Dog Quotes - Page 180

I understand that most ladies tend to prefer lap dogs.... Perhaps I am an exception.

Spiritually, we're all on a path. I haven't declared of defined myself because as soon as you declare yourself you're identifying with a certain dogma.

Top dog, top hat, move that muscle, move that fat.

Dogs may be divided into two classes: those who are merely afraid of cattle and those who can't abide them.

THE BAD THING ABOUT FEAR Is it requires a reaction. Some hide. Some cry. But, like a dog condemned to a walled yard with no hope of escape or affection, some learn to bite.

I get home at the end of the day and I don't want to talk. All I want to do is lay on the floor and pet my dogs and my cats.

My dog of 17 years just died. Oh you're kidding?... Noooo... as funny as that is, I'm not

We have two dogs, Mabel and Wolf, and three cats at home, Charlie, George and Chairman. We have two cats on our farm, Tom and Little Sister, two horses, and two mini horses, Hannah and Tricky. We also have two cows, Holy and Madonna. And those are only the animals we let sleep in our bed.

We recognize caste in dogs because we rank ourselves by the familiar dog system, a ladderlike social arrangement wherein one individual outranks all others, the next outranks all but the first, and so on down the hierarchy. But the cat system is more like a wheel, with a high-ranking cat at the hub and the others arranged around the rim, all reluctantly acknowledging the superiority of the despot but not necessarily measuring themselves against one another.

What do dogs want? They want each other. Human beings are merely a cynomorphic substitute.

I walk every day with my dogs and force myself to run a bit but I hate it.

Do you think 'Duke' is a good name?' she asked. His face blanked for a second before it cleared. He glanced at the dog in consideration. 'I don't think so. He would outrank me.

A well-trained dog is like religion, it sets the deserving at their ease and is a terror to evildoers.

What kind of dog is that?" I would always give the same answer: "She's a brown dog." Similarly, when the question is raised, "What kind of God do you believe in?" my answer is easy: "I believe in a magnificent God.

Good dog! Nice fetch!" "He wasn't fetching." "Bring her here, boy. Good job!" The dog looked from Zack to me. "I've been training him," Zack said. "Up till now he's brought home only dead rabbits, but I guess he's finally getting the hang of it.

Let's just say that if you were stealing TVs instead of thoughts, you would have been caught by a half-deaf, mostly blind, fifteen year old dog three robberies ago.

When one is a child, the disposition of objects, tables and chairs and doors, seems part of the natural order: a house-move lets in chaos - as it does for a dog.

I love stories about misfits and underdogs.

My maternal desires are fully satisfied with my dogs.

We all deal with a certain amount of stress, on a day-to-day basis. I probably smoke too many cigarettes, which isn't a very good thing. I don't have any extraordinary coping mechanism. I certainly don't talk to a dog.

Dogs make sense. They understand hierarchy and the need to cooperate. They come when you call them. A cat though—a cat will take your number and get back to you. Maybe. If he’s in a good mood.

My notion of a great novel is something like a five-hundred-page shaggy-dog story, with only the punch line omitted.

The dog's life is a good life, for a dog.

Critics are like ticks on a dog or tits on a motor: ornamental but dysfunctional.

It is not an easy thing to inflate a dog.