sign of the times... not good, not good at all... the english shouldn't own german dog breeds, let alone the germans owning their dogs... how can they? when did a stranger walk past a woman walking a rottweiler, and the stranger managed to pet the rottweiler on the head? when i owned a doberman pinscher, he was a ferocious lunatic! when i sold him for almost gouged my eye out after i smacked him for attacking my ***** alsatian... the people who bought him, cited that he had the tenacity to attack piranhas they owned. how did i pet him? axl. beautiful *******, although mad as the bull's ******* after a month of absistence, charged into a pamplona sprint.

i've seen it, once or twice...
   how does man overcome his fear
of the dark, esp. when wandering
like *dante did,
    into the darkened woods?
well...
    the common man takes with him
a dog, or at least a few...
i remember standing by a fence
on a darkened path, when a few dogs
ran up to me and started
their courting of attempting
to lick my face, whimping, and waggling
their tails...
    no reason to brag...
whenever i went into the woods,
    i took with me no dog,
only the reverse kantian expression
of the shadow, i.e. the shadow:
  something cold...
      and as the general expression goes,
so too it disintegrates...
i.e. afraid of one's own shadow...
    well...
              you can walk blindly onto
a path within a forest,
  with or without a moon to illuminate
your tread, there is no shadow to be
found...
        i found my strength in that i couldn't
cast a shadow in the woods...
   whatever fear there was to be
experienced, i churned it, concentrated it:
so that the woods became my shadow,
   for i had no shadow to cast in the lunar
illumination...
    at night, i am but a clock,
      striding, ready,
         to make due with the hours cast,
as my shadow shelters time in the hours
passed by night...
   while others sleep,
        i blind the moon, and head into
the woods,
               where no fear, as no shadow
dares to follow: for i become the woods,
and the fear therein,
   solitude bearing, sometimes howling:
just the little ol' me;
but please, fellow man, take your dogs
into this tartarus,
      pray that they don't greet me with such
friendly disposition...
     better a dog that snarls at a stranger
in the dark,
   than a dog that greets a stranger,
   that supposedly has a scent of sausages on him;
what sort of dog is that?!
                                 useless!
a pack of judases, that's what you own,
feed, and shelter! no wonder
             you end up scorning them!
once upon a time: when a dog was man's
best friend...
                     look at these judas ******...
a dog requires discipline to be a friend
to a master...
                       they're dogs! they're not cats!
stop pampering them you rotten squats!