#swayback in dogs

[technicallyhappyarcade]

Swaybacks: Effective Solutions for Improved Posture

Swaybacks, also known as lordosis, is a medical condition characterized by an exaggerated inward curvature of the lower back, leading to a distinctive swayback appearance. The condition can result from various factors, such as poor posture, muscle imbalances, obesity, or certain medical conditions. Swaybacks may cause discomfort, reduced flexibility, and increased stress on the spine. Management typically involves physical therapy, exercises to strengthen core muscles, and lifestyle modifications. Early diagnosis and intervention are crucial to prevent further complications. Seeking medical advice and adopting corrective measures can improve posture, alleviate symptoms, and enhance overall spinal health.

[doberbutts]

Those dobes of yore remind me a bit of rotties and beauceron a

Oh yeah there was a solid moment where dobes looked very "docked beauceron" in there, hold please:

Otto Goeller had Thueringen kennel and was incredibly influential to the breed after Dobermann himself died. I have been told he also stood out as someone adamantly opposed to the rise of Nazism in Germany, and refused to cooperate with the turnover of his dogs for as long as he could. I also believe, iirc, he is the one who refused the offer of including dobes in Schutzhund due to not being a viable way to access correct temperament. Many of Goeller's dogs had this look to them, though most were incredibly swaybacked and I think Wedigo was probably the nicest of the lot in terms of structure.

Goeller himself with two more of his dogs, one of which named Landgraf. Fenris' father is Sarek vom Landgraf, from a working doberman kennel that named their dogs in honor of a major contributor if not founding father of the breed. These two dogs are more close to what Goeller produced until the introduction of greyhound and manchester terrier, which very quickly created the aesthetic we know today. They looked like this until then.

[followthebluebell]

Truffle put all his skill points into charisma and intelligence.

[vintageviewmaster]

Caption: Charlie, Lucy, and Schroeder devised a “Snoopy-trap.”

Booklet Description: PICTURE 3 "I'll teach that stupid dog a lesson he'll never forget!" vowed Lucy, hammering the center wicket down so far that only a swayback squirrel could have gone under it. "Now," she said with fiendish satisfaction, "let's see that smarty-pants chow-hound go ZOOM under that wicket."

Brand: View-Master Packet Title: Charlie Brown's Summer Fun Reel Title: Charlie Brown's Summer Fun Reel Subtitle: "Croquet, Almost Anybody?" Reel Number: B 5481, Reel 1 Reel Edition: A Image Number: 3 Date: 1972 

[mirkwoodest]

Also one of the parts of Blue Lily, Lily Blue that made me go YEAH, THAT'S WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE:

Now she sat beside the Dog, looking out the backseat window as they passed Mole Hill on the way to Coopers Mountain, feeling her bad mood leach into the gray. This was a very different part of the world than Henrietta. Rural, but less wild. More cows, fewer woods. And very poor. The houses that lined the highway were smaller than single-wide trailers. “I’m not hopeful about this,” Gansey was saying to Malory. He plucked at his left shoulder; rain was coming in through his window, though it was rolled up. Water also dripped onto the dash beneath the rearview mirror. Malory shook water off the map in his hands. “I crawled all over this mountain a year ago and saw no cave. If there is one, it’s someone else’s secret.” Blue leaned forward; so did the Dog. She said, “There’s this super clever way that folks in the country find out someone else’s secrets. We ask them.” Gansey met her eyes, and then the Dog’s, in the rearview mirror. “Adam keeps his secrets pretty close.” “Oh, not Adam’s sort of country people.” Blue had discovered that there were two distinct stereotypes for the rural population of her part of Virginia: the neighbors who loaned one another cups of sugar and knew everything about everyone, and the rednecks who stood on their porches with shotguns and shouted racist things when they got drunk. Because she grew up so thoroughly entrenched in the first group, she hadn’t believed in the second group until well into her teens. School had taught her that the two kinds were almost never born into the same litter. “Look,” she said. “When we get there, I’ll show you the houses to stop at.” Coopers Mountain turned out to be more of a mountainette than a proper mountain, impressive mostly because of its sudden appearance in the middle of sparsely populated fields. A small neighborhood lay on one side. Widely flung farmhouses dotted the rest of the surrounding area. Blue directed Gansey past the former and toward the latter. “People in neighborhoods only know about people in neighborhoods,” she said. “No caves in neighborhoods. Here, here, this one’s good! You better wait in the car with your fancy face.” Gansey was too aware of his face’s fanciness to protest. He minced the Camaro down a long gravel drive that ended at a white farmhouse. A shaggy dog of no breed or all breeds burst out to bark at her as she climbed out into the rain. “Hey, you,” Blue greeted it, and the dog retreated immediately under the porch. At the door, an older woman holding a magazine answered her knock. She looked friendly. In Blue’s experience, everyone who lived in remote tired farmhouses generally looked friendly, until they didn’t. “What can I do for you?” Blue slathered on her accent as slow and local as possible. “I’m not selling anything, I promise. My name’s Blue Sargent and I live in Henrietta and I’m doing a geology project. I heard there was a cave round here. Could you possibly point me in the right way?” Then she smiled as if the woman had already helped her. If there was one thing Blue had learned while being a waitress and dog walker and Maura Sargent’s daughter, it was that people generally became the kind of person you expected them to be. The woman considered. “Well, that does sound familiar, but I don’t reckon I … Have you asked Wayne? Bauer? He’s good with this area.” “Which one’s he, now?” The woman pointed kitty-corner across the highway.  Blue gave her a thumbs-up. The woman wished her luck. It turned out Wayne Bauer wasn’t home, but his wife was, and she didn’t know anything about a cave, but had they asked Jimmy down the road, because he was always digging ditches and you knew you found all kinds of things in ditches. And Jimmy didn’t know, but he thought Gloria Mitchell had said something about it last year. They discovered that Gloria wasn’t home, but her elderly sister was, and she asked, “What, you mean Jesse Dittley’s cave?” “You don’t have to look so smug,” Gansey said to Blue as she buckled her seat belt. “Sure I do,” Blue replied. The Dittley farm

was directly at the base of Coopers Mountain. The swaybacked wood-frame house was surrounded by partial cars and entire sofas, all overgrown. The abandoned tires and broken window air conditioners inspired the same feeling in Blue as the cluttered kitchen-bathroom-laundry in Monmouth had: the urge to tidy and impart order.

As she climbed out, she turned the name Jesse Dittley over and over in her mind. Something about it poked the back of her mind, but she couldn’t think what. Old family friend? Sex offender from a newspaper story? Character from a picture book? Just in case he was the middle one, she made certain that she had her pink switchblade knife in her pocket. She didn’t really think she would have to stab anyone, but she liked being prepared. She stood on the slanted porch with fourteen empty milk jugs and ten cats and knocked. It took a long time for the door to open, and when it did, a puff of cigarette smoke came out with it. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?”

[tearlessrain]

less popular opinion than it should be but color should not even be mentioned in any breed standard for any domestic animal unless it’s to avoid health defects connected to specific colors like lethal white or merle-related issues in dogs. the friesian registry will turn away any stallion in an already inbred horse breed if they carry a chestnut allele at all. WHY. IT DOESN’T AFFECT THE HEALTH OR PERFORMANCE OF THE HORSE IF IT’S RED INSTEAD OF BLACK. WHY DOES THE BREED STANDARD FOR PUGS CONSIDER AN UNDERBITE AND BRACHYCEPHALY DESIRABLE BUT IF THEY AREN’T ONE OF TWO COLORS THEY’RE DISQUALIFIED REGARDLESS OF HEALTH OR CONFORMATION. WHY LITERALLY ANYTHING ABOUT HALTER HORSES. will it truly ruin your day if you have to settle for a german shepherd that’s not black and tan with a saddle? will it affect you in any meaningful way? I mean maybe since you’re already buying a purebred german shepherd and I have questions about your priorities, but if our culture didn’t put importance on the color of a german shepherd in the first place then no it would not.

look we need more regulations on breeding animals and what can be put into a breed standard for showing or something. and if a certain breed has health defects that are extremely common within that breed, you should be allowed to bring in non-purebred animals at least once in a while and prioritize reducing that, or if you can’t, consider whether that breed needs to exist. dog/horse breeds aren’t even real, we made them up to fill specific jobs that are mostly obsolete now, it doesn’t matter. if I was getting a dog right now, my first priority would be personality and compatible energy/socialization requirements. second priority would be something that doesn’t drool all over the place because I have a thing about that. size and build are flexible because the first things I vetted for make that less important but probably small enough that my 5′2 ass could win a contest of strength with it if truly necessary. and appearance/color DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER BECAUSE I’M NOT BUYING A DOG AS A GODDAMN FASHION ACCESSORY. IT DOESN’T HAVE TO COORDINATE WITH MY SCARVES. NONE of those factors narrow it down to one specific breed I must have.

anyway pugs should not exist. the distinction between show animals and working animals shouldn’t exist. hell the concept of “purebred” shouldn’t exist. if you need to breed a certain animal to do a certain kind of thing really good, fine, but doing that to the point that you’ve overshot useful and made an entire breed known for having bad hips, or chasing after ridiculous and specific traits that have no actual benefit to you or the animal as a vanity project, is selfish and weird and we should stop doing that. especially with horses, because the US already has a horse surplus and backyard color breeders producing a ton of downhill swaybacked post-legged disasters because they had to breed their mad max truck of a mare because she’s got a cream gene and they want a colorful baby are making it worse.

also blue nose pitbulls are a scam, they’re just overpriced inbred regular pitbulls with a dilution gene and probably some puppy mill-induced emotional baggage, just go to the damn shelter, thank you and goodnight.

[benchgenderstudies]

Iliopsoas Strains, Side Stitches and Testicle Turmoil.

//As written to the NATA News. (National Athletic Training Association). 

Dear Editor

The exact cause of sidestitches during running has long eluded the profession. What has been agreed on are ways to subdue the discomfort. A letter to The Physician and Sports Medicine suggested  “bending forward pressing ones fist up into the ribcage and against the liver and run 10 to 15 steps like this.” (Duncan). Less severe methods by this contributor (in order) include 1)try belly breathing rather than shallow chest breathing, 2)exhale when the foot opposite the side stitch strikes the ground, and (3) run with your hands over your head while breathing deeply. The uncomfortable circumstance seems local to endurance runners, especially novices.

Chris Webb of Moonjoggers.com echoes nearly identical advice. With a jpeg of all the muscles of the abdomini and obliques family shown on his website, Webb goes on to join the viewpoint blaming the transverse abdominus for exercise-related transient abdominal pain (ETAP)(Webb). With that in mind, make concern of two different forms of advice to 1)raise ones arms over their head. 2)concentrate on exhaling when the opposite foot of the stitch contacts the ground.  The effect of each of these strategies brings passive attention to the gait. The runner is forced to concentrate on moving their footstrikes underneath them rather than behind or in such a way that their running gait is mechanically swayback.

It would be first wrong to only focus on the anterior face of the body (trunk flexors) to narrow down the culprits.  The posterior zone of core stabilization includes Psoas major and iliacus (iliopsoas), longissimus thoracis, serratus anterior, latissimus dorsi, erector spinae and many others. In fact, the American public's issues with low back pain mirror sports medicine's and orthopaedic disinterest in the low back musculature as individual components.  

Webb added that stopping a run to stretch trunk musculature (inclusive of the pectoralis major) could somehow relieve the ETAP pain. An athlete of enough experience to know what DOMS feels like would readily realize the pectoralis major and diaphragm could not be culprits to a side stitch. Either the stitch would replicate shooting pain down the arm or breathing would be entirely altered. Worry of a heart attack should certainly end a run. Webb and Duncan give us our clues what the underlying cause is: its deep, deep as the liver (seemingly). They suggest pressing on the point to relieve pain. We in sportsmedicine already use this method to defeat tennis elbow and patellar tendonitis: reducing the range of motion of the muscle/tendon to ease strain on the attachments with chopat straps The psoas major is a clear victim of conditioning neglect and the root of  ETAP. What is the cause: bad form favoring hip hyperextension which strains the muscle while the runner already has it in a stretched position (standing upright). The psoas group is tasked with both core stabilization and run form performance posture. The iliopsoas's relaxed position occurs while sitting. A stitch is condition of a muscle under tension not yet acclimated to the jarring of running and aiding inefficient run mechanics. Whether these elements are alone painful or result in a spasm existing as a 'standing wave” are yet to be decided.  

This discussion doesn't yet explain why the stitch only occurs on one side of the body. The immediate answer is ;no matter how perfect in attempt; all sports gaits are somehow assymetric. I do not choose that particular hill for my professional career to have a momentus death(or celebrity status). Instead, I favor a causal notion behind assymetry: ergonomic and physiological mechanisms of energy conservation. When two muscles occupy a redundant function, its my hypothesis the brain sends only one message and at certain times there is a dominant muscle of the pair and a subdominant. The subdominant follows the dominant.  Õunpuu and Winter's EMG study confirms higher activity in  dominant side plantar flexors. Their abstract directly states: “an assumption of symmetry is not valid for individual subjects” and bilaterial differences are hidden in pooled data. (Õunpuu). As early as 1989, the potential for muscles of a pair to act differently opened the door to evaluate ETAP correctly.

Side stitches are not the only difficulty an injured or strained iliopsoas/psoas can deal out. For males, a strained iliopsoas can leave one doubled over and cursing at all family members and every barking neighborhood dog. Pain is far surpassed by worry; surgical intervention worries. Do I have a varocele, testicular torsion, a hernia; what is a matter? The onset of a psoas major strain is often a long time coming. The tightness in an upper side quadrant of the abdomen is often written off as resistance exercise DOMS or a nuisance.  Graduate school coursework circa 1998 had conflicting views whether stretching actually reduced potential for injury when before exercise. Sprinters and weightlifters should always expect to stretch regardless of research debating maximum muscle tendon and force. The endurance runners face a dicier gamble. I prefer to believe their best routine is stretching after a preliminary portion of their run has warmed them up to deliver preformance goals in their daily workout; when they are ready to drop the hammer on more challenging hills or paces.  Othewise they should always stretch after the run or keep their goals section limited to stretch directly after and follow with a cool down run element.

For musicians/percussionists the strain will casually take place by whichever side the toms are arranged for fills while playing the drum kit. From high tom to floor tom; the daily enthusiasm to rockout first and stretch later sets a stage for serious pain radiating from the trunk down through the scrotum.  Even actively trying to stretch the trunk muscles can leave an athlete or percussionist vulnerable to series of events that trigger the strain.

The trigger of a moderate iliopsoas strain (as experienced by the author) came to fruition while trying to stretch the muscle. Lying in a supine position on a press bench (at the gym) and allowing the legs to hang off each side edge while not touching the ground, the iliopsoas was put under extreme tension. That instant of posture was a rest period between doing raised-straight-leg crunches.  Giving no warning to the body for a not-gradual mode of extreme tension, the psoas muscle group became insulted. The effect was not pronounced until three hours after. The effect also included an hour of elliptical cardio including a crossramp of the whole leg focus before returning home.

The sharp large-area pain of an iliopsoas strain can cause male athletes to be very concerned of testicular conditions. The pull on the inguinal ligament, internal and external oblique insertions along the pelvis floor raise due worry of conditions that require surgery. The threat of surgery amidst a condition having very little literature can compound individual sensitivity to pain. The pained area will comprise just below the pectoralis major down to the epididymis of the testicle on the same side, some central discomfort in the central low abdomen exists as well. The acute injury can be handled with rest, ice on both the epididymis, crotch, iliopsoas bursa and pained side of the abdomen. Most pain will subside in three days.  Latent effects or warning symptoms include hypersensitivity to the edges of seats when the rear of the testicle brushes against them, slight oddity in latent fluid sensation at the end of the penis following ejaculation and some urinations is also telltale.  These are not sensations of burning or pain nor should urination or ejaculation be painful, Otherwise you may be dealing with another situation entirely. There is a change in the chemical composition of the fluid denoting some form of stress or small scale inflammatory response.

If the athlete returns to resistance exercise before the injury is healed, they risk a slightly less painful experience providing their gym routine was unchanged and they guarded against painful postures and excessive weight. Squats were unaffected; both for quadriceps and gluteal focus. Running is also not painful nor did it result in ETAP. The author is an experienced runner so his posture may not have the quirks that would raise a disabling condition to novices with an iliopsoas strain.  In this experience a few tests of the leg and abdomen were evaluated. Step sign was negative. Step sign was followed by a hip flexor test which was also negative but resulted in an internal 'snapping syndrome' sensation near the ASIS. The snapping sensation was not painful as it moved from external to internal, nor did it radiate pain to the offended/engaged testicle of the condition. General soreness following workouts did require further icing in all regions.  

A test for this strain is as follows: lying supine in a resting position of yoga's bridge; begin with a wide stance with feet planted on the ground and knees at a comfortable maximum distance apart. Rotate each foot inward to about 30-40 degrees. At this point the clinician should ask the athlete to begin spreading their knees as far as possible. The motion will cause mild discomfort on the iliopsoas-pelvic pathway and can send stress down to the rear of the testicle.The athlete may notice significant details about the attachment location of the pelvic fascia to the testicle and its unlike the vas deferens.

A return to rest position will clarify if impact to the strain has been achieved by discomfort in the upper psoas major region.   In no way should the discussion of an iliopsoas strain deter visiting a general physician or a urologist for concerns of genital injury.  Having done extensive research it appears the misdiagnosis of this ailment has resulted in excessive and unneeded antibiotic medication, invasive testicular modifications, the false diagnosis of repeat bouts of epididymitis, routine torsion protocols, testicular removal and many wild guesses.  Even well trained professionals utilizing the Arnheim & Prentice “Principles of Athletic Training”(8th Ed) undergraduate text or even the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons “Athletic Training and Sportsmedicine” (2nd Ed) text would not be able to differentiate a posterior stabilizer induced discomfort from a testicular complication from the mid 1990s research absence in the area. Urologists and orthopaedic doctors should also take heed.

(Now I'm going to get back to my sore tummy and my sore man-ball).

Michael Bench graduated East Stroudsburg University's Movement Studies Program with honors and concentration in Athletic Training SportsMedicine in 1998. He was NATABOC certified in 1999 while completing a Masters Degree in Exercise Physiology and Graduate Certificate in Gender Studies; (#GoDucks) specializing in body dysmorphia.  His further experiences in body modification scenes and independent work in competitive endurance (amateur) athletics, gate control theory, percussion coordination and body composition have enabled the perspective on this elusive malady. He has published two books, “This Device of Reason” and “Native Supremacy”; and many unpublished papers ranging from economics to anorexia nervosa. His current edition of research “External Motivators of Anorexia Nervosa and Anorexic Self Abuse” is available free on request.

Duncan LA (2001) Unraveling Side Stitches, The Physician and Sportsmedicine, 29:4, 66, DOI: 10.3810/psm.2001.04.733

Mole JL, Bird ML, Fell JW. (2013)The effect of transversus abdominis activation on exercise-related transient abdominal pain. J Sci Med Sport. 2013 Jul 10. pii: S1440-2440(13)00144-8. doi: 10.1016/j.jsams.2013.05.018. [Epub ahead of print]

Õunpuu S, Winter DA(1989)Bilateral electromyographical analysis of the lower limbs during walking in normal adults,Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology,Vol 72 (5), 429-438,ISSN 0013-4694,

https://doi.org/10.1016/0013-4694(89)90048-5.

Webb, C. (2013. Nov 21) Rocking on the Roads: Stitches. https://www.moonjoggers.com/rocking-roads-stiches/

[madammuffins]

Fairy Summers

Fairy Summers is a short story request by @vhum for my 300 follower celebration.

It is a World of Make Believe AU featuring Chelsea x Puck told over a series of summers as they age together and maneuver through life’s struggles, fantastical and mortal.

I will be uploading in parts just for easier reading. Also, playlist.

CW: Contains coming-of-age themes, familial abuse situations.

~*~*~*~*

Part 1 ♣ Part 2

~*~*~*~*

Part 3 is a Montana Summer, Chelsea is now 9 and we see her family situation evolving as well as her relationship with Puck

~*~*~*~*

"I don't hate you, Mom." Brown eyes dropped to muck covered mud boots. "I know it's not your fault we're out here, and I know the family will understand." She rolled her shoulders to try and ease the ache, shuddered when the rake knocked against her leg leaving a wet brown mark against her pale skin.

"Oh good. Good, Chellers." Susan pushed a strand of dark hair that had fallen from Chelsea's ponytail back behind her ear. "I had worried you'd be mad about not being able to... you know, see everyone this year. I am just so glad you've learned from your earlier tantrums that those kind of outrageous-"

"I was just upset, Mom." Chelsea's eyes dropped to the hand that was still clenched around her arm. She wondered, briefly, if she'd have bruises.

It didn't matter out here on the farm though. The farm she couldn't ever leave now. The farm she was trapped in. The farm she was indentured to. The farm she'd be held prisoner in. Between the pigs and horses and cows and fence mending and irrigation repair no one would notice a few more fingerprint bruises on her arms or welts on her legs. No one could hear her crying to the chickens when she collected eggs out here either. Or the tadpoles in the river out on the East side.

A hell and a haven.

"I can understand that." Susan released her grip. "Perhaps we had spoiled you taking you to the island so much. Every year, every summer? Such an expensive trip for such a small child."

Chelsea kicked at the gravel beneath her, leaning on the rake now. The sun beat on the back of her head and neck uncomfortably. "When I finish the chicken coop can I walk down to the c-"

"You are too young to go to the store by yourself."

"Mom-" Chelsea stopped at the glare.

A quick snap of Susan's head, the chill radiating off her body. The frigid square of her posture; shoulders up, eyes widened, fists clenched, jaw set, legs spread.

"I. Said. No."

Chelsea nodded, eyes down, shoulders hunched. "Okay. Right, sorry. I shouldn’t have-"

"Why would you push me like that when your grandfather has just passed away? Why would you even try to-" Susan's body withered, hands tangling in her bun. "Why would you do this to me? You're supposed to be a good girl. I took you in because your parents died, nobody else wanted you and this is how you repay me?" The sorrow burned away with every word, anger fueling the older woman. "You know what, you can go one ahead and muck the horse stalls now."

"What?" Chelsea dropped the rake. "But that's Max's-"

"You wanna talk back, ungrateful child?" Susan smiled, cool and collected now, “you can polish the tack too while you're at it." She paused, hand on a cocked hip, the other cupped her ear as she tilted towards her ward. "Oh, what's this? No more smack talk? Nothing to say keiki? That's what I thought." Susan turned away. "Get it done before dinner." She crooned over her shoulder, "Or you don't get to eat tonight."

“Yes, Mom.” Chelsea bit the inside of her cheek clean through, tooth meeting tooth through the flesh.

She turned on a swift heel, spitting blood into the dirt as she spread new hay out on the coop floor, billowing her shirt off her back as she crouched down and backed out of the small wood enclosure. The hens screamed at her, pecking her bare legs. The two roosters paraded, watching with careful disdain. She eyed them but they didn’t hold her worry. The fuzzy legged brown and black zebra striped hen did. A vicious laying feather duster to-be who’d taken to crowing and eating any of the unfertilized eggs.

Easily the most vicious of the bunch. Chelsea had a few scars on her calves and hands to show it.

Latching the door she stored the plastic rake, grabbing the wheelbarrow, shovel, and metal forked rake instead. Horse stalls required heavier equipment. She paused at the cows watering trough midway, taking a handful of water and splashing the top of her head, dunking her hat, letting the water douse her shirt and shoulders. Dribbles fell soothingly under the fabric and trickled to her jean shorts, soaking into the denim, offering some form of relief she knew would become muggy and stuffy.

Soft nickering greeted her as she positioned her wheelbarrow, carefully setting it aside as she grabbed the hanging lead ropes and twisted them into makeshift halters. The horses were easy enough to grab with the right kind of manipulations. With a smile she leapt up onto the tack trunk and stretched back behind the grain shelf to where she hid the sugar cubes. A sharp smack at her backside made her yelp, lose her balance, fall hard on the ground, elbow hitting the metal body of the wheelbarrow.

"Max." She ground between clenched teeth, peering up at her brother.

The jerk laughed with his pubescent cronies. "Mom told me you got in trouble today. Don't know how something so small has such a big, smart mouth."

"Whatever." Chelsea wiped off her butt, wincing as her elbow popped.

"What were you reaching for back there anyway, idiot?"

"Mind your own business, stupid." She hissed. "Just let me muck the stalls alone." Her eyes drifted back to her secret stash.

Later. She promised the roan gelding as his muzzle roamed over her t-shirt and shorts snuffling for his treat. When Max isn't around, when I'm done. She looped the halter over his ears and nose, letting the big beast follow her past the boys, using the giant red flecked animal as a barrier.

"This is boring." One of the boys yawned. "Let's go to the store."

"Yeah." Another piped up. "She's just a baby, no fun to pick on and no fun to watch."

"Alright." Max shrugged, picking up his bike from where he dropped it. "Let's go."

Chelsea watched the boys speed off as she latched the gate, something ugly that had been bubbling in her stomach calming as the distance grew. A big head shoved against her.

"Alright, Tory." She laughed, pushing him through the cry of her aching elbow. "Lemme get the others."

"No need for that, Country Girl."

Chelsea didn't bother hiding her joy, flinging herself into the noticeably taller fae, tangling her arms around Puck; knocking them back into warm, dusty fur.

"You came!" She pushed at the Chestnut mare holding the both of them up, rubbing her withers in apology. "I didn't know if you would and-"

"I promised." His voice was sincere, the laugh that danced in the words still present. He pushed her away, "Why are you crying?"

"It's been awful." Chelsea admitted, following him out to the corral where he let the mare loose. "Ever since Grandpa died Mom's been just... so much worse. And..." She swallowed hard. "Max too?" She blinked, "Dad's the only one who is nice to me anymore. Sometimes it feel like we're trapped here together. He's not healthy anymore either. It's his heart and cholesemal. He's gotten a lot bigger." She held her hands out at her sides to demonstrate.

Puck frowned, "What do you mean Max? What's he doing?" He watched as Chelsea looped the halter over the last horses head, stifling a hiss at the swayback and hobbling gait.

"Oh, don't mind ol' Gremlin." Chelsea pat the greying face fondly. "He used to be a race horse till he went lame. Rode him too hard Grandpa said. He was up for the butchers block to be dog food but Grandpa had a soft spot. Mom doesn't like the dead weight but he's in good shape considering."

"That's cool." Puck jumped down to follow her out into the sun, "Max?"

Chelsea tsked. "He's just... touching me a lot more? Like today he..." She blushed, "He spanked me in front of his friends." She growled. "I really don't want to talk about-"

"Put this under his mattress." Puck shoved a thorn into her hand, glaring into her eyes. "If he does anything like that again this will poke him throughout the night until he repents. If he continues it will get worse until it draws blood and spreads across his body like a rash."

"Puck!" Chelsea gasped, "I can't do that!"

"You aren't." He snapped his fingers, "I am. Now, let's go play. The chores are done, I wanna show you some stuff. Montana is great! There are things here that I haven't seen in a while!"

~*~*~*~*~

"So that's an Alven!" Puck leaned in close, pants rolled up above his knees.

"Where?" Chelsea leaned back on her knees, eyes scanning the running stream frantically. "I don't-"

Puck's hand landed roughly on the top of her head, "Do you see that bubble floating on the surface?" He guided her vision. "Right there, inside of it, the barely there thing? You can just see it when the light hits just like- That! Yeah!"

"I see it!" Chelsea gasped, "It's so pretty!"

"Eh, you're prettier." Puck grinned toothy and sharp at her blush. "Sometimes they wear Otter skins to stay hidden. Maybe beaver skins here in the North like this, I don't know if you guys have otters."

"Oh, I don't know either." Chelsea frowned as she climbed the rivers bank back to their sandwiches and snacks.

"Anyway, if you're really nice to them they'll help you with protection and healing. They like to dance at night." Puck took a bite of his fruit. "Fish eat them though."

"That's not cool." Chelsea managed between swallows. "Why do they live in the water if they'll be eaten?"

"They'd dry up on land. You saw it. Just a wispy invisible thing." Puck waved his hand. "Not a thing of substance. They need the night and the moon and the water like you need your soda and oxygen." He swallowed rough, "Anyway. I'll see you tomorrow. It's about time for your mom to start hollering for dinner."

Chelsea nodded, gathering her food and handing it to the fae. "See you tomorrow, same time?"

"Same time." He winked, then blinked out of sight.

~*~*~*~

"No." Chelsea crouched further down, ignoring the creeping coolness of water over the butt of her shorts, "You gotta get further down. You can't tell me you've never caught frogs?"

"Not like this!" Puck grumbled. "I just have to ask back where I'm from. It's different. The things out here are so much less... compliant."

"Compliant." Chelsea snorted. "Now that's a word."

"Just because I'm smart-"

"Yeah, a smart-ass."

"You can't say grown up words!" Puck toppled into the stream, sending the frogs scattering.

"Oh man." Chelsea groaned, falling back with her friend, laying down in the water. "There goes the lesson. Now what?"

"Well, we could have a new lesson." Puck sat up, dripping to look over the pasture to the horses. "Teach me to ride them like you do."

"My mom will see you if I do that." Chelsea's eyes widened.

"I can make it so she doesn't." He promised. "I can make a lot of things happen that she doesn't have to notice."

Chelsea frowned for a moment, pulling a rock out from the bottom of the riverbed and cleaning it before putting it back. "Like you do with my chores?"

"Like I do with your chores. Hey, by the way, did you do what I said with that thorn?"

She blinked, fingers busying themselves with the hem of her shorts, "Alright, I'll teach you to ride the horse."

Chelsea laughed as the fae leapt up with a shout, "The curved back one?"

"Gremlin isn't fit to ride." Chelsea pointed out. "But Tory is. He's big, but he's a nice boy."

"Ahh, the black brown one was my second choice." Puck stuck his lips out in  a pout but followed as Chelsea approached the red roan.

"Free's too stubborn for a new rider. Especially bareback."

"You're the expert I guess." The fae shrugged, then grinned as he rubbed his hands over the roans dusty coat. "Man he smells so good."

"I'm glad you think so." Chelsea ran her fingers over Tory's neck to his face. "Now, blow into his nose really slow."

"Uh... What?"

~*~*~*~

Chelsea let out a shuddering breath. "I really shouldn't be here, Puck." Her grip tightened around his fingers.

"I mean, it's just a corner store." Puck snorted, pushing the door open, gaze darting to the bell that chimed their entrance.

"Mom said-"

"She won't know, and what she doesn't know won't hurt her." He pulled the human down the candy isle. "Let's grab stuff, my mortal. I've got cash- real cash." He cut Chelsea's protest off.

Chelsea frowned, watching her dark haired companion load his arms with goodies. Convincing herself. Because Mom didn't know, did she? She didn't know Chelsea wasn't working on the irrigation. She didn't know Chelsea wasn't on the farm.

She didn't know.

Puck turned a corner, returning with large sodas and a wry grin. Chelsea smiled, fingers snaking around a Whatchamacallit. She could do this. She could be a kid, she could enjoy this wild abandon at least once.

~*~*~*~

The cemetery maybe was a weird place to meet. Puck had suggested it and Chelsea didn't have any second thoughts about flying there on her bike as fast as she could. But wandering the tombstones, the air holding a chill that promised Fall was approaching, it whispered of scarier things.

In the back of her mind she couldn't shake Puck's warning; the creatures out here are wilder. Chelsea rubbed her arms against the chicken skin that washed over her.

"Oi, Chelsea." The fae waved as he created the incline. "Why are you wandering way-"

"Are there ghosts?" Chelsea sat on the edge of a burial plot. "Do human spirits linger?"

Puck blanched, his grip on their snacks tightened. "Y- you know. I don't know." He sat beside her, at a distance. "I don't deal with that, it's not what our family does."

"Do you think..." Her voice dropped deep, "do you think my parents-? Back on the Island there are stories about-" She sucked in a breath. “It was a car accident. Mom says no one wanted me, but I know they did. She took me to court. She sued the family, the whole family, to have me. My real mom and dad had a living will, it just wasn’t legally recognized. It didn’t have the right signatures.” Chelsea wiped at a stray tear. “They died in a car accident that I was in. Why did I-”

Watery eyes turned to the horizon, ignoring the way her young friend watched her, scrutinizing. He breathed deep, setting the food down. Chelsea leaned into him as he pressed his body against her, his arm looping around her shoulder, her head falling to the crook of his neck. Slender fingers rubbed against sun warmed skin as her shoulders shook in quiet cries; a trick learned from harsh scoldings and long, lonely nights.

"I don't know about your parents. I don't know about ghosts." He whispered under the protective tree, old and exuding a peaceful kind of magic. "I know your parents must have been great people and I'm sorry you lost them."

Chelsea sniffled, "Why are you even here?"

The words were cold and curt, cutting Puck quick. "Because you're my friend."

"I'm just a stupid mortal." He winced physically at his own word being used against him. "I'll die just like they did one day."

"I love you." Pucks grip tightened, the words rushing out of him with vehemence. "I'm never leaving you. One day I’m going to marry you."

"You can't."

"And why?" He leapt up, defiant to the tips of his hair. “Fae do it all the time, stealing away people and keeping them.”

"I'm too young." She leaned back to watch him, wary and guarded.

"When you're older then." Green eyes rolled.

"What if I have a boyfriend?" A smile touched the corners of her mouth.

"I'll beat him up." The fae crouched, looking into Chelsea's face all youthful earnest and baby innocence. "I'll marry you. I love you. I'll punch anyone who tries to take you from me. I’ll take you away from this one day, and keep you and we can dance every night like my parents do and I’ll take you flying when I’m stronger and introduce you to all kinds of different fairy creatures. If you want to?"

Chelsea tilted her head, staring long into those emerald depths until she nodded.

The wind carried away her whispered "Okay."

~*~*~*~*

Tag List: @vhum @thelastoftheflyinggraysons @nemothesurvivor 

[chainsawsavvy]

“Quality exotic micro pocket bulldog puppies” are words that should not exist next to each other and yet I have read them and I so wish I could message this person and ask whyyyyy. Why have you taken a breed that is already subjected to a torturous existence and created teeny tiny pin sized babies with them

“They have excellent structure with beautiful big heads” good god it looks like you stuck a weeble wobble in the microwave until you could squish it into a shape that resembles a top heavy dog with a stringy little swayback if I could do a looney tunes style Acme Inc X-ray of this dog the spine would be a picture of a fraying rope bridge with half the boards about to fall out and the hips and back legs would be some twigs held together with a string and I’m going to have guilt soaked nightmares about these puppies purely from having laid eyes on this fucking Kijiji ad I just wanted to window shop from my bed and now I want to yell at strangers holy shit

[papermoonloveslucy]

HORSEBACK RIDING

April 15, 1949

“Horseback Riding” (aka “Liz Takes Horseback Riding Lessons”) is episode #39 of the radio series MY FAVORITE HUSBAND broadcast on April 15, 1949 on the CBS radio network.

Synopsis ~ George’s female co-chair for his horseback riding club's upcoming weekend breakfast ride has Liz so jealous that she's determined to overcome her fear of horses and learn to ride herself.

“My Favorite Husband” was based on the novels Mr. and Mrs. Cugat, the Record of a Happy Marriage (1940) and Outside Eden (1945) by Isabel Scott Rorick, which had previously been adapted into the film Are Husbands Necessary? (1942). “My Favorite Husband” was first broadcast as a one-time special on July 5, 1948. Lucille Ball and Lee Bowman played the characters of Liz and George Cugat, and a positive response to this broadcast convinced CBS to launch “My Favorite Husband” as a series. Bowman was not available Richard Denning was cast as George. On January 7, 1949, confusion with bandleader Xavier Cugat prompted a name change to Cooper. On this same episode Jell-O became its sponsor. A total of 124 episodes of the program aired from July 23, 1948 through March 31, 1951. After about ten episodes had been written, writers Fox and Davenport departed and three new writers took over – Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and head writer/producer Jess Oppenheimer. In March 1949 Gale Gordon took over the existing role of George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, and Bea Benaderet was added as his wife, Iris. CBS brought “My Favorite Husband” to television in 1953, starring Joan Caulfield and Barry Nelson as Liz and George Cooper. The television version ran two-and-a-half seasons, from September 1953 through December 1955, running concurrently with “I Love Lucy.” It was produced live at CBS Television City for most of its run, until switching to film for a truncated third season filmed (ironically) at Desilu and recasting Liz Cooper with Vanessa Brown.

MAIN CAST

Lucille Ball (Liz Cooper) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Richard Denning (George Cooper) was born Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger Jr., in Poughkeepsie, New York. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Los Angeles. Plans called for him to take over his father’s garment manufacturing business, but he developed an interest in acting. Denning enlisted in the US Navy during World War II. He is best known for his  roles in various science fiction and horror films of the 1950s. Although he teamed with Lucille Ball on radio in “My Favorite Husband,” the two never acted together on screen. While “I Love Lucy” was on the air, he was seen on another CBS TV series, “Mr. & Mrs. North.” From 1968 to 1980 he played the Governor on “Hawaii 5-0″, his final role. He died in 1998 at age 84.

Gale Gordon and Bea Benadaret do not appear in this episode.

Ruth Perrott (Katie, the Maid) was also later seen on “I Love Lucy.” She first played Mrs. Pomerantz (above right), a member of the surprise investigating committee for the Society Matrons League in “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25), as one of the member of the Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3), and also played a nurse when “Lucy Goes to the Hospital” (ILL S2;E16). She died in 1996 at the age of 96.

Bob LeMond (Announcer) also served as the announcer for the pilot episode of “I Love Lucy”. When the long-lost pilot was finally discovered in 1990, a few moments of the opening narration were damaged and lost, so LeMond – fifty years later – recreated the narration for the CBS special and subsequent DVD release.

GUEST CAST

Frank Nelson (Salesman) was born on May 6, 1911 (three months before Lucille Ball) in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He started working as a radio announcer at the age of 15. He later appeared on such popular radio shows as “The Great Gildersleeve,” “Burns and Allen,” and “Fibber McGee & Molly”. This is one of his 11 performances on “My Favorite Husband.”  On “I Love Lucy” he holds the distinction of being the only actor to play two recurring roles: Freddie Fillmore and Ralph Ramsey, as well as six one-off characters, including the frazzled train conductor in “The Great Train Robbery” (ILL S5;E5), a character he repeated on “The Lucy Show.”  Aside from Lucille Ball, Nelson is perhaps most associated with Jack Benny and was a fifteen-year regular on his radio and television programs.  

Whenever there was a salesman role, Nelson was top of the casting list. He perfected the ingratiating and infuriating salesperson on Jack Benny’s radio and television shows. “Yeeeees?”

Doris Singleton (Audrey Peters) created the role of Caroline Appleby on “I Love Lucy,” although she was known as Lillian Appleby in the first of her ten appearances. She made two appearances on “The Lucy Show” and four appearances on “Here’s Lucy.”    

Alan Reed (Mr. Lloyd aka ‘Little Ole Lloyd’ / Farmer / Land-Owner) is probably best remembered as the voice of Fred Flintstone. He started his acting career in 1937. In 1963 he played a café owner in “Lucy Visits the White House” (TLS S1;E25). In 1967, he made an appearance on the Desi Arnaz series “The Mothers-in-Law”. He died in 1977 at the age of 69.

Coincidentally, Reed’s only appearance with Lucille Ball on television also had Lucy on horseback! 

Pinto Colvig (Gulliver) was the original voice of Disney’s Pluto and Goofy, until his death in 1967. In 1993, the Walt Disney Company honored him as a ‘Disney Legend.’ On May 28, 2004, he was inducted into the International Clown Hall of Fame in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He provided the dog barks for “Lucy is Her Own Lawyer” (TLS S2;E23) in 1964.

EPISODE

ANNOUNCER: “As we look in on the Coopers, we find Katie the maid serving Liz her breakfast. George is upstairs getting into his riding habit as this is the day he meets with his horseback riding club.”

Katie wants to know why Liz never goes with George to his horseback riding club. Liz says she had an incident with a horse as a child. They had to stop the merry-go-round.  George comes down to breakfast and tells Liz that he is getting a ride to the stables by Audrey Peters. They are chairing next weekend’s breakfast ride. Liz is instantly jealous. 

Audrey rings the bell. Liz is icy toward her, at best.  Audrey asks Liz why she won’t come with them. 

AUDREY: “Are you afraid of horses?” LIZ: “No dear, I’m allergic to cats. It’s too bad I won’t get to see you ride, though. George says you look like part of the horse.” GEORGE: “Audrey’s been riding since she’s a child and she’s never lost her seat. Can you believe it?” LIZ: “Believe it? I can see it!” 

When George and Audrey have gone, Liz tells Katie she’s going to learn to ride a horse. 

Liz is shopping and asks the salesman (Frank Nelson) to show her some riding clothes.

FLOORWALKER: “A habit?” LIZ: “No, I’m just starting.” 

Liz gives her sizes as “thirty around the withers” and “seven along the fetlocks.” He shows her some English riding clothes.  Although he suggests a size seven boot, Liz insists on a six. 

At the stables, he meets with Mr. Lloyd aka ‘Little Ole Lloyd’ (Alan Reed). She tells him she wants to talk lessons. He suggests a swayback, toothless horse named Gulliver. Liz is afraid of Gulliver. 

She insists she can mount him on her own, but gets on backwards!  Gulliver falls asleep before they take their first trot! 

Next day, Liz returns for her second lesson. It seems Gulliver has developed an affection for Liz, perking up as soon as she comes in the stall.  Gulliver sighs in love when Liz smiles at her. 

At her sixth lesson, Lloyd says Gulliver won’t eat unless Liz is there, and he won’t allow anyone else to ride him. Liz still hasn’t even gone once around the ring without falling off.  She finally masters walking once around the ring on her twelfth lesson. Now if she can only do it with Gulliver. 

On the day of the breakfast ride, Liz is anxious for Audrey to come pick up George and take him to the stables.  Audrey honks the horn.

GEORGE: “I’d better go.” LIZ: “Yes. She mustn’t keep her broomstick running.”

ANNOUNCER: “George is out on a breakfast ride with his horseback riding club. Liz, to surprise him, has secretly learned to ride and is going to make a grand entrance by galloping up to greet them.”

Lloyd lets Gulliver out of the trailer about a half mile from the breakfast ride location. Gulliver trots up to the spot but a farmer (Alan Reed) tells them they rode on another ten miles to Hickory Falls. 

Arriving at Hickory Falls, Gulliver is winded. The land-owner (Alan Reed again) warns her that the breakfast riders were trespassing and he shooed them off to Buzzard’s Roost. He charged them ten dollars for trespass and does the same to Liz. She rides on to Buzzard’s Roost but ends up back where she started from!  

Back at the Cooper home, Katie answers the doorbell and finds Liz lying on the welcome mat exhausted.  

LIZ: “What a wild ride. I felt like Paul Revere. Come to think of it, we probably had the same horse!” 

Paul Revere (1734-1818) was a silversmith, engraver, early industrialist, and Patriot in the American Revolution. He is best known for his midnight ride to alert the colonial militia in April 1775 to the approach of British forces before the battles of Lexington and Concord. In a 1964 “Jack Benny Special” Lucy and Benny played Mr. and Mrs. Paul Revere.  In the sketch, it is Mrs. Revere who makes the famous midnight ride, not Paul. 

Liz asks Katie to help her get her riding boots off - but they don’t budge. Liz’s feet have swollen and the boots won’t come off. Katie she suggests Liz go down to the store and ask the salesman for help.  Once she gets there, the salesman gloats that he warned her to buy sevens. He thinks he knows the trick to getting them off, but he can’t do it.  He struggles and the boot finally comes off - but he has shattered the store window in the process!  

Liz comes home. The boots are off but her feet look like two thermometers. George comes home. He says that Audrey was thrown, when as a joke she attempted to mount an old swayback named Gulliver! 

LIZ (laughing): “I’ll have to send over a nice bouquet of flowers. GEORGE: “Audrey will appreciate that.” LIZ: “Who said anything about Audrey? I’m gonna send them for the horse!”  

End of Episode

The announcer reminds listeners that Lucille Ball will soon be seen in the Paramount Picture Sorrowful Jones.

Coincidentally, Sorrowful Jones was also about horses! 

[doberbutts]

So I have a question about shows. At some point all you have are dogs that fit the standard, right? How do judges pick a winner from a group that already fits into that standard? More so, with shows like the Westminster Kennel Club dog show, how do they pick a winner from dogs that have shown to be like, the poodle-iest poodle? Are they just looking for a dog that makes them go "Now THATS a (x breed)"?

Well, all dogs also have faults, so while it’s best not to fault judge (aka dump on dogs just because they happen to have a fault, because all dogs have at least one) it’s also important to keep in mind that the combination of these faults or lack thereof is what a judge is looking for. There is also “type”, but how valuable that is can vary breed by breed- the Chihuahua standard for instance states several times that there are many types but only one standard so don’t exclude a dog that fits standard but happens not to be the type you like if it’s truly the better dog. The Doberman standard, however, does not do this, and you will see most winning dogs will be very typey. Type is generally what makes people go “wow, now THAT’S a [breed]”, and if it’s missing usually that’s what makes people go “I like that dog, but there’s something I just can’t place that feels... off...” A dog can lack type but still be to standard, and whether that’s permitted or rewarded in the show ring will vary breed by breed. For some breeds, that’s an instant last place. For others, they’d still be judged simply by standard rather than type.

Because all dogs have faults, you can get dogs that are top winners that have something simply cosmetic “wrong” with them, like breeds that aren’t supposed to have a white patch on the chest and yet a winner has a small white patch. If the dog is structurally fantastic, a white patch is not a huge deal because it doesn’t hurt the dog like a structural fault would. At that point the onus is on the person who owns that dog to breed it to a dog that does not have a white patch, to prevent the fault from showing up again. This is a lot more forgivable of a fault than, for instance, too many missing teeth or a dog with bowed legs, as that actively hinders the dog’s ability to be a dog. Similarly, certain structural faults are “less bad” than others. A straight front is a very common structural fault, even my doberman has one. While that does put him at higher risk for arthritis in his shoulder, it’s also very common for wild wolves and pariah dogs and feral dogs to have straight fronts, meaning while it’s considered a fault it’s also something that the test of nature commonly spits out. Quite a lot different than a dog with a swayback, which does not frequently occur in nature (tho I have seen a few!) and has a high chance of crippling the dog as it ages.

There’s also temperament to consider. The Chihuahua standard states very specifically that chis are meant to be a saucy, fearless, stand-your-ground type of dog, which means that if there’s a structurally perfect dog in the ring that’s terrified of anyone that approaches, it’s still not to standard. Dobes are supposed to be bold and alert yet neutral enough to allow a stranger (the judge) to approach and touch. The judge watches how the dogs interact with their owners, with the judge itself, and occasionally with each other (terriers and chis can be sparred in the ring to test their courage) and weighs that observation against how the dog looks, as well.

Because no dog is perfect, it’s important to remember that just because the dog wins doesn’t mean it’s a perfect representation to the breed. Breeding is a balancing game- to breed well, one must heavily consider the faults and strengths of both parents and make informed choices to try to produce better puppies. This is also why, while I don’t think titling is everything nor do I think that titles inherently make a dog breeding quality (or lack thereof doesn’t), I tend to expect a breeder I consider responsible to be doing some sort of third-party evaluation of their dog. I think Creed is perfect and for me that’s certainly true, but if I wanted to breed him it’s important to consider how he measures up to others of his breed, and hear from someone unbiased his strengths and weaknesses, that way I could match him to a female who compliments him and who he compliments as well without furthering the faults either of them possess.

[kaikamahine]

Last Lines Meme

“Rules are to post the last line written from any five of your WIPs. ” I was tagged by @aimmyarrowshigh​ and by @callunavulgari​ on slightly different versions, so I picked the one that was easier, lol.

I tag YOU. YES YOU, if you’ve got five WIPs and you want to!

1]

The third time Modesty Barebone tries to kill her brother Credence, she does it by noose.

He’s the size of a small dog now, and dragging him around is uncomfortable, shifting sandpaper skin that rubs raw patches on her hands and clothes. Bent swaybacked with the effort, she carries him into the kitchen where the rope dangles from the light fixture, and when she takes the end and nestles it around what she thinks is his neck, he opens a sawbone mouth somewhere on his body and chirps, inquisitive.

“-- shalt not suffer a witch,” she tells him, and heaves.

For one horrible, unexpected moment, it works and he swings -- and then, slowly, oozes free again, landing on the floor with a plop, where he remains puddled and looking at her reproachfully. 

2]

"Sera.”

He’s still wearing Graves’s clothes. The sight of those familiar knots under a foreign chin makes her want to find the toothiest of Scamander’s creatures to drop in there with him. Or the hungriest. She breathes.

“Oh, Sera,” he says. His greasy hair and greasy eyes and that awful little mustache are all the same, the color of wet bone. “You’re running out of time.”

3]

“You know that’s not true,” Credence says quietly, speaking into the sink, suds up to his elbows. “All you have to do is walk into a room, and Miss Queenie’s face brightens up just for having you there. You walk into a room, and Mr. Scamander looks right at you, and he never looks at anyone -- at least not directly. Everywhere you go, Mr. Kowalski, people smile at you like they mean it.” He pauses, and peeks over sidelong. “And that seems more like magic than any levitation trick anyone’s shown me.”

“... oh, kid,” Jacob manages, in a distinctly wobbly way, and Credence smiles at him, which just proves the point, really.

4] 

“There is a word, Mr. Graves,” comes out of him, very slow, “for the kind of man who uses my trust to gain access to my eight-year-old sister.”

As he speaks, shadows begin to unravel from his skin, revealing a glimpse of the bones in his face, the innards of his chalk-white eyes, the yellowed tendons in his wrists. Where they touch, things ... unmake themselves. The threads on the upholstery come undone, the grains in the wood shiver apart, light goes out, and Graves takes a sharp involuntary step backward. Remembering, for the first time, that this is Grindelwald’s monster, his weapon to end all weapons.

5]

“You think? Is that because you work with dangerous creatures?” Tina asks curiously.

Newt gives her a strange look. “No,” she answers. “It’s because we’re women and our instincts usually aren’t wrong when they tell us something’s off about a man.”

[untilthed3xvhofme]

Sometimes I get these horrible feelings. They cause me to wake up disoriented and upset. I get them all the time and they make me want to puke. The only thing that makes them go away is my dog. These feelings are why I’m unsure, are why I’m afraid and why I think this is going to end badly for me

[creativedogtrainingonline]

Boston Terrier 101: The Breed Standard

A breed standard is a breed company’s blueprint of exactly what the perfect pet dog need to look and imitate. This is exactly what a program dog like a pure-blooded Boston Terrier is evaluated against. Rather of being compared to the other pets in the ring, the pet dog is compared with how well they fit the breed requirement. This is typically what breeders strive to achieve in their breeding programs. A type standard is the Holy Writ of the pet dog world.Consequentially, few Boston Terriers come anywhere near matching the type requirement and are cut from breeding programs or abandoned because of their imperfections. If you discover a charming little black and white pet in your regional shelter and question what breed she or he could be, a take a look at the Boston Terrier breed requirement can help. Determining a shelter pet dog’s type can assist let you understand what you are obtaining in for.But the looks of a Boston Terrier is a winner, too.

You may see a lot of strong colored Boston Terriers that are all black, all grey or all brindle. Or, possibly their heads are all black. They are still pure-blooded Boston Terriers, but they would be disqualified from the program ring. Just colored and white Boston Terriers, with a specific amount of white on the face in addition to body, are allowed to show.The type standard also emphasizes toughness.

They are not to have physical weak points like swaybacks, purified legs, really slow gait or look excessively muscular. Their bodies ought to look tough however everything must remain in proportion. And the tails are naturally extremely brief, although periodically a purebred is born with a long tail. The ears are perky and many of the time they are pointed (periodically a floppy eared one occurs ). Boston Terriers look and imitate a toy pet, but they are shown in the non-sporting group. Their appearances are just as captivating as their personalities, colors and absence of tail. They are smooth-haired, highly constructed without being too muscular like an English Bulldog. They have large, meaningful eyes and a lively walk. They have a blunt nose, but generally not as flat as a Pekingese nose. The nickname for the breed is The American Gentleman.The Boston Terrier reproduce basic not only tells you what to try to find in

a champ show pet dog, and how hard it is to find one,

however also lists typical physical faults of the breed. This can assist you identity a canine in a shelter that you may wish to adopt. Boston Terriers are generally abandoned through no fault of their own, but since they are so adorable and little, as people frequently buy them on impulse. About the author: Wendy Caples is an avid lover of the Boston Terrier and has a popular website where you’ll discover ways to have a delighted, healthy

and well behaved Boston Terrier. To name a few subjects at this website, you can also find out all about Boston Terrier Information plus a great deal more. pixabay

[doberbutts]

I'm not a dogblr (actually not really an anything-blr, just lurking and liking) and I don't post or reblog anything (for various reasons) but I'd just like to apologize for immediately taking sides in that whole shitstorm earlier-I read a few replies and vagueblogs about you and others without actually reading the original post/responses and jumped to a conclusion (which I find is unfortunately common here tbh). After reading everything later I realized that my view of the situation was (1/2)

(2/2) limited and unfairly biased and that you hadn’t actually done any of the things you were being accused of. I really respect and admire you and am glad I wasn’t a complete ignorant shitstain and ended up reading everything that went down, because I look up to you both as a dogblr as well as a person and I would hate for something silly (and unfounded) like that to screw with that. (I also learned that I’m a lazy piece of shit who needs to look at all the facts and not just angry vagueblogs)

I have quite a few followers with empty blogs that lurk and like- hello to you too!

Thank you for that. I’m still not really sure why everything went down the way it did. The entire situation was blown way out of proportion by a handful of people that I don’t even interact with and I don’t think ever have outside of maybe answering a few ask games, so it’s strange to me how they could claim they have some sort of intimate knowledge of my personal history or of my personality. And then people who I have spoken to, made nice with and chatted about dogs, join in saying how I am always mean and elitist and rude and they’ve been waiting to run me off tumblr for a while- that’s cool I guess it’s great knowing that I can’t trust anyone on this site.

Also I like the handful of anons who were going around saying they knew me from another site where I was always rude and mean- let’s see, the only other site you would “know me” from is chickensmoothie, and the people on there that don’t like me include:

the chick who has a bajillion animals in absolutely filthy cages that she’s incapable of caring for and so several of them have died from completely preventable things (told her to improve her husbandry before getting more animals)

the chick who bred a crippled hideous ambully to another crippled hideous ambully that died at a year old and kept two puppies with severe cleft palates for breeding (doesn’t like that I disapprove of breeding a dog with no health testing to a dog with crippling swayback, or that breeding deformed puppies is probably bad)

the chick with the dogs that keep killing her livestock that keeps getting more livestock that her dogs keep killing (maybe don’t let your dogs interact with your livestock and I’ll stop saying that it’s a bad idea?)

the chick with the “registered service dog” patterdale/APBT that keeps calling her mutt a purebred because she’s more game than any pure APBT and registration ID cards make things easier for her so she doesn’t care it makes things harder for literally everyone else (because both APBT and SD teams have things hard enough as it is)

the chick in a country where “pit bulls” and all bully breeds are banned claiming that her unpapered off color bbms are purebred APBT (your blue and blue brindle BBMs are mutts that are very illegal for you to have and you don’t sound at all knowledgeable to claim them as pure)

and maybe one of my exes and their ex gf (messy breakup, messier breakup)

oh yeah and the like 5 whiny white people who were mad that I told them that they didn’t get to sit there and tell a black person what is and isn’t racism, and the one otherkin kid that tried to convince me they have it worse because being otherkin is just like being trans except they’ll never be an animal and I can have a surgery to make me a dude, and the one white vegan that said she hoped my ancestors knew I betrayed them by making Creed into a slave- but I doubt they did anything with dogblr

All of whom I haven’t spoken to for close to a year or more now because I got tired of that site’s drama and left. Yes. Wonderful judges of character, wouldn’t you say?

But it really bothers me because I know you aren’t the only person who had this reaction, and this defamation of character + harassment + betrayal was a little too out of control over two sentences, an apology, and a “hey btw could you not register your dog”. Especially not considering only a few hours earlier I’d chased an actual neo-nazi off my blog with a lot more respect than that, and if my recent “punch all nazis” posts are anything for you to go by then you’d know that I have absolutely no respect for that shit. Somehow a gay, disabled, black dude was able to handle telling a nazi to fuck off a lot better than dogblr was able to handle a situation that didn’t need to explode but it’s cool it’s fine I’m good everything’s peachy.

Because you know it’s not like we didn’t have a ~educate, don’t hate~ and ~don’t send anon hate it’s mean~ kick going on but I guess that only matters for some blogs.

And the absolute kicker in all this is that one of the folks who started the shenanigans followed me a week after I turned my blog back on and occasionally reblogs or likes my things, but never offered an apology. So I guess I’m a rude elitist mean asshole when it suits their public narrative but when it comes down to it they think they’re entitled to interact with my blog as though nothing’s wrong with absolutely no “hey so that was pretty uncalled for”. Funny that.

I apologize- I’m sure you didn’t mean to unleash the torrent of salt but I am quite bitter and am reminded of how bitter I am about this every time I see that url pop up in my notifications or sit there in my recent followers.