Dogs can speak. Just as humans use sign language, I believe so do our 4-legged friends, but instead of using their paws, they use their ears. And if you take the time to listen to their ears, you’ll see they actually speak volumes.
With that in mind I decided I would write a post about doggy ear language. On deciding, I thought who better to demonstrate doggy sign language than my beloved Stanley? However there was only one problem with that decision: I needed Stanley to cooperate, but he was too busy sniffing, sleeping, catching a few winter rays or stopping to chat to one of his friends on our daily walk.
So please excuse the quality of the images, it was not an easy task to manipulate leads, IPhones etc to get that perfect shot. But I was persistent and did manage to capture a little of how his dogship communicates. Here goes, with a little caption ‘translation’…
And a final note: as Erica says; dogs definitely make everything better. ❤
‘Yes, it’s a bookcase Mum, do you have a problem with that?’
Here is how the dictionary defines Karma: the sum of a person’s actions in this and previous states of existence: viewed as deciding their fate in future existences…
With that being said, it’s important to remember how our behaviour could come back and bite hard in our ‘future existence’.
For one gentleman who had hoped to spend some time in NYC recently, karma certainly bared its teeth and took a big chunk out of his plans and probably his pride.
A friend who was operating on his flight said the gentleman (loosely termed: cough, splutter) in question boarded and proceeded to complain. The food wasn’t hot enough the drinks weren’t cold enough, the service wasn’t good enough the cabin temperature wasn’t right, ah the list went on and on.
Apparently no amount of kindness, service or helpful advice seemed to appease this bothersome man.
So in the end the crew let him rant to his heart’s content, as after all, on arrival in New York they would politely say goodbye, retreat to their 5-star hotel in downtown NYC, and never set eyes on him again.
But they were wrong. They did see him again and this time they were quite pleased to see him doing what he obviously thought he did best: complain!
And his complaint?
Just two little words the steel-faced customs agent had swiftly slapped onto the gentleman’s passport. And those words?
p.s. Thanks (RB) a very special and very lovely friend who told me this tale. 🙂
It’s a jungle out there. Honestly, it’s nasty and it has left me with a rather bitter taste.
Whatever happened to good, old fashioned honesty and a frank, yet friendly chat with a prospective employer?
Those days are gone. In their place, it’s all about how best you can perform, and I say that tongue in cheek. For it seems that in today’s job hunting jungle you have to bare your teeth, be prepared for a cold and vicious kill (of your opponents) and create a persona that defies who you really are.
As a freelance journalist who has an interest in what’s going on in the world, I decided to put it to the test. So I applied for a position, wrote a resume that highlighted my experience and landed an interview.
Off I went feeling quite good as the position on offer was something I could confidently perform and one in which I had experience.
I arrived 15 minutes early, donned in professional attire and waited patiently to be collected. As I waited, a number of other candidates of various ages joined me. What I noticed was that some of the candidates had chosen to dress somewhat differently to what I deemed appropriate. Forgive me, but I’m of the opinion that when attending an interview, clean hair, unscuffed shoes, and ladder free stockings are the order of the day, not to mention any visible piercings relating to the nose and or face, should be removed.
As I surveyed my ‘competition’ I felt I would at least stand a chance considering my experience, (did I mention that already?) and my well presented appearance.
How wrong I was, for after three hours of being subjected to video footage of booze infested party’s and over zealous employees giving endless and dare I say, boring anecdotes of their ‘experiences’, I and and a few other well presented hopefuls were politely told that we did not make the cut. For a moment I thought it might have been another of their little jokes, simply adding to the others they had shared throughout the morning. No, we had definitely been given our marching orders.
So as I sat and watched the ‘successfuls’ stroll past in their scuffed shoes, pierced noses and bare legs, something occurred to me. I had not shared a single word, hello, how ya’ doin’ or even a little ‘tell me about yourself’ with a single member of the selection panel. Instead I had played a survivor in a plane accident, been asked to sell my wares (or the company in question’s wares) and filled out a form saying what city I was in, if standing next to the Louvre.
Yep, it’s a jungle out there: well it would be if I could only get the opportunity to let somebody here my roar. Or at least a little rant.