[pyrnet] You know your owned by pet's when........

["Sariena" <s.foley@sympatico.ca>]

YOU KNOW YOU ARE OWNED BY PETS WHEN...
                 ~
                 You have a mental list of people you'd like to spay or 
                 neuter.

                 You stopped at a house
                 with a "Free Puppies" sign in the yard to have an
                 Educational "Chat,"
                 and your kids had to post your bail.

                 Running out of paper towels is a household crisis.

                 You not only know all the characteristics of a good 
                 "stool,"
                 you discuss them at dinner.

                 Your checks have messages on them like
                 "Subtract Two Testicles For Every Four Feet."

                 You consider "The Culture Clash" your bible and believe 
                 the chairman of
                 Disney Corp. is the antichrist.

                 You have a bumper sticker that reads
                 "My Basset Hound Is Smarter Than Your Graduate Student."

                 You can compare and contrast the finer elements of 
                 different kitty
                 litter brands the way some people talk about wine.

                 You secretly wonder about such things as how animals can 
                 manage without
                 wiping.

                 You pray they will someday manufacture Teflon furniture.

                 You have phone calls forwarded to PetsMart.

                 When your animal projectile vomits, you compare the 
                 speed and trajectory
                 with previous incidents, and if the statistics fall 
                 short, you worry if
                 the animal is okay.

                 You absentmindedly pat people on the head or scratch 
                 them behind their
                 ears.

                 Given the choice of having your teeth cleaned or their 
                 teeth cleaned,
                 they get their teeth cleaned.

                 You not only allow pets on the couch, guests have to sit 
                 on the floor
                 because the dog has "territorial issues." Your spouse 
                 missed the final
                 game of the World Series because the cat wanted to watch 
                 his favorite
                 video, "Birds of North America."

                 Anytime the animal appears lethargic, you go on-line and 
                 investigate
                 vetmed websites, pose questions to your address book and 
                 on e-lists, and

                 by the time you digest all the information and field the 
                 correspondence,
                 the animal has torn out the windowscreens, masticated a 
                 couch cushion
                 and left something disgusting in your favorite pair of 
                 shoes.

                 You have a special uniform you wear for "flame wars" on 
                 e-lists and know
                 that being told to "get a life" means you have pushed 
                 all the right
                 buttons.

                 Your chatroom handle is "Queen of Spayeds."

                 You and your vet are on a first name basis and he 
                 genuflects when you
                 enter the waiting room.

                 His daughter at Harvard refers to you as
                 "Auntie."

                 You needed a prescription to recover from "Old Yeller."

                 You've forwarded more warnings about the dangers of 
                 chocolate, onions
                 and mistletoe than the National Center for Disease 
                 Control has issued
                 about anthrax and
                 smallpox.

                 You wear white year 'round, not because you are 
                 flaunting a fashion law
                 or belong to a religious sect, but because you have a 
                 Dalmatian, Great
                 Pyrenees, Samoyed or
                 white Persian at home.

                 The world would never guess from your "dog or 
                 kittyspeak" posts to
                 e-lists that in reality you are chairman of the IBM 
                 corporation.

                 Vacuum cleaners in your household don't just die, they 
                 go out with more
                 smoke and noise than the Taliban.

                 By the time you investigate different flea control 
                 products, their
                 advantages and potential risks, natural versus chemical 
                 methods, and
                 study the life cycle of the flea, any fleas have died of 
                 old age.

                 You tell your children to "heel!" in a grocery store.

                 For relaxation, you went mall hopping with your 
                 girlfriends. Your eyes
                 glazed over when you saw a sign in front of a pet shop, 
                 "20% Off All
                 Puppies & Kittens," and you slapped three security 
                 guards before they
                 got you safely contained in the manager's office.

                 You spend eleven months of the year preaching an 
                 appreciation and
                 understanding of canine behavior and the nature of the 
                 dog, then you
                 stick fake reindeer antlers on the dog and photograph 
                 him for your
                 Christmas Card.

                 People are still talking about your spay-neuter holiday 
                 greeting from
                 last year,
                 "Deck the Halls with Balls of Collies."

                 Not only do family and friends think you go overboard 
                 with doggie
                 holiday decorations,
                 they've never seen a nativity scene where the holy
                 family is depicted by Boxers.


                 For the love of a huge friend..