Model Dog Quotes

I think dogs are the most amazing creatures; they give unconditional love. For me they are the role model for being alive.

Dogs are my favorite role models. I want to work like a dog, doing what I was born to do with joy and purpose. I want to play like a dog, with total, jolly abandon. I want to love like a dog, with unabashed devotion and complete lack of concern about what people do for a living, how much money they have, or how much they weigh. The fact that we still live with dogs, even when we don't have to herd or hunt our dinner, gives me hope for humans and canines alike.

I had never thought of Marley as any kind of model, but sitting there sipping my beer, I was aware that maybe he held the secret for a good life. Never slow down, never look back, live each day w/ adolescent verve and spunk and curiosity and playfulness.

The social intuitionist model offers an explanation of why moral and political arguments are so frustrating: because moral reasons are the tail wagged by the intuitive dog. A dog’s tail wags to communicate. You can’t make a dog happy by forcibly wagging its tail. And you can’t change people’s minds by utterly refuting their arguments.

It's perfectly simple," said Wednesday. "In other countries, over the years, people recognized the places of power. Sometimes it would be a natural formation, sometimes it would just be a place that was, somehow, special. They knew that something important was happening there, that there was some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent. And so they would build temples or cathedrals, or erect stone circles, or...well, you get the idea." "There are churches all across the States, though," said Shadow. "In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists' offices. No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they've never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog, and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that.

Inside her, great castles of comprehension, models of the world as she had understood it, shivered. She could not decide whether to let them crumble or to try desperately to save them.

That’s the problem with models—they only include the details people think are relevant,

Oberon perked up, "Awesome! I've never seen a base model elf before! But they come with bonus dudes?

There’s this thing called progress. But it doesn’t progress, it doesn’t go anywhere. Because as progress progresses the world can slip away. It’s progress if you can stop the world slipping away. My humble model for progress is the reclamation of land. Which is repeatedly, never-endingly retrieving what is lost. A dogged, vigilant business. A dull yet valuable business. A hard, inglorious business. But you shouldn’t go mistaking the reclamation of land for the building of empires.

Why are we doing it? We could both do other things." "Oh, this will be interesting." "You could...crap, I don't know. Be a translator! There you go." "This is true. You could be a dog walker." "Thanks. You could run a riding stable." "Death first. You could be a model." Ben smiled. "Aftershave?" Nikolas raised an eyebrow. "I was hoping for underwear.

It was seriously killing me. This gigantic guy carrying an eight pound dog around in his huge arms. God help us. I needed to find some puppies and pay some ripped up models to pose with them. I could make a killing if I put them on calendars.

As he walked out into the North Carolina sunshine, Lola's hand in his, a smile curved one corner of his lips. Not so long ago, he'd stood on the burned-out bridge of the Dora Mae, thinking himself cursed with a beautiful underwear model and her sissy little dog. He'd always believed Lola Carlyle would be the death of him. "We never did get around to watching Pride and Prejudice," she said, a teasing glint in her beautiful eyes. Yeah, she would most definitely be the death of him, but what a way to go.

So what is the fallout for dogs of the Lassie myth? As soon as you bestow intelligence and morality, you bestow the responsibility that goes along with them. In other words, if the dog knows it’s wrong to destroy furniture yet deliberately and maliciously does it, remembers the wrong he did and feels guilt, it feels like he merits a punishment2, doesn’t it? That’s just what dogs have been getting - a lot of punishment. We set them up for all kinds of punishment by overestimating their ability to think. Interestingly, it’s the “cold” behaviorist model that ends up giving dogs a much better crack at meeting the demands we make of them. The myth gives problems to dogs they cannot solve and then punishes them for failing. And the saddest thing is that the main association most dogs have with that punishment is the presence of their owner. This puts a pretty twisted spin on loooving dogs ‘cause they’re so smart, doesn’t it?

I could croak with no warning, and the only tragedy anyone would experience would be showing up on the last day of my estate sale simply to discover that all remaining items had copious amounts of dog hair on them.

The gestures poems make are the same as the gestures of ritual injunction — curse; exorcism; prayer; underlying everything perhaps, the attempt to make someone or something live again. Both poet and shaman make a model that stands for the whole. Substitution, symbolic substitution. The mind conceives that something lived, or might live. Implicit is the demand to understand. The memorial that is ward and warning. Without these ancient springs poems are merely more words.

Humans, like all mammals, are heat engines; surviving means having to continually cool off, as panting dogs do. For that, the temperature needs to be low enough for the air to act as a kind of refrigerant, drawing heat off the skin so the engine can keep pumping. At seven degrees of warming, that would become impossible for portions of the planet’s equatorial band, and especially the tropics, where humidity adds to the problem. And the effect would be fast: after a few hours, a human body would be cooked to death from both inside and out. At eleven or twelve degrees Celsius of warming, more than half the world’s population, as distributed today, would die of direct heat. Things almost certainly won’t get that hot anytime soon, though some models of unabated emissions do bring us that far eventually, over centuries. But at just five degrees, according to some calculations, whole parts of the globe would be literally unsurvivable for humans. At six, summer labor of any kind would become impossible in the lower Mississippi Valley, and everybody in the United States east of the Rockies would suffer more from heat than anyone, anywhere, in the world today. New York City would be hotter than present-day Bahrain, one of the planet’s hottest spots, and the temperature in Bahrain “would induce hyperthermia in even sleeping humans.

I think dogs are the most amazing creatures; they give unconditional love. For me they are the role model for being alive. ~Gilda Radner

1 You said ‘The world is going back to Paganism’. Oh bright Vision! I saw our dynasty in the bar of the House Spill from their tumblers a libation to the Erinyes, And Leavis with Lord Russell wreathed in flowers, heralded with flutes, Leading white bulls to the cathedral of the solemn Muses To pay where due the glory of their latest theorem. Hestia’s fire in every flat, rekindled, burned before The Lardergods. Unmarried daughters with obedient hands Tended it. By the hearth the white-armd venerable mother Domum servabat, lanam faciebat. At the hour Of sacrifice their brothers came, silent, corrected, grave Before their elders; on their downy cheeks easily the blush Arose (it is the mark of freemen’s children) as they trooped, Gleaming with oil, demurely home from the palaestra or the dance. Walk carefully, do not wake the envy of the happy gods, Shun Hubris. The middle of the road, the middle sort of men, Are best. Aidos surpasses gold. Reverence for the aged Is wholesome as seasonable rain, and for a man to die Defending the city in battle is a harmonious thing. Thus with magistral hand the Puritan Sophrosune Cooled and schooled and tempered our uneasy motions; Heathendom came again, the circumspection and the holy fears … You said it. Did you mean it? Oh inordinate liar, stop. 2 Or did you mean another kind of heathenry? Think, then, that under heaven-roof the little disc of the earth, Fortified Midgard, lies encircled by the ravening Worm. Over its icy bastions faces of giant and troll Look in, ready to invade it. The Wolf, admittedly, is bound; But the bond wil1 break, the Beast run free. The weary gods, Scarred with old wounds the one-eyed Odin, Tyr who has lost a hand, Will limp to their stations for the Last defence. Make it your hope To be counted worthy on that day to stand beside them; For the end of man is to partake of their defeat and die His second, final death in good company. The stupid, strong Unteachable monsters are certain to be victorious at last, And every man of decent blood is on the losing side. Take as your model the tall women with yellow hair in plaits Who walked back into burning houses to die with men, Or him who as the death spear entered into his vitals Made critical comments on its workmanship and aim. Are these the Pagans you spoke of? Know your betters and crouch, dogs; You that have Vichy water in your veins and worship the event Your goddess History (whom your fathers called the strumpet Fortune).

The dog on the cover of this book—let’s call her Maggie—is a role model for those of us who want to make better decisions. Maggie could have devoured the biscuit resting on her snout in the blink of an eye. Instead, she is holding back, showing us she can keep her instincts and emotions in check, delaying the pleasure of the snack she can smell all too well. Although this book is mostly about human beings, not animals, its central point is that we can learn a lot from Maggie.

This is it.” Morgan gestured to the French doors like she was modeling a prize on a game show. “Here we have door number one. Will it lead our contestant to the dog-faced man of her dreams? Or will she find an axe-wielding psychopath? Stay tuned.

When you are the only laowai in a village of 10,000 Chinese martial artists and you've sat through several dozen films where a white man shouts, "You Chinese dog," before getting his ass kicked, it starts to irritate you. We all need role models.

That sounded awful. “Big family?” “Two older sisters, Mom, Dad, Grandma before she died, three dogs, a cat, and a ghost.” Troy decided to ignore that last thing. “Jesus. That’s crowded.” God dammit. No, he couldn’t ignore that last thing. “Ghost?

The History of Truth In that ago when being was believing, Truth was the most of many credibles, More first, more always, than a bat-winged lion, A fish-tailed dog or eagle-headed fish, The least like mortals, doubted by their deaths. Truth was their model as they strove to build A world of lasting objects to believe in, Without believing earthenware and legend, Archway and song, were truthful or untruthful: The Truth was there already to be true. This while when, practical like paper-dishes, Truth is convertible to kilowatts, Our last to do by is an anti-model, Some untruth anyone can give the lie to, A nothing no one need believe is there.

Elizabeth feared that because of her looks, she was doomed to meet men with unreasonably high self-images and no depth, the kind that dogged movie actresses and models. Men who were superficial to begin with, and existentially boring in that which they sought, and thus ultimately unsatisfying and unworthy of respect of interest.

When we are too functional, we forget the point of hospitality in the home: fellowship, not entertainment. Don't let pride stop you from opening your home. Ignore the cat hair on the couch (or in the mac and cheese). It likely won't kill anyone as decisively as loneliness will. Add as much water to the pot to stretch the soup. If you run out of food, make pancakes, and put the kids in charge of making that meal. See how much fun that is. And know that someone is spared from another humiliating fall into internet pornography because he is instead walking with you and your kids and dogs, as you share the Lord's Day, one model of how the Lord gives you daily grace and a way of escape. Know that someone is spared the fear and darkness of depression because she is needed at your house, always on the Lord's Day, the day she is never alone, but instead safely in community, where her place at the table is needed and necessary and relied upon. Know that someone is drawn into Christ's love because the Bible reading and psalm singing that come at the close of the meal include everyone, and that it reminds us that no one is scapegoated in this Christ-bearing community. Know that host and guest are equally precious and fragile, and that you will play both roles throughout the course of this life. The doors here open wide. They must.

The dominance panacea is so out of proportion that entire schools of training are based on the premise that if you can just exert adequate dominance over the dog, everything else will fall into place. Not only does it mean that incredible amounts of abuse are going to be perpetrated against any given dog, probably exacerbating problems like unreliable recalls and biting, but the real issues, like well-executed conditioning and the provision of an adequate environment, are going to go unaddressed, resulting in a still-untrained dog, perpetuating the pointless dominance program. None of this is to say that dogs aren’t one of those species whose social life appears to lend itself to beloved hierarchy constructs. But, they also see well at night, and no one is proposing retinal surgery to address their non-compliance or biting behavior. Pack theory is simply not the most elegant model for explaining or, especially, for treating problems like disobedience, misbehavior or aggression. People who use aversives to train with a dominance model in mind would get a better result with less wear and tear on the dog by using aversives with a more thorough understanding of learning theory, or, better yet, forgoing aversives altogether and going with the other tools in the learning theory tool box. The dominance concept is simply unnecessary.

The Joy of Sex!—Elaine brought home that dreary tract one day, those tidings of comfort and joy by some Californicated Englishman, and we studied the ghastly pictures, the two hundred different positions. What a joyless book. That poor fucker the instructor-model, performing his gymnastic routines over and over, with slight variations, for three hundred pages, each and every time upon the same woman. No wonder he has that look on his soft hairy degenerate face of a bored he-dog hooked up on the street with an exhausted bitch, longing to leave but unable to extricate himself from what breeders call a “tie.” The woman in the book looks only slightly happier; somebody out of mercy should have emptied a bucket of ice water on the miserable couple. Technique, technique, technical engineering, curse of the modern world, debasing what should be a wild, free, spontaneous act of violent delight into an industrial procedure. Comfort’s treatise is a training manual, a workbook which might better have been entitled The Job of Sex.

This is a roadside attraction,” said Wednesday. “One of the finest. Which means it is a place of power.” “Come again?” “It’s perfectly simple,” said Wednesday. “In other countries, over the years, people recognized the places of power. Sometimes it would be a natural formation, sometimes it would just be a place that was, somehow, special. They knew that something important was happening there, that there was some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent. And so they would build temples, or cathedrals, or erect stone circles, or…well, you get the idea.” “There are churches all across the States, though,” said Shadow. “In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists’ offices. No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they’ve never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat-house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that.

Inside her, grand castles of comprehension, models of the world as she had understood it, shivered. She could not decide whether to let them crumble or to try desperately to save them.

So what is this place?” asked Shadow, as they walked through the parking lot toward a low, unimpressive wooden building. “This is a roadside attraction,” said Wednesday. “One of the finest. Which means it is a place of power.” “Come again?” “It’s perfectly simple,” said Wednesday. “In other countries, over the years, people recognized the places of power. Sometimes it would be a natural formation, sometimes it would be a place that was, somehow, special. They knew that something important was happening there, that there was some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent. And so they would build temples or cathedrals, or erect stone circles, or…well, you get the idea.” “There are churches all across the States, though,” said Shadow. “In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists’ offices. No, in the USA people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they’ve never visited, or by erecting a giant bat house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that.

It doesn’t have to be black and white. You have a structured workout and sure that makes your life easier. You have a template to follow. But if you don’t have 45 minutes to do that workout, you can do 10 minutes of it. If you don’t have time to train, you can take your dog for a walk. There’s so many ways you can make these incremental changes that will lead to overall better habits.

Clifford D. Simak did not dedicate his books very often, but he dedicated this one—to his dog. He loved dogs, and he made them prominent features of a number of his stories—and in this case he made it clear that the dog in question, Scootie, was the model for Nathaniel, who can be found in “Census,” the third episode in this book, and who became legend to succeeding generations of dogs.

New Rule: Americans must realize what makes NFL football so great: socialism. That's right, the NFL takes money from the rich teams and gives it to the poorer one...just like President Obama wants to do with his secret army of ACORN volunteers. Green Bay, Wisconsin, has a population of one hundred thousand. Yet this sleepy little town on the banks of the Fuck-if-I-know River has just as much of a chance of making it to the Super Bowl as the New York Jets--who next year need to just shut the hell up and play. Now, me personally, I haven't watched a Super Bowl since 2004, when Janet Jackson's nipple popped out during halftime. and that split-second glimpse of an unrestrained black titty burned by eyes and offended me as a Christian. But I get it--who doesn't love the spectacle of juiced-up millionaires giving one another brain damage on a giant flatscreen TV with a picture so real it feels like Ben Roethlisberger is in your living room, grabbing your sister? It's no surprise that some one hundred million Americans will watch the Super Bowl--that's forty million more than go to church on Christmas--suck on that, Jesus! It's also eighty-five million more than watched the last game of the World Series, and in that is an economic lesson for America. Because football is built on an economic model of fairness and opportunity, and baseball is built on a model where the rich almost always win and the poor usually have no chance. The World Series is like The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. You have to be a rich bitch just to play. The Super Bowl is like Tila Tequila. Anyone can get in. Or to put it another way, football is more like the Democratic philosophy. Democrats don't want to eliminate capitalism or competition, but they'd like it if some kids didn't have to go to a crummy school in a rotten neighborhood while others get to go to a great school and their dad gets them into Harvard. Because when that happens, "achieving the American dream" is easy for some and just a fantasy for others. That's why the NFL literally shares the wealth--TV is their biggest source of revenue, and they put all of it in a big commie pot and split it thirty-two ways. Because they don't want anyone to fall too far behind. That's why the team that wins the Super Bowl picks last in the next draft. Or what the Republicans would call "punishing success." Baseball, on the other hand, is exactly like the Republicans, and I don't just mean it's incredibly boring. I mean their economic theory is every man for himself. The small-market Pittsburgh Steelers go to the Super Bowl more than anybody--but the Pittsburgh Pirates? Levi Johnston has sperm that will not grow and live long enough to see the Pirates in a World Series. Their payroll is $40 million; the Yankees' is $206 million. The Pirates have about as much chance as getting in the playoffs as a poor black teenager from Newark has of becoming the CEO of Halliburton. So you kind of have to laugh--the same angry white males who hate Obama because he's "redistributing wealth" just love football, a sport that succeeds economically because it does just that. To them, the NFL is as American as hot dogs, Chevrolet, apple pie, and a second, giant helping of apple pie.

Parents are very comfortable talking to their children about gender, and they work very hard to counterprogram against boy-girl stereotypes. That ought to be our model for talking about race. The same way we remind our [children], ‘Mommies can be doctors just like daddies,’ we ought to be telling all children that doctors can be any skin color. It’s not complicated what to say. It’s only a matter of how often we reinforce it.”5

If it was true during the early dot-com days that “nobody knows you’re a dog,” it’s the exact opposite today. We are ranked, categorized, and scored in hundreds of models, on the basis of our revealed preferences and patterns.

Monkeys and pedestals is a mental model that helps you quit sooner. Pedestals are the part of the problem you know you can already solve, like designing the perfect business card or logo. The hardest thing is training the monkey. When faced with a complex, ambitious goal, (a) identify the hard thing first; (b) try to solve for that as quickly as possible; and (c) beware of false progress. Building pedestals creates the illusion that you are making progress toward your goal, but doing the easy stuff is a waste of time if the hard stuff is actually impossible. Tackling the monkey first gets you to no faster, limiting the time, effort, and money you sink into a project, making it easier to walk away. When we butt up against a hard problem we can’t solve, we have a tendency to turn to pedestal-building rather than choosing to quit. Advance planning and precommitment contracts increase the chances you will quit sooner. When you enter into a course of action, create a set of kill criteria. This is a list of signals you might see in the future that would tell you it’s time to quit. Kill criteria will help inoculate you against bad decision-making when you’re “in it” by limiting the number of decisions you’ll have to make once you’re already in the gains or in the losses. In organizations, kill criteria allow people a different way to get rewarded beyond dogged and blind pursuit of a project until the bitter end.

That ought to be our model for talking about race. The same way we remind our [children], ‘Mommies can be doctors just like daddies,’ we ought to be telling all children that doctors can be any skin color. It’s not complicated what to say. It’s only a matter of how often we reinforce it.”5 In other words, best practices in the area of race involve doing the opposite of what colorblindness seems to command. We must notice and talk about race, self-critically and carefully, in order to understand and attempt to set aside its power over our imaginations.

Tell me, Mar,” she would say (and here it must be explained, that when she called him by the first syllable of his first name, she was in a dreamy, amorous, acquiescent mood, domestic, languid a little, as if spiced logs were burning, and it was evening, yet not time to dress, and a thought wet perhaps outside, enough to make the leaves glisten, but a nightingale might be singing even so among the azaleas, two or three dogs barking at distant farms, a cock crowing—all of which the reader should imagine in her voice)—“Tell me, Mar,” she would say, “about Cape Horn.” Then Shelmerdine would make a little model on the ground of the Cape with twigs and dead leaves and an empty snail shell or two. “Here’s the north,” he would say. “There’s the south. The wind’s coming from hereabouts. Now the Brig is sailing due west; we’ve just lowered the top-boom mizzen; and so you see—here, where this bit of grass is, she enters the current which you’ll find marked—where’s my map and compasses, Bo’sun?—Ah! thanks, that’ll do, where the snail shell is. The current catches her on the starboard side, so we must rig the jib boom or we shall be carried to the larboard, which is where that beech leaf is,—for you must understand my dear—” and so he would go on, and she would listen to every word; interpreting them rightly, so as to see, that is to say, without his having to tell her, the phosphorescence on the waves, the icicles clanking in the shrouds; how he went to the top of the mast in a gale; there reflected on the destiny of man; came down again; had a whisky and soda; went on shore; was trapped by a black woman; repented; reasoned it out; read Pascal; determined to write philosophy; bought a monkey; debated the true end of life; decided in favour of Cape Horn, and so on. All this and a thousand other things she understood him to say and so when she replied, Yes, negresses are seductive, aren’t they? he having told her that the supply of biscuits now gave out, he was surprised and delighted to find how well she had taken his meaning. “Are you positive you aren’t a man?” he would ask anxiously, and she would echo, “Can it be possible you’re not a woman?” and then they must put it to the proof without more ado.

Older, established writers always tell younger writers about the compromises they must make to succeed. You must be willing to be poor, they say. You must make writing your life. You must piece money together in any way that allows room for writing. It doesn’t matter what those jobs are so long as they don’t sap your creative energy. Wait tables. Walk dogs. Babysit. Make lattes. Figure model. Donate your eggs. Build houses. Bake bread. Freelance at writing. Freelance at anything. I was no longer in a position to naively agree to the sacrifices a freelance-everything lifestyle required.

No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they’ve never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat-house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that.

At forty-two, I was still holding up pretty well, but my once effortlessly lean body now look as though it belonged in a Dove firming cream ad -- the one where they give women permission to have thighs. When I unbuttoned my jeans at night, I swore I heard the same sound that Pillsbury dough made when I twisted the cylindrical container. My hair was beginning to gray, and when I smiled, the parentheses around my mouth remained. My least favorite position in yoga class was the downward dog because, as I hung my head downward, I always felt the skin from my face was about to splatter against my mat like a pancake batter hitting the griddle. So being called the top model by a young Italian was a wonderful souvenir, though cheaper than the toys sold outside the Pantheon in Rome.

There are churches all across the States, though," said Shadow. "In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists' offices. No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they've never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat-house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that.

Why, Daddy?” she asked. She still had that strange look on her face. “Why do dogs die so young? Shadow was only seventeen. He was not even as old as my babysitter.” “To teach us,” he said. “Teach us what, Daddy?” “Compassion,” he replied. “But why, Daddy?” she asked. “So that we might be kinder. So we might make the world kinder. They leave, but they leave us with their lesson. All great teachers do that.” “Yes,” said Emma. “He was a good teacher to me too. He was also a wonderful runway model.” He handed her the polaroid. She examined its rivulets and splotches. She put her thumb on the smudges, rubbing them. To Theo, it seemed she knew of the eyes and mouth that once had been. Then the full gravity of the circumstance fell upon her. Emma wept. She was now a girl with a crack in her heart. The sorrows of the world were now available to her. Soon, she would know their beauty.

One late afternoon, we crossed a creek and came upon a thicket of trees in the middle of a pasture quite a ways from Marlboro Man’s homestead. As I looked more closely, I saw that the trees were shrouding a small white house. A white picket fence surrounded the lot, and as we drove closer to the property, I noticed movement in the yard. It was a large, middle-aged woman, with long, gray hair cascading down her shoulders. She was pushing a lawn mower around her yard, and two wagtail dogs yipped and followed her every step. Most notably, she was wearing only underwear and what appeared to be a late model Playtex bra. And as we passed by her house, she glanced up at us for a moment…then kept on mowing. Trying to appear nonchalant, I asked Marlboro Man, “So…who was that?” Maybe this could be the start of another story. He looked at me and replied, “I have absolutely no idea.” We never spoke of her again.

Two of D’s sisters were now dead, and only Aunt May was left. People said I looked like her, which I couldn’t see at all, because she was dark, going grey, and had brown eyes, and when one kissed her the bones in her cheek felt sharp. She was said to have ‘nerves’. She had a dog called Poolo who smelt. Once, when we were staying at Ramsgate with Big Granny, who had a house there when she wasn’t in London, I was going downstairs by myself, one step at a time, and singing, or rather humming, staring at the model of the tugboat on a shelf which, if I could only touch it, would be the greatest of all possible treats, when suddenly a door on the landing was thrown open and Aunt May came out, her eyes blazing. ‘How dare you make such a noise when I am resting?’ she shouted. I stared, mouth open. I stood quite still. Then without another word she went back into her room and shut the door. The encounter was a shock. I told no one.

Alone in the bathroom, I stared into the mirror over the sink. Who was I looking at? Andrew or Drew? The boy on the lawn had been wearing my jeans, my T-shirt, my running shoes. I was wearing his clothes. I’d whistled for his dog the way he would have. I’d called his mother “Mama” as naturally as I’d once called my mother “Mom.” If I stayed here long enough, would I sink down into Andrew’s life and forget I’d ever been anyone else? No, no, no. Splashing cold water on my face, I reminded myself I was just acting a part. When I won the marble game, the curtain would go down on the last act. I’d be Drew again and Andrew would be Andrew--for keeps. Till then, I’d call Mrs. Tyler “Mama” and Mr. Tyler “Papa,” I’d think of Hannah and Theo as my brother and sister, I’d whistle for Buster, I’d do whatever my role demanded. Outside, a horn blew and Theo yelled, “Andrew, hurry up or we’ll leave without you!” Yes--I’d even ride in a genuine Model T.

Near the exit to the blue patio, DeCoverley Pox and Joaquin Stick stand by a concrete scale model of the Jungfrau, ... socking the slopes of the famous mountain with red rubber hot-water bags full of ice cubes, the idea being to pulverize the ice for Pirate's banana frappes. With their nights' growths of beard, matted hair, bloodshot eyes, miasmata of foul breath, DeCoverley and Joaquin are wasted gods urging on a tardy glacier. Elsewhere in the maisonette, other drinking companions disentangle from blankets (one spilling wind from his, dreaming of a parachute), piss into bathroom sinks, look at themselves with dismay in concave shaving mirrors, slab water with no clear plan in mind onto heads of thinning hair, struggle into Sam Brownes, dub shoes against rain later in the day with hand muscles already weary of it, sing snatches of popular songs whose tunes they don't always know, lie, believing themselves warmed, in what patches of the new sunlight come between the mullions, begin tentatively to talk shop as a way of easing into whatever it is they'll have to be doing in less than an hour, lather necks and faces, yawn, pick their noses, search cabinets or bookcases for the hair of the dog that not without provocation and much prior conditioning bit them last night. Now there grows among all the rooms, replacing the night's old smoke, alcohol and sweat, the fragile, musaceous odor of Breakfast:flowery, permeating, surprising, more than the color of winter sunlight, taking over not so much through any brute pungency or volume as by the high intricacy to the weaving of its molecules, sharing the conjuror's secret by which-- though it is not often Death is told so clearly to fuck off--- the genetic chains prove labyrinthine enough to preserve some human face down ten or twenty generations. . . so the same assertion-through-structure allows this war morning's banana fragrance to meander, repossess, prevail. Is there any reason not to open every window, and let the kind scent blanket all Chelsea? As a spell, against falling objects. . . .

I probably would have been a writer without Snoopy. I know without a doubt I would have loved dogs. What I don’t know is if my love of writing and my love of dogs would have been so intertwined. Snoopy wasn’t just my role model, he was my dream dog. Because he had an inner life, I ascribed an inner life to all the dogs I knew, and they proved me right. I have lived with many dogs I considered to be my equals, and a couple I knew to be my betters. The times I’ve lived without a dog, the world has not been right, as if the days were out of balance.

He had long since observed that Elizabeth had superfluous IQ for her line of work, and inside all that free space in her brain she was completing a philosophy of the world wove together out of all the smells she had ever smelled. Maybe her memory was not the longest. Every day she had to go over every line of it again from top to bottom, just like the day before. She was history-minded: she wanted a piece of ever dog who had come before her to every landmark, the whole roll call, every tuft of grass at the foot of the loading platform by the old natrium plant, every pile of boards or lost truck part in the fringe of weeds along the shore at the four-car ferry, every corner stump or clump of pee-bleached iris on the shaggy line where front yards ended in pavement. The one-time ice house. The Wheeling & Lake Erie water tower. Every boundary stone still standing, however crookedly, in front of the town cemetery. Where putting her own bit into this olfactory model of the world was concerned, Elizabeth was not demure but lifted her leg like any male dog, a little decrepitly now that she was old. Come outa there, Elizabeth. He didn’t want her pissing on the gravestones.

He was known by three names. The official records have the first one: Marcos Maria Ribeira. And his official data. Born 1929. Died 1970. Worked in the steel foundry. Perfect safety record. Never arrested. A wife, six children. A model citizen, because he never did anything bad enough to go on the public record. The second name he had was Marcao. Big Marcos. Because he was a giant of a man. Reached his adult size early in his life. How old was he when he reached two meters? Eleven? Definitely by the time he was twelve. His size and strength made him valuable in the foundry,where the lots of steel are so small that much of the work is controlled by hand and strength matters. People's lives depended on Marcao's strength. His third name was Cao. Dog. That was the name you used for him when you heard his wife, Novinha, had another black eye, walked with a limp, had stitches in her lip. He was an animal to do that to her. Not that any of you liked Novinha. Not that cold woman who never gave any of you good morning. But she was smaller than he was, and she was the mother of his children, and when he beat her, he deserved the name of Cao. Tell me, is this the man you knew? Spent more hours in the bars than anyone but never made any friends there, never the camaraderie of alcohol for him. You couldn't even tell how much he had been drinking. He was surly and short-tempered before he had a drink and he was surly and short-tempered right before he passed out-nobody could tell the difference. You never heard of him having a friend, and none of you was ever glad to see him come into a room. That's the man you knew, most of you. Cao. Hardly a man at all. A few men, the men from the foundry in Bairro das Fabricados, knew him as a strong arm as they could trust. They knew he never said he could do more than he could do and he always did what he said he would do. You could count on him. So, within the walls of the foundry, he had their respect. But when you walked out of the door, you treated him like everybody else-ignored him, thought little of him. Some of you also know something else that you never talk about much. You know you gave him the name Cao long before he earned it. You were ten, eleven, twelve years old. Little boys. He grew so tall. It made you ashamed to be near him. And afraid, because he made you feel helpless. So you handled him the way human beings always handle things that are bigger than they are. You banded together. Like hunters trying to bring down a mastodon. Like bullfighters trying to weaken a giant bull to prepare it for the kill. Pokes, taunts, teases. Keep him turning around. He can't guess where the next blow was coming from. Prick him with barbs that stay under his skin. Weaken him with pain. Madden him. Because big as he is, you can make him do things. You can make him yell. You can make him run. You can make him cry. See? He's weaker than you after all. There's no blame in this. You were children then, and children are cruel without knowing better. You wouldn't do that now. But now that I've reminded you, you can clearly see an answer. You called him a dog, so he became one. For the rest of his life, hurting helpless people. Beating his wife. Speaking so cruelly and abusively to his son, Miro, that it drove the boy out of his house. He was acting the way you treated him, becoming what you told him he was. But the easy answer isn't true. Your torments didn't make him violent - they made him sullen. And when you grew out of tormenting him, he grew out of hating you. He wasn't one to bear a grudge. His anger cooled and turned into suspicion. He knew you despised him; he learned to live without you. In peace. So how did he become the cruel man you knew him to be? Think a moment. Who was it that tasted his cruelty? His wife. His children. Some people beat their wife and children because they lust for power, but are too weak or stupid to win power in the world.

...Crocker, it's about property values." "It's about being in place. We -" gesturing around the Visitor's Bar and its withdrawal into seemingly unbounded shadow, "we're in place. We've been in place forever. Look around. Real estate, water rights, oil, cheap labor - all of that's ours. And you, at the end of the day, what are you? one more unit in this swarm of transients who come and go without pause here in the sunny Southland, eager to be bought off with a car of a certain make, model, and year, a blonde in a bikini, thirty seconds on some excuse for a wave - a chili dog, for Christ's sake." He shrugged. "We will never run out of you people. The supply is inexhaustible.

There were inquiries, Congressional hearings, books, exposés and documentaries. However, despite all this attention, it was still only a few short months before interest in these children dropped away. There were criminal trials, civil trials, lots of sound and fury. All of the systems—CPS, the FBI, the Rangers, our group in Houston—returned, in most ways, to our old models and our ways of doing things. But while little changed in our practice, a lot had changed in our thinking. We learned that some of the most therapeutic experiences do not take place in “therapy,” but in naturally occurring healthy relationships, whether between a professional like myself and a child, between an aunt and a scared little girl, or between a calm Texas Ranger and an excitable boy. The children who did best after the Davidian apocalypse were not those who experienced the least stress or those who participated most enthusiastically in talking with us at the cottage. They were the ones who were released afterwards into the healthiest and most loving worlds, whether it was with family who still believed in the Davidian ways or with loved ones who rejected Koresh entirely. In fact, the research on the most effective treatments to help child trauma victims might be accurately summed up this way: what works best is anything that increases the quality and number of relationships in the child’s life.

So what is this place?” asked Shadow, as they walked through the parking lot toward a low, unimpressive wooden building. “This is a roadside attraction,” said Wednesday. “One of the finest. Which means it is a place of power.” “Come again?” “It’s perfectly simple,” said Wednesday. “In other countries, over the years, people recognized the places of power. Sometimes it would be a natural formation, sometimes it would just be a place that was, somehow, special. They knew that something important was happening there, that there was some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent. And so they would build temples, or cathedrals, or erect stone circles, or…well, you get the idea.” “There are churches all across the States, though,” said Shadow. “In every town. Sometimes on every block. And about as significant, in this context, as dentists’ offices. No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they’ve never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat-house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that.

The crisis in mature masculinity is very much upon us. Lacking adequate models of mature men, and lacking the societal cohesion and institutional structures for actualizing ritual process, it’s “every man for himself.” And most of us fall by the wayside, with no idea what it was that was the goal of our gender-drive or what went wrong in our strivings. We just know we are anxious, on the verge of feeling impotent, helpless, frustrated, put down, unloved and unappreciated, often ashamed of being masculine. We just know that our creativity was attacked, that our initiative was met with hostility, that we were ignored, belittled, and left holding the empty bag of our lost self-esteem. We cave in to a dog-eat-dog world, trying to keep our work and our relationships afloat, losing energy, or missing the mark. Many of us seek the generative, affirming, and empowering father (though most of us don’t know it), the father who, for most of us, never existed in our actual lives and won’t appear, no matter how hard we try to make him appear.

If any of them give you trouble,” Ethan said to West as the three of them walked out to the front drive where the family carriage awaited, “use this.” He handed him the Bull Dog pocket revolver. “It’s a double-action model. You only need to cock the hammer once, and it will fire a round with every pull of the trigger.” West regarded the gun dubiously. “If any of those louts give me trouble, I have a shed full of farming implements to use on them. You’ll need this if you’re planning to confront Jenkyn.” “We’ll be armed with something far more powerful than bullets,” Garrett told him. West looked at Ethan with mock alarm. “You’re taking the spoon?” Reluctant amusement tugged at the corner of Ethan’s lips. “No. Dr. Gibson means we’ll be armed with words.” “Words,” West repeated doubtfully, pocketing the revolver. “I’ve always been skeptical when people say ‘The pen is mightier than the sword.’ It’s only true if the pen is glued to the handle of a German steel cutlass.” “The words will be printed in a newspaper,” Garrett said. “We’re going to the Times office.” “Oh. That’s fine, then. The Times is mightier than the pen, the sword, and Her Majesty’s entire Royal Army.

You just said that you decapitated the major cartels,” one of the senators says. “Exactly,” Keller says. “And what was the result? An increase in drug exports into the United States. In modeling the war against terrorists, we’ve been following the wrong model. Terrorists are reluctant to take over the top spots of their dead comrades—but the profits from drug trafficking are so great that there is always someone willing to step up. So all we’ve really done is to create job vacancies worth killing for.” The other major strategy of interdiction—the effort to prevent drugs from coming across the border—also hasn’t worked, he explains to them. The agency estimates that, at best, they seize about 15 percent of the illicit drugs coming across the border, even though, in their business plans, the cartels plan for a 30 percent loss. “Why can’t we do better than that?” a senator asks. “Because your predecessors passed NAFTA,” Keller says. “Three-quarters of the drugs come in on tractor-trailer trucks through legal crossings—San Diego, Laredo, El Paso—the busiest commercial crossings in the world. Thousands of trucks every day, and if we thoroughly searched every truck and car, we’d shut down commerce.

Louis de Broglie’s wave model of the electron provided the missing theoretical basis, but while particle-wave duality justifies the idea of allowed states, it requires us to discard the image of electrons orbiting the nucleus like planets orbiting the sun.

We love dogs, but what do they think of us? Even with just two dogs, a picture was beginning to emerge. The pattern of activations in the cortex suggested that they concocted mental models of our behavior, which might be due to mirror neuron activity. But regardless of the mechanism, the smell data showed that their mental models included the identity of important people in their lives that persists even when the people aren’t physically present

Stocks passed my e-mail along to Model Gut senior scientist Richard Faulks. Faulks was dismissive not only of extreme chewing, but also of the related fad for blenderizing to increase the accessibility of nutrients. It’s true saliva carries an enzyme that breaks down starch, but the pancreas makes this enzyme too. So any digestive slack caused by hasty chewing would be taken up in the small intestine. The human digestive tract has evolved to extract the maximum it can from the food ingested, Faulks said, and that is probably all it needs. “Nutritional science is dogged by the idea that if some is good, more is better,

conversation, as conversations between whores go, and Willow took his time with the last few sips of his Kennessy’s Light Lager, thinking about all those fictional private investigators, the rigidly uncompromising, death-before-dishonor guys out of New York and Los Angeles. Well, maybe they were that way in New York and Los Angeles, but this was Chicago, Illinois, and in Chicago, Illinois, there are times when a private investigator can be had for five hundred dollars and the promise of a roll in the hay with a washed-up fashion model who has quite literally gone to the dogs—Great Danes and Irish wolfhounds, to be specific.

Morgan and Simone are a younger couple. Morgan, an albino with long, silver hair, is from Belfast, Northern Ireland. He's always joking around, and is very dramatic. He has been an actor and an artist's model. His husband, Simone, is very quiet. He's from Mexico, and is very artistic. We've spent countless hours together drawing, painting, and working with clay...Daddy Matt joined us one time, and sculpted a gift for Father Timothy. Father took one look at it, turned scarlet with embarrassment, and promptly hid it in their nightstand. I felt rather sorry for Dad, because he had worked so hard on it, and Father didn't proudly display it in the front room as he did with my work... I don't know why. It looked like a perfectly good hot dog to me. I told Father so, and he promptly sent me to my room, which was completely unfair, as I was only asking a question.

neutral stability normally occurs only at transitions, at critical settings of a system’s parameters (the “knobs” that control its properties). But the Kuramoto model was breaking this rule. Its incoherent state was doggedly staying neutrally stable, even as we widened the bell curve to make the population more diverse. Turning that knob over a wide range of parameters made no difference.

Monkeys and pedestals is a mental model that helps you quit sooner. Pedestals are the part of the problem you know you can already solve, like designing the perfect business card or logo. The hardest thing is training the monkey. When faced with a complex, ambitious goal, (a) identify the hard thing first; (b) try to solve for that as quickly as possible; and (c) beware of false progress. Building pedestals creates the illusion that you are making progress toward your goal, but doing the easy stuff is a waste of time if the hard stuff is actually impossible. Tackling the monkey first gets you to no faster, limiting the time, effort, and money you sink into a project, making it easier to walk away. When we butt up against a hard problem we can’t solve, we have a tendency to turn to pedestal-building rather than choosing to quit. Advance planning and precommitment contracts increase the chances you will quit sooner. When you enter into a course of action, create a set of kill criteria. This is a list of signals you might see in the future that would tell you it’s time to quit. Kill criteria will help inoculate you against bad decision-making when you’re “in it” by limiting the number of decisions you’ll have to make once you’re already in the gains or in the losses. In organizations, kill criteria allow people a different way to get rewarded beyond dogged and blind pursuit of a project until the bitter end. A common, simple way to develop kill criteria is with “states and dates:” “If by (date), I have/haven’t (reached a particular state), I’ll quit.

How do companies, producing little more than bits of code displayed on a screen, seemingly control users’ minds?” Nir Eyal, a prominent Valley product consultant, asked in his 2014 book, Hooked: How to Build Habit-Forming Products. “Our actions have been engineered,” he explained. Services like Twitter and YouTube “habitually alter our everyday behavior, just as their designers intended.” One of Eyal’s favorite models is the slot machine. It is designed to answer your every action with visual, auditory, and tactile feedback. A ping when you insert a coin. A ka-chunk when you pull the lever. A flash of colored light when you release it. This is known as Pavlovian conditioning, named after the Russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov, who rang a bell each time he fed his dog, until, eventually, the bell alone sent his dog’s stomach churning and saliva glands pulsing, as if it could no longer differentiate the chiming of a bell from the physical sensation of eating. Slot machines work the same way, training your mind to conflate the thrill of winning with its mechanical clangs and buzzes. The act of pulling the lever, once meaningless, becomes pleasurable in itself. The reason is a neurological chemical called dopamine, the same one Parker had referenced at the media conference. Your brain releases small amounts of it when you fulfill some basic need, whether biological (hunger, sex) or social (affection, validation). Dopamine creates a positive association with whatever behaviors prompted its release, training you to repeat them. But when that dopamine reward system gets hijacked, it can compel you to repeat self-destructive behaviors. To place one more bet, binge on alcohol—or spend hours on apps even when they make you unhappy. Dopamine is social media’s accomplice inside your brain. It’s why your smartphone looks and feels like a slot machine, pulsing with colorful notification badges, whoosh sounds, and gentle vibrations. Those stimuli are neurologically meaningless on their own. But your phone pairs them with activities, like texting a friend or looking at photos, that are naturally rewarding. Social apps hijack a compulsion—a need to connect—that can be even more powerful than hunger or greed. Eyal describes a hypothetical woman, Barbra, who logs on to Facebook to see a photo uploaded by a family member. As she clicks through more photos or comments in response, her brain conflates feeling connected to people she loves with the bleeps and flashes of Facebook’s interface. “Over time,” Eyal writes, “Barbra begins to associate Facebook with her need for social connection.” She learns to serve that need with a behavior—using Facebook—that in fact will rarely fulfill it.

She twisted her lips to one side. “No. Not good enough. If I’m right, you pose in some website pictures with my dog satchels. I need a male model.

The social intuitionist model offers an explanation of why moral and political arguments are so frustrating: because moral reasons are the tail wagged by the intuitive dog.

Still there is a larger point to all of this. Mental illness, a state in which the mind is unable to get a solid handle on what the rest of us generally agree is “real,” could not exist until nature first created a brain that could model the thing we call reality in the first place. That means it takes a human mind to suffer mentally. Cats, dogs, and other primates may endure depression or grow sad, they may develop lifelong fears and strong addictions, but they don’t hear voices, imagine alternate realities, or suffer from an inability to speak or empathize. And they don’t because they never enjoyed those capabilities in the first place and never will.

Short-term thinking – Focusing on what matters at the moment, rather than on potential consequences over the long term. Socialization – An element of a monologue that is designed to encourage a person to share truthful information by suggesting that the activity under investigation is one that is regularly engaged in by others. Stimulus – The question that prompts a behavioral response. Throat-clearing/swallowing – A nonverbal deceptive behavior in which a person clears his throat or performs a significant swallow prior to answering the question. Timing – The guideline in our deception detection model dictating that the initial deceptive behavior must begin within the first five seconds after the stimulus. Transition statement – Statement made by the questioner to allow for a transparent transition from an interview to an interrogation. It is the first sentence or two of the monologue, and takes the form of a direct observation of concern (DOC) or a direct observation of guilt (DOG). Unintended message – A truthful statement made by a deceptive person that, when the literal meaning of the statement is analyzed, conveys information that the person does not realize he’s conveying. We also refer to this as “truth in the lie.” Vague question – A question to be avoided because it allows for excessive latitude in

closed her eyes a moment…and allowed the poise and grace of Mistress Jamieson to settle round her shoulders like a robe before she turned.” Is there anyone you use as a role model in this way? Why do you think it’s helpful? 5. Why does Mistress Jamieson teach Mary the cipher? 6. Susanna Kearsley has said, “Never underestimate the power of an animal to reveal character within the story.” How does the dog Frisque further the plot? What does Frisque tell us about Mary? About Hugh? In the present, how does the cat Diablo serve these purposes? 7. I fear the man across the street… What did you think of MacPherson when he is first introduced? Did you have him pegged as a hero? If not, when did you begin to change your mind? When did Mary stop fearing Hugh? When did you? Can you identify what makes you feel safe or not safe around someone? 8. Hugh was a man of his time. If he lived in the present, what sort of job would he have? What role in society would he fill? 9. Compare the meeting of Mary and Hugh with the meeting of Sara and Luc.

Carl discreetly turned his head to the left and then the right to make sure Mom wasn’t within hearing range. “I tried to stick it in er ass once and she didn’t speak to me for a week,” he nearly whispered before belting out a slur of loose chuckles. “And gettin’ ‘er to do ya on top? Forget about it!” In ways, I morphed into Carl’s description of the ideal woman. Like Mom, physical beauty was my ultimate priority. I spent hours on end stripped naked, posing in front of my full length bedroom mirror at every angle so that each wrinkle, roll, and pinch of fat could receive sharp scrutiny before I strived for complete self annihilation. I made it a habit of studying every Teen magazine model and the skinniest cheerleaders in my middle school yearbook. I observed their arms, legs, and hips. I held their images against mine with a goal for my bones to protrude further and calves spread further apart when standing straight. However, I saw the way Carl bent his head down and lowered his voice when he spoke about Mom, as if it was our job to keep a feisty, barking puppy believing that it was our guard dog. “Ure mom can’t help she got half ure I-Q,” Carl would chuckle.

As highly social animals, these mental models are likely to be weighted heavily toward social relationships. Not just dominance and subordination, but more fluid models of how they should behave with members of their household, either dog or human, and how these interactions will affect their current state of well-being. It

me. “Well, I know one thing about my twins. They’re not going to be models. I already tried them out for catalogue work. Within the first ten minutes, Orianthe informed me that she doesn’t like to do boring things and that modelling’s boring. And she’s not going to let her brother do boring things either.” I laughed. The cries of the twins pealed down the hallway as they bounded inside and called Jessie’s name. They must have discovered she was home. “Hey, where’s the pup?” I asked Pria. “Can I see him? Jessie said he’s growing big.” Immediately, Pria rolled her eyes and made a low disparaging sound. “I sent Buster out with the dog walker as soon as I knew Kate was coming over with the kids. He’d knock them flying. Wish I’d never bought him, to tell you the truth. After the break-in, I wanted a watchdog, but I should have paid more attention to the breed. He’s damned strong—even though he’s only nine months old. And he snaps. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit scared of the mutt. I’m having a dog trainer try to rein him in, but if that doesn’t work, he’s gone.” “What a shame,” I said. “Jess told me she’d like to walk the dog sometimes, but that’s not sounding good.” “Nope. The only thing I got right about him is his name. Because Buster has busted everything from doors to shoes.” She shook her head, a sorry smile on her face. The sound of the three children playing became too much. Tommy had once run through this house, too. I stayed for a while longer then made an excuse to leave.     29.                 PHOEBE   Tuesday night   STORM CLOUDS PUSHED INTO THE SKY, making the day darken a good hour before the incoming night. The heavy atmosphere pressed down on me. I opened the window of my bedroom upstairs at Nan’s house, letting the chill air stream in. I could only just catch a glimpse of the water from here. An enormous cruise liner dominated the harbour, staining the water red and blue with its lights. Maybe my small step in seeing Pria and Kate earlier had helped my frame of mind, but I didn’t feel it yet. I was back at square one. I began pacing the room, feeling unhinged. Things were all so in between. Dr Moran hadn’t succeeded in jogging my memory about the letters. She’d said she didn’t think it was possible to do all that I’d done in sleepwalking sessions and so the memory should still be in my mind somewhere. True sleepwalkers rarely remembered their dreams. Not remembering any of it was the most disturbing thing of all. It wasn’t the first time I’d forgotten things. With the binge drinking and the trauma of losing Tommy, there were gaps in my memory. But not a fucking chasm. And forgetting the writing of three notes and delivering them was a fucking chasm. Nan called me for dinner, and we ate the pumpkin soup together. I’d tried watching one of her sitcoms with her after that, but I gave up halfway through. I headed back upstairs. Surprisingly, I was tired enough to sleep. I crawled into bed and let myself drift off. I woke just before four thirty in the morning. The temperature had plummeted—I guessed it was below ten degrees. I’d been dreaming. The dream had been of the last day that Sass, Luke, Pria, Kate,

Unsure about it, she allowed it to guide her down the stairs and back to the street, through the filthy town where she saw nothing redeeming about the place. Only absolute misery lived here. Along with the pox, neglected children, women in need of stern morals, men in need of lectures and decent role models, and poultry possessing some kind of feather-molting plague that ailed them. Even the cats and dogs seemed to have questionable virtues.

In the world of premium, flame broils there are basically two roads that the makers appear to seek after. We have the do everything models and the particular objective models. Do everything flame broils concentrate on presenting to you a wide range of highlights for a better than average taste of close everything a barbecue can do while alternate concentrate on things like infrared barbecuing, warm maintenance or self-cleaning. This Weber Summit show is a do everything flame broil that matches premium stainless steel with different cooking alternatives, great power, and a cost around $1899 on the lower end for premium barbecues. Weber Summit 7170001 S-470 Stainless-Steel 580-Square-Inch 48,800-BTU Liquid-Propane Gas Grill With a ton of experience in grill design Weber brings to market this heavy duty premium grill. Here we have four main burners pumping 48,800 BTU’s of cooking power over propane gas. It doesn’t stop there though the highlight of this model is all of its grilling utility. Features 580-square-inch 48,800-BTU gas grill with stainless-steel cooking grates and Flavorizer bars Front-mounted controls; 4 stainless-steel burners; Snap-Jet individual burner ignition system Side burner, Sear Station burner, smoker burner, and rear-mounted infrared rotisserie burner Enclosed cart; built-in thermometer; requires a 20-pound LP tank (sold separately); LED fuel gauge - LP models only Measures 30 inches long by 66 inches wide by 57 inches high; 5-year limited warranty SABER SS 500 Premium Stainless Steel 3 Burner Gas Grill Silver is a valuable mineral and also an extravagant color as the natural color of stainless steel why would you not want to go all out. With that in mind, we have this Saber SS 500 premium gas grill. This grill features a completely stainless steel build housing three infrared burners for precise temperature contro Features Constructed with commercial grade 304 stainless steel for lasting durability Uses a patented infrared cooking system for even temperature, no flare-ups and 30% less propane consumption Dual tube side burner is ideal for greater versatility of using woks, skillets and pots, as well as boiling and frying side dishes and sauces 2 internal halogen lights so you can grill at any time of day Napoleon Grills PRO500RSIBPSS-2 Prestige Pro Series Gas Grills Propane The grilling extends beyond your basic setup with a heavy duty rear infrared rotisserie burner and a side infrared burner for searing purposes so whether you want a succulent roast of a hibachi style feast, burgers and hot dogs are just the beginning. Features 80, 000 BTU's Six burners 900 in total cooking area Premium stainless Steel construction

The social intuitionist model offers an explanation of why moral and political arguments are so frustrating: because moral reasons are the tail wagged by the intuitive dog. A dog’s tail wags to communicate. You can’t make a dog happy by forcibly wagging its tail. And you can’t change people’s minds by utterly refuting their arguments. Hume diagnosed the problem long ago: And as reasoning is not the source, whence either disputant derives his tenets; it is in vain to expect, that any logic, which speaks not to the affections, will ever engage him to embrace sounder principles.49

Interpreting dog behavior through the lens of wolf behavior is even worse than anthropomorphizing: it’s a human anthropomorphizing wolf behavior and using that flawed impression as an analogy for dog behavior. Wolf analogies have led to many flawed training strategies based on the idea that the human must be the “pack leader,” an approach most commonly associated with Cesar Millan. Unfortunately, there is no scientific basis for using the wolf’s social structure as a model for the dog-human relationship.

It’s possible to run any AI algorithm on a general-purpose CPU, but the scale of computation required for AI makes using CPUs prohibitively expensive. The cost of training a single AI model—the chips it uses and the electricity they consume—can stretch into the millions of dollars. (To train a computer to recognize a cat, you have to show it a lot of cats and dogs so it learns to distinguish between the two. The more animals your algorithm requires, the more transistors you need.)

I love dogs. I don't have one now, but I want a house in the country someday and, like, five dogs. Big ones." "That's a lot." "It's exactly the right amount of dogs.

Never before, in all the Westminster Club’s forty-odd shows, had such a collie been led into the ring. Eugenie breeding, wise rationing and tireless human care had gone to the perfecting of other dogs. But Mother Nature herself made Lochinvar Bobby what he was. She had fed him bountifully upon the all-strengthening ration of the primal beast; and she had given him the exercise-born appetite to eat and profit by it. Her pitiless winter winds had combed and winnowed his coat as could no mortal hand, giving it thickness and length and richness beyond belief. And she had molded his growing young body into the peerless model of the Wild. Then, because he had the loyal heart of a collie and not the incurable savagery of the wolf, she had awakened his soul and made him bask rapturously in the friendship of a true dog-man. The combination was unmatchable.

With the advent of the 1960s, things changed. “Kids were getting busted on all sides of us,” George says. “The cops even bought a pot-sniffing dog. They’d walk around the streets at night, and he’d bark when he smelled the fumes. Then they’d crash in. It was unconstitutional, of course, but up here anybody who mentions the Constitution is regarded as a Communist.* We kept our mouths shut, and I bought all sorts of tricky locks and designed some cute gimmicks of my own.” George may be, for all I know, the inventor of the self-destruct stash box; at least he designed one model. Nobody who breaks down their doors – knock or “no-knock” – will ever find tangible evidence. ~•~

Regeneration: What’s better than having cells act younger? Having them actually be younger. This is what we mean by cellular regeneration. What if scientists could actually change cells, change mitochondria, and change the switches that control your DNA so that you have your original factory settings back again—and they are set to “younger”? That’s what’s happening right now in mice and dog models, where a manipulation can change aging cells to youthful ones.

THERE ARE MANY stories about Diogenes that may be apocryphal. As Luis E. Navia writes in Diogenes of Sinope: The Man in the Tub, his status as an uncompromising “dog” who “stood proudly as the living refutation of his world” must have inspired a huge number of stories with varying degrees of embellishment. To this day, although he has his critics, Diogenes is often hailed as a hero. For Foucault, he was the model of the philosopher who tells it like it is;13 for Nietzsche, he was the originator of the Cynic approach behind any genuine philosophy.

Because dogs are awesome, Jonas. If the world had dogs running it, there wouldn’t be war, and everyone would be kind to each other.

Iadmire dogs because they have life figured out. They are here to love and be loved, and that’s pretty much it. There are side jobs they attend to with gusto—eating, napping, barking at squirrels, maybe digging some holes in the yard—but loving others and being loved in return is the main gig, and they know it. They ignore most everything that gets us upset and remain laser-focused on why we’re all here. They’re role models, honestly, and they remind me of what’s important.

So, if you are in a country whose traditional training methods involve training like this, you will need to question and think carefully about the methods you may encounter at your local training organisations or chapters — or sessions with 'pros'. You may already have decided not to go along with the punitive methods which occur when the dog is force-fetched or broke, maybe leaving the classes at that point. But you might not have realised that you also need question the approach which precedes this — allowing the young dog to chase game, to run far and wide and-out of contact with you, to become ever more independent. Keep in mind that all those other dogs you see around you at training seminars, will be broke at some point and forced to comply with their handlers. Yours will not be. Your ability to retain control over your dog will rely on natural biddability; desire to please, engagement, gradually increased distractions', successful prevention, the strength of your relationship, and a history of positive reinforcement. Make your training choices with this awareness in mind. Because you may need to make very different choices to a traditional handler from the start — even before the use of aversives has entered the picture — and perhaps to model your training more on the approach which is taken in countries where e-collars are not routinely used.

One is a black oversized hoodie with a purple dog on it. One sleeve is lined with lilac hearts, and the model it’s shown on wears the hoodie like a dress. It’s definitely something I’d wear.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Provide a long pause. When you see your dog noticing your modeling or noticing the buttons, turn your routine interactions into language-facilitating opportunities. The greatest cue we can provide is a long, silent pause to give the AAC user a chance to process what is happening and try exploring her words. When you see your dog communicate through a gesture or vocalization, stay quiet for at least ten to fifteen seconds. At the end of fifteen seconds, if your dog looks like she might be walking toward her buttons or is looking at them, continue staying quiet. If you have not seen an indication that she might try saying a word, add a naturalistic cue. Your dog may need cues for a little while before using words independently. Keep providing a long pause, pointing at the button, asking a general question such as “What do you want?” or standing near the button to support your dog’s emerging vocabulary. Even after you’ve heard your dog’s first words, your dog will likely need support before using words independently and regularly. Model words in different contexts to support generalization. Your dog will learn to use words in different ways if she sees and hears you using words in multiple ways. Remember that your dog is intrinsically motivated to communicate. Resist the desire to offer a treat for saying a word (unless the word is treat). This will keep your dog from learning the actual meaning of the word. Stick to providing the appropriate response to your dog’s word. Think about other communication functions besides requesting. Your dog might be trying to label an object or activity in her environment or talk about what is happening.

Stella used her words more now that I modeled them whenever I could. This progress aligns with what I teach, and what the research shows. The more often speech therapists, parents, teachers, siblings, and peers use a child’s communication device, the more the child will use it.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Model two-word phrases. Help your dog learn to combine words by talking in short phrases, and using your dog’s buttons as you talk. When your dog starts using single words frequently, be on the lookout for word combinations. Program words that your dog reacts strongly to. Are there any words that your dog waits around for you to say, or that you have to spell out so your dog doesn’t overhear your plans? If your dog understands a word, give her a chance to be able to say it too! Keep all words available for your dog to say. If you can’t say yes to what your dog is asking for, or if your dog is asking for the same thing over and over again, respond with “no,” “all done,” or “later” instead of taking your dog’s buttons away. Give your dog a chance to learn boundaries, and how frequently to ask for something. It takes time to learn the social rules of language.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Be prepared to support your dog if/when you need to change her device setup. Even if your dog has been independently using words for a while, she will need help from you to reach that stage again with words in new locations. Model words like crazy! Model words as often as you did in the beginning, when you were introducing each one. The more your dog sees each word in use, the better chance she’ll have to learn its new placement. Make communication as easy as possible. If you choose to keep all buttons on a single board, allow room for your dog to reach each word, walk around the board, or walk in between the rows. Give your dog a chance to learn. It can be tempting to revert to an old setup or to give up if you haven’t seen progress within a couple of days. Adjusting and relearning can take time. Give it at least a week or two before reassessing. Pay attention to your dog’s communication patterns. When your dog starts using words in similar ways to how she did before changing her setup, you’ll know she has reached the same level and is ready to progress even further.

When your dog is becoming more aware of your modeling, create communication opportunities within your routines When you see your dog noticing your modeling or noticing the buttons, turn your routine interactions into language-facilitating opportunities. The greatest cue we can provide is a long, silent pause to give the AAC user a chance to process what is happening and try exploring her words. When you see your dog communicate through a gesture or vocalization, stay quiet for at least ten to fifteen seconds. At the end of fifteen seconds, if your dog looks like she might be walking toward her buttons or is looking at them, continue staying quiet. If you have not seen an indication that she might try saying a word, add the next level of naturalistic cueing. Add naturalistic cues if necessary After you have already tried staying silent, you can try standing next to your dog’s buttons or pointing at them. Dogs respond to human gestural social cues as early as six weeks old! If pointing or standing near the buttons does not work, you can try tapping it with your finger or foot, not pushing it to activate it. You can also try adding an open-ended verbal prompt such as, “What do you want?” Avoid telling your dog exactly what to say or forcing your dog to push a button with their paw. This can cause prompt dependency and keep your dog from learning how to use words independently. If none of these prompts encourage your dog to try saying a word, simply model it again verbally and with the button, and carry on with the appropriate action.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Expect a language input phase. Your dog will need to hear words to learn words and will need to see her AAC in use to learn how to use it. Expect that this will take time. Model words when your dog communicates. When you see your dog gesturing, whining, or barking, model the word for what you think she is trying to communicate. Pairing a word to her communication is powerful. Use naturalistic cues to draw attention to buttons. If a long pause doesn’t work, you can stand by the button, point at it, or tap it. Pause again after giving a cue. If your dog still doesn’t explore the buttons, go ahead and model the word and carry on with your activity. Model during natural contexts. Model words when they are relevant to what is naturally happening. Respond to communication. If your dog says a word, respond appropriately! In the beginning, try to honor your dog’s communication as much as you can. If your dog is not using words, continue responding to all her other forms of communication. Do not withhold food, water, playtime, trips outside, or anything from your dog. Just create a minute or two of opportunity for your dog to try using a word.

Aided language input means using the learner’s AAC system to talk naturally while saying the same words verbally at the same time. Using both spoken language and the device simultaneously is shown to increase the learner’s receptive and expressive language skills.12 This simple strategy improves language outcomes for a couple of big reasons. First, the speaker tends to slow down their rate of speech as they go back and forth between saying a word verbally and with the device. A slower rate of speech gives the learner more time to process the words. Second, aided language input serves as a model for the user. The learner hears a word verbally, hears and sees another way to say that same word, and observes the word being used in appropriate contexts.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Introduce time concepts to help your dog differentiate between something that already happened, is happening now, or will occur later. Model “now” in combination with what you are currently doing and “later” if you plan on doing a specific activity later in the day. If your dog says “now,” try as best you can to react quickly! Give your dog a way to say “all done.” Having words like “finished” or “stop” or a phrase such as “all done” gives your dog the power to say when she wants something to be done. Model “all done” at the conclusion of your dog’s activities to help her learn its meaning. Talk to your dog about what’s happening. I learned with Stella that if I told her what we were doing beforehand, she was less startled, and reacted more calmly to changes in her routine, or an activity that was different from what she requested. We are all more understanding when we know what’s going on.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG When deciding which words to teach, ask yourself these questions. What does my dog communicate with her gestures and vocalizations? Which words do I say to her frequently during routine activities? Which words would allow her to communicate for functions other than requesting? Which words could be used across multiple contexts? Establish a vocabulary with more core words than fringe words. For the most communication potential, and more complex use later on, teach high-frequency words. Keep your dog’s buttons in the same spot. We all learn how to talk through the principles of motor learning. Verbal speech users learn the motor plan to say each sound and word, sign language users develop a motor plan for each hand movement, and AAC users for each word location. Continuously moving words around will be confusing for your dog. After you find a spot that works well, stick with it. Spend time modeling new vocabulary. Whenever you add more words, make sure to model them in their appropriate contexts. Respond to accidental hits, mis-hits, and your dog exploring the buttons. Even if you think you are absolutely positive that your dog pushed a button accidentally or meant to push a different one, respond to the word she said. These are valuable teaching moments. Plus, your dog might surprise you with what she says and when. To help your dog become a deliberate communicator, always respond as though the message was intentional. Give your dog more words than you think she knows. This allows for language growth and exploration.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Add a word to your dog’s gestures. Model the next level of communication by saying the word that corresponds to your dog’s gesturing. Your dog is learning another way she can communicate that concept. Look for patterns in your dog’s vocabulary use. Learn more about your dog by paying attention to the words she uses most frequently and the specific situations in which she most often uses words. Just like people, every dog is different and will have different communication trends.

Since help is a versatile core word, I modeled it throughout several different contexts—pulling the blinds up, finding a toy for Stella, putting her harness on, moving her dishes to find the one morsel of food that fell behind her bowl. Modeling words in varying ways helps the learner understand that each word can be used to talk about more than one or two different situations.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Add names and other nouns. This can help your dog communicate more specific messages. Test out your dog’s vocabulary. Spend time using your dog’s buttons to try saying the common words and phrases you use. If you’re able to use her buttons to say a variety of common phrases, that indicates a solid vocabulary selection. Model three-and four-word phrases. When your dog starts combining words, keep modeling the next level up. A good rule of thumb is to add one word to whatever your dog said. This helps expand length of utterance. Use the stages of motor learning to help you. Know that it’s possible for your dog to be in the beginning stages of motor learning with some words, and automatic with others. Keep modeling and providing cues for the words that your dog is still learning how to say independently and automatically. Give wait time. When your dog has shown that she is capable of combining words, give her time to do so. Instead of reacting right away to a single word, wait five to ten seconds to see if she will add to her message. Communicating with AAC takes time. Give your dog a chance to finish her whole thought.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Give your dog transition time to adjust to a new board. Even if the words are all staying in the same relative locations, your dog may need time to adjust to a new board. You can make it easier on her by keeping her old board nearby for a little while until your dog claims the new one. Model emotion words when you see your dog exhibiting the emotion. When your dog is smiling, wagging her tail, jumping in circles, or playing at her favorite place, use these opportunities to model the word happy. When you can tell your dog is frustrated or upset, use these times to model the word mad. Avoid telling your dog when to say certain words. Constantly telling your dog “say outside” or “say good” will teach your dog to say what you tell them to say, not to use the buttons for what they are thinking. We are teaching our dogs how to use words, not training them to talk on command. Modeling and naturalistic cues are most effective.

Like most companies, we had role models.