lap breed

This is Rio. K-9 extreme. I got her 14 years ago from a woman who bread Boarder Collies. Her neighbor down the road had a Beagle that got out. Hence I give you; the BoarderBeagle. She will heard you into a circle, then stand there and howl at you. And when she’s done she will come lay in your lap.

anonymous asked:

I'm thinking of getting a clown, but I have a toddler and I'm worried for her safety around it. Do you have any advice?

There are many friendly clown breeds renown for their gentleness with children. As with any pet, however, you need to supervise their interactions, as a grabby toddler can easily get nipped.

I would say with a very small child, avoid game bred clowns like rodeo clowns or scary clowns and look for a decent jester cross that can handle some roughhousing.

Even though it’s a lap breed, I’d avoid a Punch or Judy, as these terriers are very fiesty, and avoid more delicate toy breeds like a silk marrionette.

“Aren’t you hot? Besides being hot.” Trini murmured as she splayed her hand softly against Kimberly’s sternum, feeling the sweat through the thin fabric and the quick intake of Kimberly’s breath.  She frowned and wagged her head, stopping it immediately.  “Owh.” she groaned, and her hand slid lower.  “Live!” She began fumbling to open the first button of the blouse, desperate for her to properly breathe.

“I-I’m properly breathing.” Kimberly’s hands trembled as she pried Trini’s own and set them on her lap.

”You’re breeding erratically.” Trini protested.  She cleared her throat.  “Briefing.  Breathing.”

”Mom?” Kimberly whimpered.

”Yes? Does Trini have her seatbelt on?” Mrs. Hart asked.

“Yes…”

“Great!”

“Mom, I’m bi.”

“I know, child.  Make sure Trini is comfortable.”

“When will the anesthesia wear off?”

“I suppose in a few hours.”

Kimberly sighed.  Trini frowned and cupped Kimberly’s face.  “What made your sadness?” she asked.  “It’s me? Tell me what I do…”

“It’s not you.” Kimberly soothed.  “You’re just high.”

“But! Never?” Trini leaned close to Kimberly as far as her seatbelt allowed, almost bumping her mouth on her chin.  “Can you breathalyzer?”

“No.” Kimberly’s laughter sounded like she was weeping.  

“I’m not funny! You–you are, you look p-p-p-pink, like,” Trini snapped her fingers, just as Kimberly would do, “when you morph into–”

“My bathing suit?” Kimberly said.  “Right?”

“No but okay.” Trini raised her arms.  Kimberly laughed again, and she smiled even if her mouth still felt numb, propping her chin on the back of the car, trying to absorb it all.  “Gosh.” she sighed.

“What’s up, Trini?”

“You.” Trini murmured.  “You.”

“Me?”

“Effervescent.”

“Did she just say a big word on anesthesia?” Mrs. Hart asked behind the wheel.  “Wow.”

“I love you so much it hurts.” Trini said.  “Like uh, uh, I dying star but feel like baby star? Yeahah.” She nodded seriously.  “Legit.  It’s lit.”

Kimberly’s breath caught, her eyes widened, and she seemed to petrify so, so slowly.

sarcasticcebby  asked:

werewolves based on ridiculous dog breeds (Irish wolfhound, chow chow, Jack Russel terrier etc), aka one of my favorite things. imagine a Pomeranian werewolf

In the year 1876 we got rid of the last wolves. Then the wolves went inward. For lack of anywhere left to go, anywhere else to hide, they hid inside us. A century and some change later and we had tamed those wolves too.

I had no siblings growing up. When the time for my first shift was fast approaching my mom and dad (a lhaso appso and shar-pei shifter respectively) invited my older cousins (a mastiff and a boston terrier) to stay for a while and help me through it. It wasn’t the kind of talk you wanted to get from an adult, much less a parent.

“What if I don’t like the one I get?”

They told me it was normal to feel that way. Plenty of people were confused by or even ashamed of their alternate during the first few shifts, but it was important to remember that all breeds had their virtues. Many cultures still considered the smaller bred alters a sign of latent noble blood, and considering my parents I was predisposed towards such an outcome.

Even in our modern, civilized society there were still certain superstitions and stigmas attached to a person’s alter. Hunting dogs were indicative of diligence, loyalty, strength of character. Smaller hounds and terriers represented stamina and persistence. Many breeds of lap dog were considered glamorous but physically frail and a harbinger of sickness. Still others, the boxy, muscled utility breeds were thought to be on the dense side, not good for anything but menial labor. Poodles were intelligent. Labs were good with kids. Any dog with a black belly and white ears was good luck. And so on.

“When will I find out? Why is it taking so long?”

They exchanged glances and told me, nervous smiles on their faces, that lots of people in our family were late bloomers. Another moon was coming in just a few days. We’d try again. Eventually it would happen.

But the waiting unsettled me. With every passing phase the dreams became more frequent, more vivid. I saw through eyes that were not my own, wandering lost in a place I did not recognize, yet felt familiar to me.

“Is it normal that I think I see her sometimes? My alter? In my dreams she’s bigger than any dog I’ve ever seen. Runs faster too. She takes me to where her family lived but not even the bones are there now, not even the woods. She doesn’t understand where they went. She doesn’t understand why she’s still here.”

Without another word they left to get my parents. I closed my eyes and saw only silver.