Post 257: Looks Nothing Like T. Roosevelt

A real, authentic Coach bag in excellent shape could be sold for close to the original cost of a brazillion dollars. Likewise, an authentic Rolodex watch can be jacked and then sold on the slightly less legitimate market for as much or more than you can buy one in a store. People are often looking for the resale value of items when they buy them.

And then there are the cheap rip-off folks, the ones who know people don’t always look closely at the brand names. These people, both buyers and sellers, are what we call Sparkies.

Black Yorkie and Maltipoo mix puppy teddy bear face

post 527 puppy 1post 257 puppy 4

 

Yorkie and Maltipoo puppy mix teddy bear face looking for a good home. The mother is a Maltipoo and the father is yorkie. He is just 4 months old.
This dog is hypo-allergenic, doesn’t shed.
He is engaging, playful and very sweet (typical Yorkie). Good around other animals as well as young kids. I would love to keep him but I recently get back to school and i already have a job and I’m never home. I’m hoping to find a good home for him so he isn’t stuck alone all the time. Re-homing fee if you are interested. Will include all his toys and food as well.
He has his all of immunizations and health check ups. Feel free to email or text if interested.

This type of dog is not cheap, so do not waste your time if you are not serious!!

For more information, please contact
[Blah Blah Blah Dot Dot Dot] four nine eight three

Thank you.

 

I am impressed that the father of this puppy is only 4 months old. I am impressed that Sparky has a job and still has get back to school. I’m impressed that the puppy has no eyes in some of the photos. But mostly I am disturbed by the glow in the eyes when they are visible. I think this teddy bear face is controlling Sparky or actually placed the ad himself. Let the buyer beware!

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6 thoughts on “Post 257: Looks Nothing Like T. Roosevelt

  1. Hey Spark’ I know that this will confuse you but about half the people with “dog allergies” are allergic to the dander, not the hair. (There’s a subset allergic to canine saliva, too.)
    So, your alleged puppy is not hypoallergenic.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Theodore’s bear was a southern Grizzly, between 6 & 7 foot tall, who crashed the President’s campground in what would become Yellowstone.
    Said bear is fearsome in countenance, long of both tooth and claw, and built rather like a modern NFL linebacker.

    Not a cuddly thing to tuck in with toddlers.

    Nor a diminutive thing, either.

    Also, Theodore despised the moniker “Teddy” in a very serious sort of way. Like might get a person invited to box out on the West Lawn.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. It had been three years since Derk had a dog. His last faithful companion, Marshmallow, a white boxer with a black spotted pattern on one side that could be interpreted to spell “FU” in Morse code, had just up and disappeared on him. Derk was taking him for a walk in a nearby park, as he did daily for years, and Marshmallow disappeared behind a tree at the edge of a forested area to mark his usual territories. Derk turned his head to look at a particularly attractive jogger passing by, and when he looked back to the tree, Marshmallow was gone. He checked behind the tree. There was his fresh marking, but no Marshmallow. He walked a few steps into the forested area. No Marshmallow. He called the dog’s name, repeatedly and with increasing volume. No response. He spent the next three hours, well into the faded evening light, but to no avail. Marshmallow was simply gone.

    Derk spent the next few days scouring the forest, the park, and nearby neighbourhood, but came up empty-handed. He made up flyers and posted them all around his neighbourhood, the suburb, and the city at large, with a clear picture, description, name, everything, and he put his phone numbers and E-Mail addresses down so everyone had a way to contact him easily. Apart from several false positives and a very explicit indecent proposal from an elderly neighbour, though, there was no Marshmallow.

    As time wore on he lost more and more hope of ever seeing his faithful best friend. Every now and again he thought he caught a glimpse of a white dog and his heart leapt. Sometimes it turned out to be another breed. Sometimes it turned out to be the same breed but a very different pattern, or no pattern at all. Once, he thought he had definitely found Marshmallow, pattern and all, and his heart felt like it was going to go chasing after it all by itself, but as he got closer, he realized the Morse pattern spelled “BS”, and his heart sank again.

    At long last, though, with the pain of his loss fading day by day, year by year, though never going away completely, he felt it was time. He missed having a loyal canine companion. He’d rather have Marshmallow, obviously, but given that chances were slim to none of that happening now, he had to settle for a new pup. Fortunately, he’d found an ad on Craigslist for a puppy. Well, he had found many, but this one piqued his interest. And so it was Derk found himself a the front door of someone who only gave his name as Cleb, and rang the doorbell.

    There was no doubt he was at the right place when from behind the door came a tumultuous barking. Very shortly he would see his prospective puppy and meet the parents that had presented the most curious of mysteries posed by the ad that Derk was almost as much here to solve. Someone approached the other side of the door, muttering commands to shoo the source of the barking away, then opened the door until the chain latch snapped taut. “Yeah?” said the fellow behind the door. Cleb, he presumed.
    “Um, hi, I’m Derk. I’m here about the puppy?”
    Cleb nodded, closed the door enough to undo the latch, then opened the door the rest of the way to allow Derk entry. Cleb was an older man, of average height if a little stooped in posture, and rather surprisingly looked precisely like the stereotype of a gruff old country hick, right down to the blue denim suspenders, frayed straw hat, and shaft of dry wheat sticking out from between his clenched teeth. A shockingly large dog sat beside him, regarding Derk suspiciously. That would be half the mystery, the Great Dane.
    “Can I get ya something?” Cleb asked. “Coffee? Little shine, maybe? Got some good stuff what Peetus made last week. Take the tarnish off yer tongue fer sure. Little chewy, though.”
    The offer did not help dispel the stereotype any. “Uh, no, thank you, I’m good.”
    Cleb bobbed his head. “Suit yerself. S’pose you wanna see the pup?”
    Derk nodded. “Yes, I would, but I wanted to ask a question first that’s been on my mind since I saw your ad.”
    “Shoot,” Cleb replied.
    Derk wanted to be tactful about the question. “So this,” Derk indicated the Great Dane. “This is the mother?”
    Cleb bobbed his head again, briefly looking at the enormous dog, whose head almost reached Cleb’s shoulder, then back to Derk. “Yep. This here is Miss Daisy Pants.” Cleb stroked the dog’s head between the ears. Miss Daisy Pants looked at Cleb fondly and wagged her tail.
    “She’s huge!” Derk exclaimed.
    “Yep,” Cleb responded. “She’s a biggun. Hunnert-odd pounds, all muscle, but she’s a teddy bear.”
    “And the father,” Derk continued. “He’s … um … you said he’s a … a chihuahua, did I read that right?”
    “Yep,” Cleb said again. “Little feller, scrappy as hell, though, ambitions bigger’n he is.”
    Clearly. Derk furrowed his brow. “Right.” He still couldn’t picture it. Try though he might to fit the pieces of that puzzle together, they just didn’t seem to work out. “So, I was really curious, how, you know … um … like … how they … uh … how they … like … did it?”
    “Did what?” Cleb asked.
    Derk had hoped the direction of his inquiry would finish the sentence for him, but Cleb wasn’t picking up what he was dropping. “You know … uh … *it*. How they, like … mated.”
    Cleb raised an eyebrow. “Well, now, that would be the usual way.”
    Derk nodded, trying to clear up that he knew the biology involved. “Well, yes, I know, but I mean logistically, how did that work? How could a little chihuahua possibly, um … you know … mount … such a huge dog like Miss Daisy Pants?”
    For an answer, Cleb jammed a finger and thumb in his mouth and blew a loud whistle. “Jake!” he called. “Here Jake!”
    From behind him, emerging from the living room, came Jake, a tiny chihuahua.
    Cleb nodded towards the wee canine. “This here is Jake the Snake.”

    He looked every inch the typical chihuahua, but as Derk looked closer, he noticed that Jake appeared to have a black harness fastened around his haunches, and trailing for some length behind was a long, blue-coloured velvet tube-like attachment, maybe four feet long, looking rather like an odd sort of leash attached to the wrong end of the dog.

    Cleb looked expectantly at Derk, arms folded, apparently waiting for the bulb above Derk’s head to light up. It didn’t. If anything, there was even less light being shed on the situation. “I’m, uh, not sure I understand,” Derk finally said. “What is that thing behind him?”
    Cleb looked briefly at Jake. “That’s the rest o’ Jake. That’s how he does it.”
    Derk’s brow furrowed even more. “It?”
    Cleb shook his head in exasperation. “Does it. Knocks boots. Bumps uglies. Butters the biscuit. Stuffs the taco. Humpty humps. Gives the dog his bone. That,” Cleb pointed at the velvet snakey thing. “Is his bone.”
    Derk’s eyes widened to such an extent that he thought it must look like they were screaming around a pair of cue balls with pupils painted on.
    “I had to make that harness ‘n sheath,” Cleb continued, “’cause the poor pup couldn’t go anywhere without getting rashes or scrapes all over it. He’s much happier now.”

    Jake barked in agreement.

    And now it was clear. Abundantly so. Jake could “do it” just standing behind Miss Daisy Pants. Hell, he could do it from several feet away if he wanted. The more he thought about it, in fact, the more he realized Jake would pretty much have to. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t want to think any more about it. Ever. Maybe not screaming. Maybe they were trying to vomit that mental image back up.
    “Right,” Derk said brusquely. “Well, okay then, how ’bout we see that puppy?”
    Cleb nodded curtly again, went into the living room, and brought out a tiny puppy. She was a variegated light brown and white, had the sharp, pointy ears of her mother and the bulging Marty Feldman eyes of her father, and generally looked like a perfectly normal, healthy puppy. He had no idea what such a breed would be called, though. Greathuahua? Chihuadane? Chiwaddywaddy? He felt like he should name the breed before giving her a name, for surely she had to be the first of her kind.
    Cleb handed the puppy over to Derk.
    “She’s adorable!” Derk said, smiling broadly as he grabbed the puppy gently under her forelegs and brought her to his chest. “I’ll take her!” Cleb nodded in his curt way. “All yers.”
    Derk crooked his new puppy’s tiny frame into the elbow of one arm as he gave her a scratch in the fur with the other hand. The wee puppy seemed to smile, opened her mouth, and began to pant happily as her tail wagged and her tongue lolled out. And out. And further out, until it landed with a wet *plop* on the floor and continued to unfurl for another foot at least.
    “Oh dear,” Derk said, his shock returning. Clearly he was going to have to call her Ratonguezel.

    Liked by 3 people

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