February 20, 2006
Snow Howl / Jaws of the Beast
I love this somewhat terrifying picture of Lucky. It captures him doing what he does best - barking. Barking is Lucky's life's work. We often joke that he has a quota of barks he must release each day, when in reality, he just loves barking. Barking is his art. Look at how he throws his whole upper-body into it. In this shot you can see the amazing physicality that goes into a full-throttle Lucky howl - the head thrown back, the fangs revealed, the throat taunt, the hair flared. Truly his bark is a marvel of nature! Barking is the aria of his dog-nification - it extends the signature of his transcendent canine animus in a piercing arch across the azure pages of heaven. "O vaulted, cerulean canopy, feel my vocal punches, hear my syncopated dog hymn: ruff. . . ruff RUFF ruff. . . ruff RUFF!" and so forth.
Yeah. . . so Lucky's incessant barking is fucking driving me crazy. Especially after being iced-in with him for 48 hours. All weekend he stood at the window, barking at neighborhood kids on sleds, at timid birds in the front yard, at the occasional squirrel on the deck and at the gathered movements of, what must be, invisible predators, because every fourth time I went to investigate his furious dog yelps, I looked out of the window to find nothing. So you say your dog is driving you crazy? No, my friend, you need to spend some time with our neurotic mutt. Come experience extreme barking. We got plenty of it.