Dogs in general, one specific Dog, and some of her anecdotes

There are many Dog fans out there, though it’s safe to say my brother and I are number two and one respectively (they’re actually official rankings). Back in the days before I so selfishly abandoned my family to see the world, James and I would be walking along, one of us would spot a dog, and be like… “Dog”. The other would say ‘What, where?… Oh yeah, cool’. Then we’d stop and observe the Dog until it left the area, and analyse and discuss it afterwards. ‘That was a good Dog’. ‘Yeah, classic Dog’. Some Dogs were proud dogs, not with the aloof superiority of a cat, but dogs that weren’t up for just chatting to anyone, you needed to know them first. Other dogs were over excitable dogs, who, in the company of a group of new people, would lose their heads and try to sniff and be patted by absolutely everyone, all at the same time. Then get so overwhelmed they’d break into a chase your-tail-routine before collapsing to the floor. Other dogs were take-it-easy dogs… a hot day, sitting on the pavement waiting for their owner… soft constant breaths, massive smile, tongue out, surveying the landscape. ‘Yeah, it’s a hot day, I’m a dog, just chilling, how’s things?’

Our now deceased family dog, Sam, had it all… looks, brains and the ability to make people laugh. Sadly, Sam’s life ended in tragic circumstances. It was one of those ridiculous 35 degree summer night’s, we were all down at the beach. Sam, feeling as though she was missing out, decided she’d come down too, taking advantage of the door being left slightly ajar (curse the person who did that, curse you!). Though, being a typical Guerin (blind and no sense of direction), she turned right instead of left, straight towards the highway. If you have tears, prepare to shed them, for you know what happened next. We returned from the beach to notice her missing, and soon after, found her lying on the highway surrounded by 3 car loads of people who had stopped to keep her company. She heard my Mums voice, tried to rise to her feet, but couldn’t, and fell back down. While her eyes could no longer see, they could surely speak, and at that moment they said ‘Don’t leave the milk bowl out for me tomorrow morning Mum, for I’m not going to make it’. In another act of kindness, one of the cars went out of their way to lead us to the nearest vet, as we didn’t know how to get there (again, no sense of direction). Later that night she was put to rest.

On that note I think we should bow our heads in a minutes silence for Sam, one of the ‘classic’ Dogs.

Ok heads back up, eyes up. So, dogs are good… forever loyal, trustworthy and loads of personality. I want my future wife to be like a dog. No wait, that sounds weird. I want her to have the attributes of a dog. Shit, still weird. Ok, I want us to have a dog together. Not like… create one, instead of a kid…. Oh fuck it, I’ll just stay single and buy one.

One final Sam anecdote

Sam was a bit of an adventure dog, it’s in a Blue Heelers nature. She was once bitten by a snake. Another time she left home to fight a German Shepherd, returning with a massive chunk missing from her back. At first, upon seeing our gasps of horror, she was all like… ‘What, what? Oh this? That’s nothing, I can’t even feel it, you should see the other dog.’ Then it was a case of ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, it really fucking hurts. Take me to a vet now, I’m ganna fucking die!’ She ended up having something like 100 stitches. Afterwards, Mum gave her a bit of a dog lecture.. ‘See Sam, let this be a lesson. You can’t just sneak out of home to fight German Shepherds, for they rule this neighbourhood, not you!’ Sam then gave a disgruntled puppy huff, and hobbled away.

Later that night I went and sat next to Sam in the darkness within which she sulked. I said, ‘Don’t listen to that, fuck that. Sure you have been defeated, but you are far from lost. Learn from this defeat, but don’t dwell on it. Be gracious in it. Respect the German Shepherds, but don’t fear them. For if you really want it, one day it will be you who rules this neighbourhood, not them. It just takes time. Yesterday you were too scared to look at the German Shepherds. Today you had the audacity to confront them. Tomorrow you will have the wisdom to overcome them. Every dog has his day, and yours is coming. Wink’. With that, Sam winked back, rose, and hobbled to her milk bowl for a quick sip, then settled into her favourite patch of grass, and mused into the light of the stars above. Fade into stars aaaaand CUT!

All of that was true, except the part where I had a deep and meaningful conversation with a dog. I have done that before, when I was 21, but that was because the devils candy I’d taken was laced with LSD.

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My first Yoga class

Must say I was a little on-edge during this. I looked about the room and saw around 30 woman and thought… shit, surely there is at least one other guy here. Nope, shit. Do guys even do yoga? It isn’t a female only activity like menstruation or lesbianism?! I really should read up more on these types of things before embarking on them. Then I thought maybe guy’s do do it, but this is a female only class, in which case I should just quietly leave with my tail between my leg’s. But it’s about to start, crap. Then I went on to thinking the girls might suspect me as being some random sex-pest who’s in it to perv on woman. I’m not, seriously I’m not. I’ve heard great things about yoga and just want to learn. Eventually I made it through the class and thought, fuck that, never again. But I decided to give it another go, and then another, and now I’m ok with it all (and so are the girls).

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Tales From Turkey

I don’t speak Turkish, but I think what this lovely couple muttered was along the lines of ‘who is this random egghead, and why is he taking pictures of us’. Thankyou, carry on.

Time out from cruising the islands… they fed us, then they let us out for a swim. 10 people drowned due to cramping, was all good though as the boat was too crowded anyway.

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Why is it so? And surely he couldn’t be?

When my sister was in town, she was asked why on earth her brother didn’t have a girlfriend. I get a bit pissed when people ask this question in a gasping, ‘why on earth?!’ manner, like, ‘What’s wrong with you, how could this be, you must be doing something wrong’. Like it’s some sort of failure or character flaw to be single. I think it’s much more of a failure to remain in a failed relationship, or to just shamelessly hop from one relationship to the next because you can’t stand your own company. So I say to them ‘I have had girlfriends before, and I’d like to think I haven’t closed the account altogether, it’ll happen again… back the fuck off!’ Then apologise for getting angry and swearing at them.

Once while discussing how my younger brother was now the father of two kids, and my sister was all hooked up, it was put to me ‘Are your parents worried about you being gay?’ No Paul Hicks, they’re not. You’re thinking of your parents, and they were right. It’s perfectly possible for a guy to be clean, single and straight. That said, I recently embarked on yoga classes, you know, to assimilate the mind and body. Whenever I tell one of my straight male friends of this initiative, they usually ask ‘Yoga? Shit, what sort of guy are you anyway?’ To which I usually respond with ‘Well, I don’t really know. On one hand I like football, woman and beer, which makes me a legitimate bloke. On the other hand, I like to dablle in spiritual, gay stuff like introspection, yoga and meditation. Shit, I’m confused’.

I do often ponder what it means when I embark on such antics, look around, and see 30 woman in the room and no men. Then reflect on how I have twice as many girl friends as guy friends. And then, somehow, I have ended up prancing around in the theatre industry. Shit. Shit. Shit.

So I think we should put it to a vote.

What sort of guy am I anyway?
a) Gay.
b) A guy scraping at the barrel of new ways to meet woman.
c) Your average straight guy, who just happens to be a designer. Working in theatre. Who does yoga. And cleans a lot.
d) A wanker.

You’ll probably say a or b. I think it’s more d.

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A party with poofs, designers, footballers… and me.

If I were to throw a party, the messy mix of friends I have mean it would go something like this:

The footballers would be looking at the designers thinking… what a bunch of stuck up poofs. The designers would be looking at the footballers thinking… what a bunch of common halfwits. The footballers would be looking at the actual poofs thinking… what a bunch of poofs. The poofs would be looking at the footballers thinking… oh, don’t hate us coz we’re poofs, be nice! The footballers would then beat the poofs up, after beating the poofs up, they would then proceed to get blind drunk, see how many times they could cheat on their girlfriends/wives, before participating in a gang rape (and laugh about it the next day at training). The designers/art history students would be standing back observing it all, so they could do an ironic, postmodern take on it while sipping a latte over brunch the next day. And I’d be standing there thinking… see, this is why I never throw parties.

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