#The Dog Yard

[the-finch-address]

After reblogging those last two posts featuring the one and only Jesus of Nazareth (beloved) I figure now's a good time to remind anyone following me that The Dog Yard is and has always been fairly derisive (for lack of better word) of modern day Christianity. Not against God or even religion as a whole, but strictly Christianity. This wip is my way of exploring and working through my past and the trauma that I've endured at the hands of Christians, AS a former Christian myself. I don't want to get into a "not every Christian" argument, I know there's a share of "good" Christians out there, but this is about my personal experiences and how I am healing from them to this day.

Anyway, that being said, please be aware that this project very well may offend you in how it approaches the topic(s) at hand if you yourself identify within the Christian religion. So...this is your official heads-up to blacklist the wip in advance (or just unfollow/block me) if that's what you feel is best.

Thanks!

[ink-the-artist]

funky ceramic wizard staff + an update on how fucking LOUD the cicadas have gotten jesus christ

[gallusrostromegalus]

Got the brace off my ankle from the moose incident in October, had two weeks of normal mobility...

And sprained the fuck out of the other one .

[cubbihue]

Does Mr. Turner like rubbing his “son’s” successful career in Dinkleberg’s face??

He does! He brags about Timmy's success to every person within the neighborhood's vicinity. Mr. Turner loves how successful his son is! It really secures his reputation at the neighborhood HOA meetings they host at their house.

Timmy's worked very hard to gain more successes than failures. The more successful he is, the greater his family's social standing!! And the less he gets to overhear his dad ranting to the neighborhood about his failures.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[kangals]

FLUFFY GUY HAS MADE HIS FIRST ORBIT OF THE SUN! HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEPLER! 🎉🔭💫

[he-who-needs-to-be-silenced]

[foldingfittedsheets]

My mom has this awful friend, Cynthia. My loathing goes deep enough that I’m not even going to change her name. If she ever finds this she knows what she did.

On multiple occasions my mom asked this horrible irresponsible chicken brained woman to watch after our animals while we were away. I don’t know why once wasn’t enough, because the first failure was so spectacular that anyone in their right mind would know she couldn’t be trusted with any level of responsibility or direction following.

You might be thinking to yourself, FFS, this level of antipathy is surely unwarranted! But you’d be wrong.

To set the scene, we were living in downstairs of our house when I was about fifteen. My mom has always wanted more animals than can reasonably be kept indoors which is how we ended up with three cats. When she wanted to kick them all outside I protested, and so all three cats lived in my bedroom with no access to the rest of the house.

That really wasn’t great, so in an attempt to give them options we made a window cutout with a cat door in it to give them access to the outdoors. Looking back on this as an environmentally conscious adult it’s wretched, cats should be indoor only, but at the time I was desperate to give them some freedom because one bedroom is too small for three cats.

So my parents and I went on a week long trip to visit family out of state. We told Cynthia to come feed and water the cats, and to scoop the litter box. Most importantly, don’t lock the handle of the door, because we only have the key to the deadbolt.

I’m sure you can see where this is going.

Cynthia locked us out. We arrived home after 12 hours on the road, desperate for the comfort of our own beds. We were met with an unyielding door. With a sigh I volunteered, “I can punch in the cat door and climb in the window.”

I slipped behind the bamboo outside my window and pushed in the cutout. A horrible insidious reek wafted out at me. I paused, prickling with foreboding. But I had a job to do, and by god I’d see it through. I hefted myself up into the window and my hand immediately landed in something wet.

Skin crawling, I pulled myself up and surveyed the darkened room as a miserable odor of decay and suffering poured out of the room around me. I could see dark shapes littering the carpet and it didn’t take a genius to guess that the cats had taken up hunting in a big way during my absence.

I pulled my hand out of the pile of vomit it had landed in and dropped into my onetime bedroom turned now into a hellpit of decomposing wretchedness. I turned on the light. I wished I had not turned on the light.

My eyes scanned across the floor, tallying as they went. Two dead birds, a dead baby rabbit, five dead mice, and one dead snake. I paused on my alarm clock, perplexed to see a stain of white on it. I stepped closer and saw a furtive movement.

The tally suddenly contained also: one live bird that had shit in several places, probably in pure terror to find itself trapped in a room littered with decomposing woodland creatures, which honestly, fair. I coaxed it out the window and finished the survey with five discrete piles of vomit.

I unlocked the door and let my parents in. They exclaimed in disgust at the horrible smell. We stood together in my doorway floored by the magnitude of neglect. The unscooped litter box was a subtle footnote in the tangible reek my living space. I disposed of the parade of ecological disaster, cleaned vomit, and scooped the box after a brutally long day on the road. The cats were fine, and happy to see me. They had a huge dish or food and water so Cynthia’s neglect at least hadn’t harmed them.

Then I slept on the couch while my bedroom aired out, the windows flung wide to dispel the uneasy ghosts of the hunted. I spent the whole night cursing Cynthia’s name for this evil she’d visited upon me. When my mom asked her, "Cynthia, didn't you see the dead animals?"

Cynthia responded, "Yes, they smelled so bad, I just ran in and out as fast as I could." I fully don't believe she did any caretaking, and I'm personally of the opinion that she locked herself out on the first day and never came back.

The next day my room had returned to a habitable level of smellscape and I gratefully crawled into my bed that night. I stretched out and froze as my foot brushed something cold and wet?

The final indignity: one last dead snake, inside my very sheets.

Fucking Cynthia.

[darkwood-sleddog]

i find it very interesting that when you hear 'preservation breeder' it implies a maintenance of the breed as a whole as it was made to be and you would think that includes working instincts and working the dog as it was traditionally used however i find it is usually always the opposite.

those touting themselves as 'preservation breeders' are often deep into the conformation world with little to zero involvement in working their breed (often because working/show breed split means dogs with working instincts are not 'perfect' enough to be competitive in the show ring and show dogs are often void of proper working instincts...) and those breeding the dog to its actual purpose just use 'working' not 'preservation'.

what are you even preserving when the dog can't do what it was originally bred for? a dog is more than how it fits the breed standard physically and even then a ton of breed standards still call back to the dog's ability to do its original job. i just wish people would be honest and come out and say they're not actually preserving shit.

[zarla-s]

olimar and louie's relationship is so funny to me

[patreon]

[starry-bi-sky]

Hello Starry! I just had a thought about your Danyal al Ghul AU, and didn't have anyone else to share it with, so here we go:

If in this universe Bruce is Jewish, and Danny knows this(probably from a google search), he may wear a Star of David necklace to have a piece of his father with him at all times, since he knows he will never get to meet him. Or maybe the necklace sits in a box under a floorboard, because he can't stand the constant reminder of the father he'll never get to have. Maybe he observes Sam and her family celebrate Jewish holidays, or he learns how to by himself, but uses the time to mourn, instead of celebrate.

Anyways, hope all is well, and thank you for sharing your writing!

AAHHHH??? YOUR BRAIN??? Thank you!! I love sharing my writing, it soothes my need for attention lol. lmao, even. (Also how did you know i was thinking of my danyal al ghul au today -- i have an unfinished draft that i was thinking of delving into after my work meeting) also aahh!!!!!!!! im so happy that you wanted to share your thoughts with me about it <333

But dude BOTH of these ideas are soo?? GOOD and ANGSTY. I love angsty. Danny would for sure know if Bruce was Jewish, lil guy did an obsessive amount of research on his dad the moment he got his hands on a computer and figured out how they worked. Danny has like, a three inch thick folder almost on his father alone. Anything he could get his hands on, he's got it. That thickness is almost exclusively from his first like, six months in Amity Park. He keeps it in a box in his closet, along with his growing-folder on Damian and his achievements as Damian Wayne. He pages through it when he's feeling like mourning.

First off: him wearing a Star of David necklace to feel connected to Bruce. That is SO sad and I love it so much. He bought it with an allowance he'd been given when he first started living with the Fentons, he keeps it tucked under his shirt so nobody even knows he has it. Sam and Tucker don't until it slips out while he's hanging out with them and when they ask him about it, Danny very reluctantly tells them that his father is Jewish. When he's distracted, nervous, or sad, he fidgets with it. How this looks is that he looks like he's kinda rubbing his chest, like ungrasping and grasping something.

Second Off: him keeping it in a box under the floorboards. That is also so, so good. He's got it in the box along with a few other things that remind him of his father and Damian and his mother. He takes it out when he's feeling particularly lonely and homesick, it's a feeling that never really goes away even after five years of living in Amity Park. It's like a longing for something you'll never see again, but isn't that just how grief works? i can just imagine him sitting against the bed, late at night and back from patrol. He's still in his ghost form, his katana laid on the ground next to him, and his almost bird-like cape pooling down beside him as he cups the necklace in his hand like he's cradling an egg. Maybe he's bleeding from somewhere, and he's telling the necklace about patrol, murmured soft in Arabic.

When he finds out Sam is Jewish he probably, after much consideration, asks if he can observe their holidays -- after all, researching Jewish holidays only does so much. Sam agrees when he explains why, much to her parents chagrin, and he sometimes tags along. But once he gets an understanding of how they go, he starts doing it on his own. Somewhat. He celebrates with Sam for most of it, and then has some time to himself where he celebrates it on his own. So it's a little bit of both.

^^^ which brings me to thinking about my danyal snippet here where Sam is at a Wayne gala and tears into her parents over Danny in front of Bruce. And it's making me think of, with this idea in mind, Sam in a moment of emotional impulsivity, saying "I know that he wears a Star of David because his father is Jewish and he wants to be closer to him, because he loves him so very fucking much." And while saying that, briefly makes direct eye contact with Bruce as a way to tell him "I know you're his fucking dad. Look at the son you have left behind."

If only for the emotional gut punch that can leave Bruce with. 🥰

Thank you for the ask! I had a lot of fun responding to it, have a fantastic evening/day/night.

[sherrylephotography]

The Greyfriars Cemetery has a sign shown in the first picture of a lot of historical figures that are buried here. You might find it interesting, I did.

The picture with all the flowers is the grave of Greyfriars Bobby ( May 4,1855 – January 14,1872) A very famous dog in Scotland. Bobby in Scottish means police officer. Bobby's owner John Gray, also known as Auld Jock was a night watchman for the Edinburgh Police Force. A cute name "Bobby" he gave his Skye Terrier. I haven't seen it but I guess Disney made a movie about him. I guess I will have to see that someday.

We found Thomas Riddell's gravestone. It seems to be something that tourists enjoy doing, especially if they are Harry Potter fans.

A couple quotes by J. K. Rowling

It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

Death comes for us all in the end."

9/24

Posted 1/25

[seabeck]

My daughter, Willow, is Gwendolyn’s only friend. They’re both bitches together

[julijbee]

if youre cold hes cold. let him die.

[iaminsideyourwalls]

Since he knows he's almost certainly destined to lose his second eye, I think Demo is currently in the process of preparing to work blind. And wouldn't it be the coolest raddest thing ever if they hired service dogs to work with him on the team??

meet debbie (red) and lassie (blu), some demodogs for the demoman

[xskyll]

I tried resizing this a million times to Tumblr’s recommended specifications, and it just refuses to post clear, so sorry it’s blurry. =‘)

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[julykings]

summer’s end