inhabitants of Andy’s Toy Box. (When I saw Toy Story III in theaters, my first thought when seeing “grown up” Andy was whether or not he was still virgin. Is that weird? I mean, he was leaving for college. He seemed like a reasonably cute animated-young adult. I don’t know.)
It should be noted that most of the following facts are made up, or are drawn from my memory with no significant research. (There’s no way Wikipedia wasn’t at least glanced at. Will check web history and report back.) (I will not fall victim to confirmation bias.)
I own the sweetest, most mild-mannered dog on the face of Earth. But behind this sweetness is an adorably cute and cuddly danger unlike any other. (Guys, he’s telling the truth. Google history shows no evidence of Wikipedia. There was, however, some serious Facebook creeping happening tonight. Names will remain anonymous.)
The Greyhound is one of the oldest professional animals on earth. When the Pharaohs of Egypt were resting easy on their loins (Urban Dictionary’s definition of “Burning Loins” is pretty vulgar. Viewer Discretion is Advised) (or lions, depending on spelling, and annual income of the kingdom), they demanded that their kennels develop a breed dog that was as quick as the leaders were hedonistic. The result was a slick looking hot-rod of a beast that peaked at speeds of nearly 45 mph. It is easy to believe that this creature may have been the fastest THING ever seen by the people of these ancient times. This beast became the modern day greyhound. Woodrow is one of them. The greatest of them.
The greyhound of today, in an effort by humans to stifle its exponentially-growing power, is bred primarily for racing at the enjoyment of twisted, sadistic, heartless, slimy, anti-Americans*. Woodrow was not a very good competitor. In fact, he was just not good. He was a bad racing dog. (Dogs that were faster include Beethoven, the dogs from Wolfenstein 3D, Wishbone, Snoop Dogg (“With so much drama in the L-B-C, it’s kinda hard being Snoop-D-O-double G” – Cordozar Broadus, Jr.), Junkyard Dog, and the top half of the dog from Duckhunt).
I adopted Woodrow 2 years ago expecting an animal I could exercise (LOL) with. Three households and as many towns later, I have maxed him out with a 5-mile walk and a 6 minute jog. As it turns out, the modern greyhound was bred for speed, but mine was nurtured right back into the hedonistic lifestyle of the legendary leaders for which they at one time entertained (“Isn’t it Ironic? Don’t cha think?” – Alanis). My dog sleeps 25 hours a day waking only for feeding. (Note to self: buy Brad a clock and teach him to tell time) He has as much a visual presence in my apartment as the first velociraptors do in Jurassic Park. Remember the scene where they massacre that cow for 8 seconds and rustle a few ferns? The audience never sees them, but they get it.
Until today, I assumed that while Celia (Seal-yah) (the one person he has any unsolicited affection for) and I are away at work, Woodrow spent most of his day transforming back into a lop-sided pumpkin, but seeing him switch sides (at 11:15, over 3.5 hours ago) reminded me that there is some untamed beast in there! I’m a bit nervous because he is running in his sleep as I write this, plotting our species’ destruction.
*For information on greyhound racing and the atrocities associated with this inhumane practice, please visit the ASPCA Greyhound Racing FAQ and write your local government. Lets stop with the cruelty. Adopting a Greyhound saves a life and requires little more attention than owning a fish tank. (fish are optional)