We are blessed with 2 dogs that are, on the whole, and bear in mind when I say this that I have so far endured 5 years in the illustration world, the most colossal freaking morons ever.
To avoid the inevitable angry letters I am going to get, please do not mistake my dogs for yours. I'm sure your dogs are the most gifted hounds ever. I'm sure they routinely perform delicate brain sugary and are capable of filing US tax forms and landing the space shuttle. I am talking about my dogs here. My dogs have a single, solitary brain cell each. Just the one - to keep the other brain cell company.
And using their impressive intellectual capacities... they routinely bring us the benefits of their mental and physical labors right into the yard. This week, it was a deer. Actually, that fact isn't really surprising. I live in rural North Dakota, so every ten feet there’s a sign warning motorists that there are deer. The signs are so prevalent that you don’t even notice them anymore, and they serve no purpose at all, unless you’re suddenly new to the existence of deer... which I am not. I am, however, new to the smell a deer carcass can make.
Me: Uuuugh! WTF is that smell?!
Rocko: Oh, the dogs drug up a deer.
Me: What?
Rocko: Yeah. Parts of him are over there, and I think his skull-bits are over by the south yard.
Me: What do you mean parts of him?
Rocko: He died about a week ago. Guess it takes a while for a dead deer to really start to smell.
Me: Rocko, when a deer is dead, it can no longer smell. Smelling is a sensory operation reserved for the living. Also. Seriously. A week? You are freakin' unbelievable right now.
Rocko said he couldn’t argue with that, but I suspect it’s less because of my sound logic and more because he’s perfectly aware of how these disagreements end. (Also... I need to google how to burn a shovel.)
In other news that is probably equally shocking, but not quite so grotesque, the How to Draw Horses book is coming out soon. Get ready to order 84 pages of awesome!
