I am a community activist, philanthropist, breast cancer survivor, advocate and founder and board chair of the Thelma D. Jones Breast Cancer Fund. I am also a parent, grandparent, and a doting pet owner.
I have a little bit of a pet peeve about how the middle class is depicted in movies. I feel like they tend to be either depicted in a very sentimental way, where everybody has a heart of gold except for the villains you're supposed to hiss at, or there's a sort of indie-style version... When it's done well, it's brilliant, it's Blue Velvet. But when it's done poorly, it feels like shooting fish in a barrel, just saying, "Ooh, scary suburbs."
I write like anyone involved with a family and a full time job: in stolen moments. I've had to adapt because I have so little writing time, so I write while dinner bubbles on the stove, and get away to cafes when I can. It is good to have a small laptop to haul around. I wish I could admit to bizarre writing habits, you know, like "I can only write in the presence of my favorite pet elephant, who is my fount of inspiration," but the truth, alas, is far more mundane.
Because we can't escape our ancient hunger to live close to nature, we encircle the house with lawns and gardens, install picture windows, adopt pets and Boston ferns, and scent everything that touches our lives.
Asthma doesn't seem to bother me any more unless I'm around cigars or dogs. The thing that would bother me most would be a dog smoking a cigar.
Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway.
One thing lots of Christians do have in common is that they can't help coming across as smug. This winds lots of people up, particularly because famous Christians pronounce on the life of the poor from their very lovely affluent homes filled with their very lovely families and attractive pets.
The newest victims of the nation's foreclosure crisis are pets, which is extremely distressing to me.
The attitude we have towards our personal pets as opposed to the animals that suffer under the factory farm is hypocritical and delusional.
A pet store is a celebration of dogs' existence and an explosion of options. About cats, a pet store seems to say, 'Here, we couldn't think of anything else.' Cats are the Hanukkah of the animal world in this way. They are feted quietly and happily by a minority, but there's only so much hoopla applicable to them.
I had mice that I kept as pets when I was very young, and I've always liked the way they look. Even rats. I'm not scared of them.
All my freakouts have been pretty private and directed at family pets and/or people I have been dating for too short a time to freak out at in that way.
I try not to wear anything I have to fidget with - there's nothing worse than wearing something and pulling down the hem and re-adjusting the top. My pet hate is when girls wear those strapless dresses and spend the whole night yanking them up.
I have a Lab, it's fun to hang out and hike with the dog, people come up to him, and pet him, it's fun.
I used to have some fish, some nice little carp, but they got too big for the tank. I don't have any pets now.
Veterans report that service dogs help break their isolation. People will often avert their eyes when they see a wounded veteran. But when the veteran has a dog, the same people will come up and say, 'Hi' to pet the dog and then strike up a conversation.
The better I get to know men, the more I find myself loving dogs.
Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps; for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are, and what they ought to be.
It has become my mission to stop the insanity of wild cats as pets.
Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
In order to really enjoy a dog, one doesn't merely try to train him to be semi-human. The point of it is to open oneself to the possibility of becoming partly a dog.
Kind 'Guardian' readers have been forwarding me round robin Christmas newsletters for years now: lengthy missives full of perfect children, exotic holidays, talented pets and endless, tedious detail. The notes that accompanied them revealed they had inspired in the original recipients everything from mild irritation to absolute rage.
A fly, Sir, may sting a stately horse and make him wince; but, one is but an insect, and the other is a horse still.
Everything in life is speaking in spite of it's apparent silence.
Humans have a fraught relationship with beasts. They are our companions and our chattel, our family members and our laborers, our household pets and our household pests. We love them and cage them, admire them and abuse them. And, of course, we cook and eat them.
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