Labrador Dog Quotes

That's the thing about being a Labrador retriever - you were born for fun. Seldom was your loopy, freewheeling mind cluttered by contemplation, and never at all by somber worry; every day was a romp. What else could there possibly be to life? Eating was a thrill. Pissing was a treat. Shitting was a joy. And licking your own balls? Bliss. And everywhere you went were gullible humans who patted and hugged and fussed over you.

I introduced Putin to our Scottish terrier, Barney. He wasn't very impressed. On my next trip to Russia, Vladimir asked if I wanted to meet his dog, Koni. Sure, I said. As we walked the birch-lined grounds of his dacha, a big black Labrador came charging across the lawn. With a twinkle in his eye, Vladimir said, "Bigger, stronger, and faster than Barney." Prime Minister Stephen Harper of Canada [said], "You're lucky he only showed you his dog.

Being a childless woman of childbearing age, I am a walking target for people’s concerned analysis. No one looks at a single man with a Labrador retriever and says, “Will you look at the way he throws the tennis ball to that dog? Now there’s a guy who wants to have a son.” A dog, after all, is man’s best friend, a comrade, a pal. But give a dog to a woman and people will say she is sublimating. If she says that she, in fact, doesn’t want children, they will nod understandingly and say, “You just wait.” For the record, I do not speak to my dog in baby talk, nor when calling her do I say, “Come to Mama.

Everything is inspiration. If you look at the world as the incredible place it is, then each moment is a feast.

Tommy and Scootie locked eyes. Only minutes ago, he wouldn't have believed that he could ever have felt such a kinship with the Labrador as he felt now.

Dwayne’s only companion at night was a Labrador retriever named Sparky. Sparky could not wag his tail—because of an automobile accident many years ago, so he had no way of telling other dogs how friendly he was. He had to fight all the time. His ears were in tatters. He was lumpy with scars. ***

I got into the express line behind a middle-aged man in a T-shirt. I never saw the front of it, but the back pictured a Labrador retriever standing on the beach with a bikini top in his mouth. Below him were the words GOOD DOG. Some people, I thought, opening the wet wipes so I could wash the tumor off my hands before I touched my wallet.

If there is a place in heaven for Labrador Retrievers (and I trust there is or I won't go) it'll have to have a brook right smack in the middle - a brook with little thin shoals for wading and splashing; a brook with deep, still pools where they can throw themselves headlong from the bank; a brook with lots of small sticks floating that can be retrieved back to shore where they belong; a brook with muskrats and muskrat holes; a brook with green herons and wood ducks; a brook that is never twice the same with surprises that run and swim and fly; a brook that is cold enough to make the man with the dog run like the devil away from his shaking; a brook with a fine spot to get muddy and a sunny spot or two to get dry.

Matthew Hale walk his two-year-old golden Labrador, Henry. Henry. Who named their dog Henry?

Labradors are very enthusiastic dogs. If they like something, they don’t just like it, they love it with a passion.

Nice polka dots,” I say. He smiles. “Nice Labradors.” I mean, he’s cute, so I’ll let it slide, but the dogs on my pants are clearly golden retrievers.

It was a feeling which stayed with him after he got back home to his terrace house on the Kristianstad road. When he had finished his dinner and played with his children for a while, he went out with the dog. Martinsson lived in the neighbourhood, so he decided to stop by and tell he and Noren had seen. The dog was a Labrador bitch and Martinsson had asked recently if he could join the waiting list for puppies.

But let us, in the way of Labradors, be upbeat and optimistic and think more about what dogs bring us than what they leave. Besides, there is a cycle of rebirth with dogs. Not a literal reincarnation, but no matter how much you love one single dog, another can appear and take over the vital task performed entirely unwittingly but oh so reliably--to give us love and to receive it and to help steer us through this strange world. We will always hold on to the memories of the ones we have had but also let another come in, one who will pick things up as if to say, "It's okay... it's my turn now." And that is the power of a dog.

For the better part of an hour, I watched a young man throw a red rubber ball about fifty yards into the bay and his Labrador retriever swim out and get it. Over and over again, that dog swam with such joy and enthusiasm and purpose that I realized I was watching him do exactly what he was born to do, the thing that came most naturally to him. As I watched, I could see the beauty in that, the sheer joy of it, the fulfilled heart.

One of the earliest and most vivid memories of Robin’s childhood was of the day that the family dog had been put down. She herself had been too young to understand what her father was saying; she took the continuing existence of Bruno, her oldest brother’s beloved Labrador, for granted. Confused by her parents’ solemnity, she had turned to Stephen for a clue as to how to react, and all security had crumbled, for she had seen, for the first time in her short life, happiness and comfort drain out of his small and merry face, and his lips whiten as his mouth fell open. She had heard oblivion howling in the silence that preceded his awful scream of anguish, and then she had cried, inconsolably, not for Bruno, but for the terrifying grief of her brother.

When I was 10, a man who worked with my father called for him on the house phone. When I answered he said, ‘Oh, I must have the wrong number. How can a child that speaks like you have a dad that speaks with that ridiculous foreign mess?’ The mess was not that my father pronounces ‘hatred’ to sound like ‘hatriot’. Rather, that there is a whiteness that exists to be so tone-deaf it cannot make out our words, nor our lamp-fixtures, gods, nor our names –where all are as good as the dog-whistle without the Labrador.

Willy's sidekick was a hodgepodge of genetic strains – part collie, part Labrador, part spaniel, part canine puzzle – and to make matters worse, there were burrs protruding from his ragged coat, bad smells emanating from his mouth, and a perpetual bloodshot sadness lurking in his eyes.

As a matter of fact I don’t care two pins about accuracy. Who is accurate? Nobody nowadays. If a reporter writes that a beautiful girl of twenty-two dies by turning on the gas after looking out over the sea and kissing her favourite Labrador, Bob, goodbye, does anybody make a fuss because the girl was twenty-six, the room faced inland, and the dog was a Sealyham terrier called Bonnie? If a journalist can do that sort of thing I don’t see that it matters if I mix up police ranks and say a revolver when I mean an automatic and a dictograph when I mean a phonograph, and use a poison that just allows you to gasp one dying sentence and no more. What really matters is plenty of bodies! If the thing’s getting a little dull, some more blood cheers it up. Somebody is going to tell something – and then they’re killed first! That always goes down well. It comes in all my books – camouflaged different ways of course. And people like untraceable poisons, and idiotic police inspectors and girls tied up in cellars with sewer gas or water pouring in (such a troublesome way of killing anyone really) and a hero who can dispose of anything from three to seven villains singlehanded.

So yes, I know what it means when I come in to be met by the tapping of tails on the floor. It's the same thing I know when I'm in another room in the evening and there is a whinny at the door, which is opened to let Olive trot in and curl up in the bed beside my sofa. I know it when she is caught in a quiet reverie, simply staring at me. Yes, her thoughts may often be tangled up with equally strong Labrador feelings of wanting stuff, but I know there is also a deep content, perhaps a sensation of safety and affection. I hear it when she sighs a long, happy exhalation in her bed. I see it when she comes to sit next to me and I feel it when she leans, ever so slightly, against my legs. I just know.

In the center of the room Elizabeth stood stock still, clasping and unclasping her hands, watching the handle turn, unable to breathe with the tension. The door swung open, admitting a blast of frigid air and a tall, broad-shouldered man who glanced at Elizabeth in the firelight and said, “Henry, it wasn’t necess-“ Ian broke off, the door still open, staring at what he momentarily thought was a hallucination, a trick of the flames dancing in the fireplace, and then he realized the vision was real: Elizabeth was standing perfectly still, looking at him. And lying at her feet was a young Labrador retriever. Trying to buy time, Ian turned around and carefully closed the door as if latching it with precision were the most paramount thing in his life, while he tried to decide whether she’d looked happy or not to see him. In the long lonely nights without her, he’d rehearsed dozens of speeches to her-from stinging lectures to gentle discussions. Now, when the time was finally here, he could not remember one damn word of any of them. Left with no other choice, he took the only neutral course available. Turning back to the room, Ian looked at the Labrador. “Who’s this?” he asked, walking forward and crouching down to pet the dog, because he didn’t know what the hell to say to his wife. Elizabeth swallowed her disappointment as he ignored her and stroked the Labrador’s glossy black head. “I-I call her Shadow.” The sound of her voice was so sweet, Ian almost pulled her down into his arms. Instead, he glanced at her, thinking it encouraging she’d named her dog after his. “Nice name.” Elizabeth bit her lip, trying to hide her sudden wayward smile. “Original, too.” The smile hit Ian like a blow to the head, snapping him out of his untimely and unsuitable preoccupation with the dog. Straightening, he backed up a step and leaned his hip against the table, his weight braced on his opposite leg. Elizabeth instantly noticed the altering of his expression and watched nervously as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching her, his face inscrutable. “You-you look well,” she said, thinking he looked unbearably handsome. “I’m perfectly fine,” he assured her, his gaze level. “Remarkably well, actually, for a man who hasn’t seen the sun shine in more than three months, or been able to sleep without drinking a bottle of brandy.” His tone was so frank and unemotional that Elizabeth didn’t immediately grasp what he was saying. When she did, tears of joy and relief sprang to her eyes as he continued: “I’ve been working very hard. Unfortunately, I rarely get anything accomplished, and when I do, it’s generally wrong. All things considered, I would say that I’m doing very well-for a man who’s been more than half dead for three months.” Ian saw the tears shimmering in her magnificent eyes, and one of them traced unheeded down her smooth cheek. With a raw ache in his voice he said, “If you would take one step forward, darling, you could cry in my arms. And while you do, I’ll tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done-“ Unable to wait, Ian caught her, pulling her tightly against him. “And when I’m finished,” he whispered hoarsely as she wrapped her arms around him and wept brokenly, “you can help me find a way to forgive myself.” Tortured by her tears, he clasped her tighter and rubbed his jaw against her temple, his voice a ravaged whisper: “I’m sorry,” he told her. He cupped her face between his palms, tipping it up and gazing into her eyes, his thumbs moving over her wet cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Slowly, he bent his head, covering her mouth with his. “I’m so damned sorry.

Cavalier King Charles spaniels, we learnt, often suffer from the brain abnormality known as a Chiari malformation, which humans also get. Labradors can develop malignant meningiomas. The spaniels’ problem is the result of selective breeding aimed to produce the small round head which wins points at dog shows. The malformation leads to spinal cord damage, and the poor creatures suffer from intractable pain and scratch themselves incessantly.

Of the thirty-three breeds represented in the sample, “pit bulls” (yet again classed as one “breed”) scored lower than average on all scales of human-directed aggression. On owner-directed aggression, they scored even lower than Labradors. Pit bulls scored slightly higher than average on aggression directed toward other dogs, but several other breeds, including dachshunds, equaled or surpassed them on that scale. The pit bulls were well within the range of normal.

Down at the foamy shoreline, where small tight waves explode against black rocks, a lifeguard with feet wedged in the wet and vaguely tangerine sand stands shirtless like a magnificent sea-Jesus. An ill-timed journey into a breaker knocks a boy on his little back. A bald man throws a tennis ball for his Labrador and a second, unrelated dog bounds in after it. Through a gauze of mist a brunette—tall, and from where we’re sitting seemingly riddled with breasts—kicks water on the sunlit torso of her blond companion. There are three other drinkers in the place, already tethered to the sunbleached bar. It is eleven a.m. Slumped in his cumbersome mechanised wheelchair that squeaks somewhere down by the left back wheel when he’s doing pressure lifts, Aldo squints out from sand-whipped windows into the tumour of searing light. He turns to me and says, ‘I’m nobody’s muse.’ I think: That’s a great line right there. I take out my notebook and when he shoots me an outraged look I say, ‘That’s right, motherfucker. I’m writing it down.

As with other childlike traits, human adults remain playful and trusting in a way that looks a lot more like Labradors than adult wolves or chimpanzees. When a grown wolf or a chimp bares its teeth, you’d better run. Humans, even adult humans, are by and large more into chasing balls than establishing dominance. The readiness with which we play with our friends and acquaintances and even strangers is remarkable, even though verbal banter or wordplay tends to gradually displace physical wrestling. When I joke with the hot dog vendor about his pathetic loyalty to the Mets, as evinced by the baseball cap he is wearing, we become very much like two dogs wrestling in a park: My verbal jabs are play-serious, not meant to genuinely wound, and the successful banter establishes an ephemeral but important trust connection in the midst of a busy metropolis. Insult a chimpanzee’s favorite baseball team, on the other hand, and you’re likely to lose an arm. The fact that humans retain into adulthood the complex and sophisticated cognitive machinery required to play, and in fact continue to enjoy playing with others, is a reflection of the profound importance of trust in human affairs.

A boy I know named Michael, the oldest often children, came home one night intoxicated with E. When he saw the family’s pet Labrador in the kitchen he strangled it to death, convinced that it was the devil. The dog bit him and there was blood all over the kitchen. The siblings who ran in to watch the aftermath of the scene were traumatized. Michael is now in drug rehab recovering from addiction.

Incidentally, although the Cistercians did much to improve the quality of sheep, the animal remained much smaller than its modern descendants; as late as the early eighteenth century a sheep wasn't much bulkier than a Labrador Dog.

I do not love very often, but I love hard, and this dog had got more than a bit of my heart.

Dogs are an expense, they are worry, and time, and hair, and walks in the rain and the cold. They are also part of the everyday fabric of our lives, to the point that when they leave us, we feel the chill.

Most Popular Dog Breeds in the U.S. in 2013   1. Labrador Retriever

The Labrador Retriever coat colors are black, yellow, and chocolate. Any other color or a combination of colors is a disqualification in the show ring, according to the breed standard. A small white spot on the chest is permissible, however, but not desirable. Black—Blacks should be all black. Yellow—Yellows may range in color from fox-red to light cream, with variations in shading on the ears, back and underparts of the dog. Chocolate—Chocolates can vary in shade from light to dark chocolate.

Adult Labrador Retrievers need thirty to sixty minutes of interactive exercise every morning and evening. You can’t just put a Lab in the yard while you’re cooking dinner because Labs tend not to exercise themselves—at least not in constructive ways. They may bark, chew, and dig, but most owners interpret that as unruly behavior, not exercise. Labs only get appropriate exercise when it is directed by a person, either by walking, hiking, swimming, or retrieving. Don’t think bad weather is an excuse to take the day off; the typical Lab thinks a hurricane only makes the outing more invigorating.

As a rule, a yellow Labrador is never called a “golden” Labrador.

It can be fatal, so it is treated with steroids, which can themselves have very significant side effects. Steroids calm down the allergic reaction to the body’s tissues, which helps the lupus, but also calms down the body’s reaction to real foreign substances such as bacteria, and also thins the skin and bones.

AGATHA, an old Labradoodle ATHENA, a brown teacup Poodle ATTICUS, an imposing Neapolitan Mastiff, with cascading jowls BELLA, a Great Dane, Athena’s closest pack mate BENJY, a resourceful and conniving Beagle BOBBIE, an unfortunate Duck Toller DOUGIE, a Schnauzer, friend to Benjy FRICK, a Labrador Retriever FRACK, a Labrador Retriever, Frick’s litter mate LYDIA, a Whippet and Weimaraner cross, tormented and nervous MAJNOUN, a black Poodle, briefly referred to as ‘Lord Jim’ or simply ‘Jim’ MAX, a mutt who detests poetry PRINCE, a mutt who composes poetry, also called Russell or Elvis RONALDINHO, a mutt who deplores the condescension of humans ROSIE,

He was more than a dog. He was love that crept in on four paws and remains, as long as memory lasts.

long

the Labrador Retriever is one of the most well-known canine varieties on the planet at least as per the official canine libraries they are otherwise called a Labrador or essentially a lab they are a delightful shrewd and Respectable canine which is reasonable for all family types on the off chance that you’re considering taking on a Labrador Retriever it’s critical to get informed this is the manner by which you can start to offer the best consideration particularly since

If you have a border collie, and do your job, you will learn patience. if you have Labs, you will learn to stretch the boundaries of hygiene. I'm told that the original Labs hailed not from Labrador but from Newfoundland, where they worked with tough and tired fisherman who let them hang around but didn't provide organic or vegan dog food. As a result, Labs became scavengers, with little fussiness about what they ate.

DOG TALK A female dog is called a bitch,

loyal and lovable Labrador retriever is America’s top dog in terms of sheer numbers and—hard to argue—fame.

Oh, okay..." Jean said with a quick nervous smile and turned her eyes swiftly back at the dogs, seeing the two fighting over what looked like a doggy chew stick. She looked closer at the sweet and saw -in that second- it had a nail. And a ring on it. And human... skin A finger... She froze... looking back at Daniella who was still slowly drinking her tea... no expression on her face, before saying. "The dogs were always fond of mother..." She lifted her cup back up to her lips and took a sip, one of the Labradors eating down the finger. ONE TRUE LOVE I knew he didn't love me anymore...

All right, I thought you specialized in Labradors.’ ‘You spaniel men think that when God had created the springer and its near relatives he should have knocked off for a dirty weekend.

Joe showed me his neat kennels and his complement of Labradors, and I met Mr and Mrs Fettle, the elderly couple who looked after the daily management. Joe seemed to have plenty of time to spare. ‘But,’ he said with a sideways glance, ‘you can fully train a Labrador while a spaniel’s still scratching itself.’ He was waiting for me to point out that the Labrador, being a retriever and therefore expected to do no more than wait beside his master until there was quarry to be fetched, had little to learn beyond what a puppy did naturally, while a spaniel had to hunt without chasing, distinguish wounded game from that which was sitting tight and resist the constant temptation to chase. There was even a vestige of truth in what he said. Because of their eagerness and sheer joie de vivre, spaniels can be hard work.

Joe said. ‘He could certainly do the training if you could look after the rest. It’s my experience that you can teach a puppy the rudiments of retrieving without getting out of your armchair.’ ‘Training a spaniel to quest without chasing takes a little more application,’ Mrs Kitts said severely. ‘You’re a lazy devil, Joe. I think that that’s why you stick to Labradors.’ Joe laughed and nearly choked on his food. ‘Anybody who chooses to work with spaniels,’ he said, wiping his eyes, ‘would make love standing up in a hammock, just to make life difficult.

The photograph had to be reasonably interesting. Country Life girls did not simply sit for the camera against some featureless backdrop but were pictured striking a pose in surroundings that gave an indication of their normal social milieu or talents. The daughters of major gentry—those with stately homes—might be photographed leaning against a stone pillar, the clear inference being that this was just one of the many stone pillars owned by her father; those who had no stone pillars but who had, say, a small ornamental lake, would be photographed standing in front of this. Those who worked with horses—and this was a large group—might have a hunter in the background, or at least a saddle. Dogs were a popular accoutrement, usually Labradors, who would be at the young woman’s side, ready to retrieve or flush birds, enthusiasts all, and given the same appraising scrutiny by the readers, in many cases, as the young woman herself.

The idea of a Christian of the ninth century having a dog named Odin, after the one-eyed father of the Norse gods, may seem far-fetched. However, the idea comes from my own family history. My paternal grandfather had a black Labrador called Satan, which I believe was named by my father (who incidentally went on to become a missionary and then a Baptist minister!). You can imagine the strange looks my grandfather would get in the 1960s and 1970s calling out for his dog.

When Holden was nine, Rufus the family Labrador died. He’d already been an adult dog when Holden was born, so Holden had only ever known Rufus as a big black slobbering bundle of love. He’d taken some of his first steps clutching the dog’s fur in one stubby fist. He’d run around their Montana farm not much bigger than a toddler with Rufus as his only babysitter. Holden had loved the dog with the simple intensity only children and dogs share. But when he was nine, Rufus was fifteen, and old for such a big dog. He slowed down. He stopped running with Holden, barely managing a trot to catch up, then gradually only a slow walk. He stopped eating. And one night he flopped onto his side next to a heater vent and started panting. Mother Elise had told him that Rufus probably wouldn’t last the night, and even if he did they’d have to call the vet in the morning. Holden had tearfully sworn to stay by the dog’s side. For the first couple of hours, he held Rufus’ head on his lap and cried, as Rufus struggled to breathe and occasionally gave one halfhearted thump of his tail. By the third, against his will and every good thought he’d had about himself, Holden was bored. It was a lesson he’d never forgotten. That humans only have so much emotional energy. No matter how intense the situation, or how powerful the feelings, it was impossible to maintain a heightened emotional state forever. Eventually you’d just get tired and want it to end.

It’s in the nature of humans to want to belong to a group, to want to be accepted, appreciated, and needed. What is most frightening about their kind are the sacrifices they are prepared to make in order to become part of such a tribe, clique, sect, sewing circle, cult, or book club. Reason and morality are often at the top of the list of what must be surrendered as part of the club fees. Truth becomes a collective property, an adaptable shield used to shelter the in-group from those outside. Dogs, on the other hand, are great. Training Your Labrador, by Barbara Timberhut

Author Britton Taylor lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, with his sweet Labrador, Daisy May. Besides spending time with her, he enjoys snowboarding, watching documentaries, and rooting for his beloved sports teams—Go Cowboys, Rockets, Astros, and Runnin’ Rebels! Mr. Taylor wanted to share what a beautiful and loving soul Daisy May is and felt a children’s book would be the best way to convey that. Daisy May is an exceptionally special dog, and Mr. Taylor is certain that the world will love her just as much as he does.

Author Britton Taylor lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, with his sweet Labrador, Daisy May. Besides spending time with her, he enjoys snowboarding, watching documentaries, and rooting for his beloved sports teams—Go Cowboys, Rockets, Astros, VGK and Runnin’ Rebels! Mr. Taylor wanted to share what a beautiful and loving soul Daisy May is and felt a children’s book would be the best way to convey that. Daisy May is an exceptionally special dog, and Mr. Taylor is certain that the world will love her just as much as he does.

In the lively town of Sunnyside, there lived a dog that was famous for his dazzling smile. Buddy was a lovable Labrador with soft black and brown fur and a kind heart. His smile was so big and bright that it could light up any room, and it brought

Preventing Separation Anxiety We wish our dogs could be with us all day, every day, but it’s not possible, and puppies do need to learn to spend time alone. A dog who can never be left home alone without destroying the house may be suffering from separation anxiety. Teach your Lab to feel safe and comfortable at home alone while she’s still a puppy, even if you’re home all day. Your life or job situation may change someday, and you’re heading off future trauma by teaching this lesson now, when she is young. Your puppy’s not yet mature enough to have the run of an entire house or yard, so confine her in her crate or pen when you’re gone. What you might think is separation anxiety might really be simple puppy mischief. When you’re not there to supervise, she’s free to indulge her curiosity and entertain herself in doggie ways. She knows she can’t dump the trash and eat the kitty litter in front of you, but when you’re gone, she makes her own rules. Teach your puppy not to rely on your constant attention every minute you’re at home. Set up her crate, pen, or wherever she can stay when you’re gone, and practice leaving her in it for short rests during the day. She’ll learn to feel safe there, chewing on her toy and listening to household noises. She’ll also realize that being in her pen doesn’t always mean she’s going to be left for long periods. Deafening quiet could unnerve your puppy, so when you leave, turn on the radio or television so the house still has signs of activities she’d hear when you’re home. Background noise also blocks out scary sounds from outdoors, so she won’t react to unknown terrors. HAPPY PUPPY Exercise your puppy before you leave her alone at home. Take her for a walk, practice obedience, or play a game. Then give her a chance to settle down and relax so she won’t still be excited when you put her in her pen. She’ll quickly learn that the rustle of keys followed by you picking up your briefcase or purse, getting your jacket out of the closet, or picking up your books all mean one awful thing: you’re going, and she’s staying. While you’re teaching her to spend time alone, occasionally go through your leaving routine without actually leaving. Pick everything up, fiddle with it so she can see you’re doing so, put it all back down, and go back to what you were doing. Don’t make a fuss over your puppy when you come and go. Put her in her pen and do something else for a few minutes before you leave. Then just leave. Big good-byes and lots of farewell petting just rev her up and upset her. When you come home, ignore her while you put down your things and get settled. Then greet her calmly and take her outside for a break.

Well, there’d be no determining breed with this one: he was as much Bergamasco as Labrador, as much spaniel as hound. He was happy, that was evident, and perhaps that’s all a dog needed to be and all Brunetti needed to know about a dog. The arrival of the vaporetto cut off his reflections but did not remove Morandi from his mind. ‘People don’t change.’ How many times had he heard his mother say that? She had never studied psychology, his mother. In fact, she had never studied much at all, but that did not prevent her from having a logical mind, even a subtle one. Presented with an example of uncharacteristic behaviour, she would often point out that it was merely a manifestation of the person’s real character, and when she reminded people of events from the past, she was often proven right. Usually people surprised us, he reflected, with the bad they did, when some dark impulse slipped the leash

You should never nag, whine, preach or plead with your dog because this is not the way leaders behave

Danny fills a pitcher with water as R2-D2 gallops into the room to nuzzle my thigh. He is a two-year-old unexercised and panicky Labrador who looks as if he will at any moment speak. Everything in him wants to run. R2-D2 hunts scraps on the floor underneath Danny, who holds the pitcher brimming with water. I worry about his grip, but he wants to tell a story like an intact man about a fair he went to where a man balanced on top of a Ferris wheel. A tremor grows in his forearm. I say, “Why don’t you let me hold that?” “Are you listening? I’m talking to you.” He sways as if regaining his balance. The pitcher slips silently out of his grip, barely missing the dog as it shatters against the floor. R2-D2 yelps, scrabbles out of the room. I collect the chunks of glass. “Was I holding that?” he says. “Don’t move,” I say. He says he won’t but forgets. “Don’t.” He roots in place. I’ve never raised my voice to him. “Did you drop the pitcher?” he says, when I am transferring the large chunks to the trash can. “Yes.” I guide him over the mess and into the family room. I motion for him to sit and hand him the remote. I wipe the kitchen floor and take the garbage to the outside patio where several other bags are stacked. The dog jogs beside me, sniffs a tree trunk.

That's how we got our dog, Revolver. We thought he was crazy about us, but it turns out that Labrador retrievers adore everyone. Well, maybe that's what love is, a state of mind ready to grace anyone willing to accept it. Anyone who cares.

Golden Egg Pets · Golden Dragon · Golden Griffin · Golden Unicorn Diamond Egg Pets · Diamond Dragon · Diamond Griffin · Diamond Unicorn Common Pets · Bandicoot (Aussie Egg) · Buffalo (Cracked Egg or Pet Egg) · Cat (Starter Egg, Cracked Egg, or Pet Egg) · Chicken (Farm Egg) · Dog (Starter Egg, Cracked Egg, or Pet Egg) · Otter (Cracked Egg or Pet Egg) · Robin (Christmas Egg) Uncommon Pets · Black Panther (Jungle Egg) · Blue Dog (Blue Egg) · Capybara (Jungle Egg) · Chocolate Labrador (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Dingo (Aussie Egg) · Drake (Farm Egg) · Fennec Fox (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Meerkat (Safari Egg) · Pink Cat (Pink Egg) · Puma (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Silly Duck (Farm Egg) · Snow Cat (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Wild Boar (Safari Egg) · Wolf (Christmas Egg) Rare Pets · Australian Kelpie (Aussie Egg) · Beaver (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Brown Bear (Jungle Egg) · Bunny (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Cow (Farm Egg) · Elephant (Safari Egg) · Elf Shrew (Christmas Event: 23,000 Gingerbread) · Emu (Aussie Egg) · Hyena (Safari Egg) · Pig (Farm Egg) · Polar Bear (Christmas Egg) · Rabbit (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Rat (Lunar New Year Event 2020 - Rat Box - 14 in 15 Chance) · Reindeer (Christmas Egg) · Rhino (Jungle Egg) · Snow Puma (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Swan (Christmas Egg) Ultra-Rare Pets · Arctic Fox (Christmas Egg) · Bee (Coffee Shop - Honey: 199 Robux - 35 in 40 Chance) · Crocodile (Jungle Egg) · Elf Hedgehog (Christmas Event: eighty,500 Gingerbread) · Flamingo (Safari Egg) · Frog (Aussie Egg) · Horse (Pet Shop: 300 Robux) · Koala (Aussie Egg) · Lion (Safari Egg) · Llama (Farm Egg) · Panda (Lunar New Year Event - Game Pass: 249 Robux) · Penguin (Throw a Golden Goldfish (225 Robux) to a Penguin on the Ice Cream Parlor) · Platypus (Jungle Egg) · Red Panda (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Santa Dog (Christmas Event: 250 Robux) · Shiba Inu (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Sloth (Pet Shop: 199 Robux) · Turkey (Farm Egg) · Zombie Buffalo (Halloween Event) Legendary Pets · Arctic Reindeer (Christmas Egg) · Bat Dragon (Halloween Event 2019: a hundred and eighty,000 Candies) · Crow (Farm Egg) · Dragon (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg) · Evil Unicorn (Halloween Event 2019: 108,000 Candies) · Frost Dragon (Christmas Event 2019: 1,000 Robux) · Giraffe (Safari Egg) · Golden Penguin (Throw a Golden Goldfish (225 Robux) to a Penguin at the Ice Cream Parlor) · Golden Rat (Lunar New Year Event 2020 - Rat Box - 1 in 15 Chance) · Griffin (Gamepass or six hundred Robux) · Kangaroo (Aussie Egg) · King Bee (Coffee Shop - Honey: 199 Robux - 4 in 40 Chance) · Owl (Farm Egg) · Parrot (Jungle Egg) · Queen Bee (Coffee Shop - Honey: 199 Robux - 1 in 40 Chance) · Shadow Dragon (Halloween Event 2019: 1,000 Robux) · Turtle (Aussie Egg) · Unicorn (Cracked Egg, Pet Egg, or Royal Egg)

The rules are so different in the World Outside Synanon. The answers come in pieces, bit by bit as we explore the neighborhood around the house on Breys Avenue: bullets explode if you hit them with a hammer, there is no Santa Claus, do not cry in front of other boys, cats land on their feet no matter how close to the ground they are when you drop them, dog food tastes bad, don’t say what you’re thinking, kids can buy cigarettes from vending machines, gasoline will burn on water, candy bars can be stolen, Mom has read over a thousand books, a Labrador can beat a German shepherd in a fight, parents are supposed to protect you, bullies are mean, we’re bad at baseball, we’re good at reading, we’re latchkey kids, we’re poor, we’re special, we’re smart, we’re different, we’re alone.

You would have to be Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime to hold back a Labrador with its heart set on finding the perfect puddle and for Winston, it was vitally important that each and every one was tested for squelchiness, viscosity, and dankness of aroma. Winston was completely besotted by mud.

I haven't let a dog in my bedroom since one of my father's Labradors cocked its leg on my doll's house." "I promise she won't piss in your room," Finn assured me. "Can't guarantee that I won't, mind you.

I feel sick!” Paige whines beside me, snapping me out of my reverie. “I’m getting totally carsick! These roads are way too bendy!” “Open the window and put your head out,” Catia snaps, driving, if anything, even faster. “Ugh! My hair’ll get all messed up!” Grumpily, Paige buzzes down the window and pokes her nose out, holding her hair flat with both hands clamped to the sides of her head. She gulps in deep breaths of air as the vehicle lurches along. “She looks like a dog,” Kelly mutters to me. “You know, when they stick their heads out of car windows?” “A golden Labrador,” I mumble back. “Big and shiny, but no brains at all.” Paige is definitely built on a large scale; she’s not at all fat, just big-boned, sturdy, like a lacrosse player, which she probably is; she glows with health, and her golden tan is enviable. The more I think about the Labrador comparison, the better it is.

On All Dogs Go to Heaven: Lastly, the heaven illustrated in the movie didn't seam much like the one being advertised during Big Church services. I mean, three was a whippet dog playing the role of Saint Peter, which is super dubious because I think if dogs uniformly had to elect a particular breed as the representative sample of goodness greeting them as the shuffled off their mortal coils (leashes?) and entered into eternity, it would probably go: 1) Golden Retriever: Might be more angelic than Saint Peter IMO 2) Labrador Retriever: The All-American, apple pie-sniffing dog next door. 3) Siberian Huskies: Those eyes tho. 4) Beagle: Scrappy, overachieving everydogs 5) German Shepherd: Would be higher but lost a ton of points thanks the unfortunate connection to the Big Bads of WW2. 6) Whippets: They look like they are either embarking upon or just recovering from an intense drug habit. LAST PLACE: CORGIS: These dogs are probably the gatekeepers to hell*. While cute, this dog is more useless than a urinal cake-flavored Popsicle. My parents have had two of these dogs and all they were good at was being emotional terrorists. Zero stars, would not recommend. *I know Greek myth says it's Cerberus, a giant, three-headed dog, and it makes no mention of dog breed, but I can guarantee you that Cerberus must have had three large and stupid Corgi heads.

On All Dogs Go to Heaven: Lastly, the heaven illustrated in the movie didn't seam much like the one being advertised during Big Church services. I mean, three was a whippet dog playing the role of Saint Peter, which is super dubious because I think if dogs uniformly had to elect a particular breed as the representative sample of goodness greeting them as the shuffled off their mortal coils (leashes?) and entered into eternity, it would probably go: 1) Golden Retriever: Might be more angelic than Saint Peter IMO 2) Labrador Retriever: The All-American, apple pie-sniffing dog next door. 3) Siberian Huskies: Those eyes tho. 4) Beagle: Scrappy, overachieving everydogs 5) German Shepherd: Would be higher but lost a ton of points thanks the unfortunate connection to the Big Bads of WW2. 6) Whippets: They look like they are either embarking upon or just recovering from an intense drug habit. LAST PLACE: CORGIS: These dogs are probably the gatekeepers to hell*. White cute, this dog is more useless than a urinal cake-flavored Popsicle. My parents have had two of these dogs and all they were good at was being emotional terrorists. Zero starts, would not recommend. *I know Greek myth says it's Cerberus, a giant, three-headed dog, and it makes no mention of dog breed, but I can guarantee you that Cerberus must have had three large and stupid Corgi heads.

On All Dogs Go to Heaven: Lastly, the heaven illustrated in the movie didn't seam much like the one being advertised during Big Church services. I mean, three was a whippet dog playing the role of Saint Peter, which is super dubious because I think if dogs uniformly had to elect a particular breed as the representative sample of goodness greeting them as the shuffled off their mortal coils (leashes?) and entered into eternity, it would probably go: 1) Golden Retriever: Might be more angelic than Saint Peter IMO 2) Labrador Retriever: The All-American, apple pie-sniffing dog next door. 3) Siberian Huskies: Those eyes tho. 4) Beagle: Scrappy, overachieving everydogs 5) German Shepherd: Would be higher but lost a ton of points thanks the unfortunate connection to the Big Bads of WW2. 6) Whippets: They look like they are either embarking upon or just recovering from an intense drug habit. LAST PLACE: CORGIS: These dogs are probably the gatekeepers to hell*. While cute, this dog is more useless than a urinal cake-flavored Popsicle. My parents have had two of these dogs and all they were good at was being emotional terrorists. Zero starts, would not recommend. *I know Greek myth says it's Cerberus, a giant, three-headed dog, and it makes no mention of dog breed, but I can guarantee you that Cerberus must have had three large and stupid Corgi heads.

The dog was having a grand time. That's the thing about being a Labrador Retriever, you were born for fun. Seldom was your loopy, freewheeling mind cluttered by contemplation and never at all by somber worry. Every day was a romp. What else could there possibly be to life? Eating was a thrill, pissing was a treat, shitting was a joy. And licking your own balls? Bliss!

Moreover, by ignoring him when he doesn’t add value to your life and by rewarding him when he shows good behavior, you’re training him just like you would a dog. And since most men are smarter than your average Labrador (some are, I’ve checked), it will be easy to train him.

He addressed me in that universal tongue of ours which is one of the many superiorities which we enjoy over men: —you poor humanities, born on different banks of a river, or opposite sides of a plain, jabber jargons mutually unintelligible to each other, and on a public mart or at a lir national stand bewildered amidst a score of unknown tongues spoken by your next door neighbor. But place a Labrador dog with a Pyrenean dog, let one of Poland meet one of Peru, and lo! you behold them intelligible to one another at once, able to exchange converse by a freemasonry to which the widest-spread of your brotherhood is as naught. For our race being too wise ever to * build either a Babel or a Babylon, no curse of confusion rests on us; and though scattered all over the world, we are yet even as one great nation.