Poodles Are Fun Things

First of all, don't ask.

If you did ask, I hate you.

If you still want to know, my friend Erin and I are both going to write a blog post about the same topic, and at the end we'll see what we can come up with.

Now I should probably take this time to say "Erin is the most awesome, cool, fantabulous person ever and you should all totally follow her!"—after all, isn't that what bloggers do?—but she has about five times as many followers as I do. And she has ten followers.

NEVERTHELESS, if you want to follow her, her blog can be found here: .

Now on to this blog. Thing.

Poodles are fun things.

I guess I'm supposed to talk about poodles being fun things, but I don't really love poodles. Don't get me wrong, dogs are awesome, but since I was a child my father has taught me that if all four feet come off the ground when it barks, it's not a dog. It's more of a...rat.

That's funny; calling it a rat is supposed to be an insult, but actually rats are pretty smart. Or so they say. Now I don't know if rats are smarter than, say, golden retrievers, or german shepherds, or czechoslovakian wolfdogs, but I'd bet my golden penny (SCIENCE) that they're smarter than poodles. Fer realz.

(Update: I just glanced over at Erin's screen [didn't read anything, just glanced] and saw that I've written more than her. I can tell because my scroll-bar is shorter than hers. Mine takes up about half the space available to scroll bars, hers takes up about two thirds.)

I feel a little bad now, because I just realized that four of my neighbors' five dogs have been poodles. (Okay, 3 out of 4 if you don't count their daughter's dog). Anyway, There was O'Mally, Kozmo, Lizzie, and one I don't remember. O'Mally and the other one died when I was like...Six. Or something. I can remember O'Mally biting me on the nose one time, so I must have been older than 3 or 4. (Fun fact, you don't develop a memory until you're 3 or 4). Kozmo died recently, and it was really sad. By the end of his life he had gone blind and deaf, and could hardly walk. One of the saddest things that has ever happened to me was when I was petting him one day, and even though he was always really mean and nasty and bity and awful, he was wagging his tail. I almost cried.

Wait, but that's not fun. I need to talk about FUN! Poodles are FUN!

My neighbors' daughter, Kelly, has a poodle Lizzy. She's fun. My other neighbors, the Fentrises, have a poodle, Amy. Amy's fun. She's BIG, though. I remember my sister telling me a story about Amy.

Once, she and my dad were playing basketball, and the ball went over the fence and into the Fentrises' yard. He told her to just jump the fence and go get it, so she did. Now I think they had just gotten the dog at this point, and my sister was definitely smaller than she is now, and a big dog like Amy was most likely a terrifying sight to behold. I can't remember if my sister said she was actually scared of dogs, or if it was just that Amy was so much bigger than her.

Anyway, my dad decided it would be funny to yell "Nicole, the Fentrises' dog!" and point frantically behind her. This was not so funny to my sister, because apparently she ran as fast as she could toward the fence, throwing the ball to our dad before hopping the fence herself, completely ignoring the door in the fence.

My dad, of course, was joking.

That's fun. That makes poodles fun things, right?

...Right?

Well Erin finished typing a while ago, so I think I should stop, too. She's on my blog now, reading all my others, no doubt waiting for me to click "publish post". Well fine then! Are you happy, Erin?

(Note: Every [EVERY] time I tried to type "Erin" in this post, I first mis-typed it as "Eric". Juuust so you know.)