Tag: pet

Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Abandon Gift Giving

With Christmas less than four weeks away, how about a story that evokes the true spirit of the season? Yes, we thought you’d like that. To get such a story, though, the 7 Reasons sofa is heading back to the good old US of A. That’s because the man behind such a story is Rich Rossi. Now Rich strives to practice non-violence in all he does, and advocates that others do the same unless confronted by anyone handing out pamphlets. He goes on long fasts, partially as a means of self-purification and social protest. But mostly because he needs to lose a few pounds before speedo season. Check out his children’s book entitled The 12 Days of Christmas in New Jersey, on sale at Costco this holiday season or visit him at his SU sports and music blog. Before you do any of that, though, read his 7 Reasons guest post.

It was Christmas morning and my new bride and I were celebrating our first Christmas together. We were on a tight budget so we each promised to
keep our spending limit at $10.

There it was, placed carefully under the tree and wrapped in newspaper, with a little tag that said,”To my husband, with love”. Waiting for my wife to awake, I stared at the gift in anticipation, not unlike I would have when I was a child.

What could it be?

When the time came to open our gifts, the anxiety was killing me. I threw off the newspaper wrapping only to find….a rubber chicken.

Nothin’ says loving’ like a rubber chicken.

Trying to laugh and take it all in stride, I playfully threw it at her. It made a hollow “thump” as it bounced off her and hit the ground. The damn thing wasn’t even rubber. It was plastic.

Lesson Number One: Save your rubber chicken receipts.

Several days later I brought my faux rubber chicken back to the fine establishment from which it was purchased. I confronted the shopkeeper with my receipt and asked for a refund.

“And the reason for your return?” he asked. “This is not a rubber chicken. The wrapper clearly states that it’s a rubber chicken and it’s not. It’s plastic.”

“Well, we tried to get rubber chickens. I called my supplier, the biggest novelty company on the east coast. What with the holidays, there was a run on rubber chickens. You just can’t find ’em.”

A run on rubber chickens? Really?

I still have the plastic chicken today as a memento from our first Christmas, but it hasn’t stopped me from being on both the giving and receiving end of additional mistakes. Here’s a list of seven dreadful holiday gifts I’ve received in the past and seven reasons to abandon the gift giving ritual all together:

1. Yes. It’s Rubber Chickens.

2. Fake Lottery Tickets. Mom has bucks. Fairly well off, one would assume she’d be a bit generous around Christmas, especially knowing that I’m going to inherit it all when she dies anyway. I’m a patient man, though.

Imagine my surprise when I opened up a gift from her, a winning Powerball ticket, only to be told that it was a just a joke. Well, aren’t we funny?

Looks like I’ll have to kill her after all.

3. Vintage Literature. What’s the biggest selling book of all time outside of the Bible? It’s Andrew Carnegie’s How To Make Friends and Influence People. I found an early pressing in a used books store and, knowing that my brother-in-law was a big history buff, I thought he’d appreciate it. He didn’t take it quite the right way. That was 15 years ago. I’m still waiting for my “Thank you”.

4. Chainsaw. I live in the city. What on God’s pavement covered earth am I going to do with a chainsaw? Besides, with my luck I’ll either put somebody’s eye out with it or accidentally lop my arm off, making my attempt to hail a cab and return the damn thing virtually impossible.

5. Logo Ornament. One year a client sent me a Christmas ornament with his logo on it. And the cheap SOB probably sent it only because he could write it off as an expense on his taxes. How quaint. How novel. This is the worst Christmas gift. EVER.

6. Chia Pet Lamp. Yes, you read that correctly. In a tribute to bad taste, a neighbor took a Chia-Pet and, through some “expert” handiwork, turned it into a furry, green table lamp. Imagine my surprise when I opened that little contribution to the trailer park decor hall of fame.

7. A Real Pet. I don’t like animals so what does my uncle get me for Christmas? A dog. A trip to the vet and $2000 later I’m saddled with a canine Ironsides I’ve got to feed and clean up after for the rest of his life. Maybe if my neighbor still has his tools handy….

Now you know what NOT to buy. If it’s good gift ideas you want, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place. You’ll need to do your Christmas shopping on your own.

Just one last word of advice…

When you see rubber chickens in the window, keep walking.

November 28, 2011
7 Reasons That Kim Jong Il Is The Ideal Pet

Hello dear reader! At 7 Reasons, we’re not afraid to admit when we’re wrong and today, we do just that. Once, we were of the opinion that the Komodo dragon was the ideal pet but, though that would be amazing, we’ve realised that there is a superior one. It’s Kim Jong Il. Here’s why.

1. Kim Jong Il Comes In Many Colours. Whatever your interior colour scheme; whatever hue and shade your decor, there’s a Kim Jong Il to blend in perfectly with it. Even if it’s beige.

2. Kim Jong Il Is Independent. Don’t want a needy pet that requires you to take it out for walks or let it in and out five times per hour? Kim Jong Il is ideal: He comes with his own man-flap.

3. Kim Jong Il Annoys The Neighbours. All the best pets annoy the neighbours, whether it’s next-door’s dog barking at all hours, next-door’s cat pooing in your flower bed or next door’s snake being a snake in close proximity to you. Kim Jong Il does this too.

4. Kim Jong Il Is Loved By Women. That’s important in a pet. After all, they’re usually the ones that end up looking after them once the children grow tired of the responsibility. Surely there isn’t a woman alive that wouldn’t jump at the chance to care for Kim Jong Il.

5. Kim Jong Il Is Good With Children. This is an important consideration when choosing a pet. You need a pet that can help teach them social skills and engender a sense of playfulness in them. That pet is Kim Jong Il.

6. Kim Jong Il Makes Everyone Happy. Everyone loves the warm, fuzzy joy of pet-ownership (it’s one of the reasons we have them). They bring delight and wonder into our lives and spread happiness and warmth wherever they go. So does Kim Jong Il.

7. Kim Jong Il Is Easy To Feed. While other pets have special dietary requirements and often need to be fed expensive and exotic foodstuffs, Kim Jong Il prefers a simple diet of radishes.*

So there you go. Kim Jong Il is the ideal pet. The only drawback is that you might occasionally have to see this.

Seems a small price to pay. So let’s all go out and get a Kim Jong Il. Is a home really a home without one?

*Or sometimes fresh lobsters that he has airlifted to his train whenever he’s away travelling.

**For fans of looking at Kim Jong Il looking at things, this is the place to go.

June 2, 2011
Guest Post: 7 (+1) Reasons An Onion Doesn’t Make A Good House Pet

In keeping with our traditions as a a self-help guide we are delighted to welcome Paisley Downing to the 7 Reasons sofa. For those of you wondering who Paisley is, let me tell you. Paisley enjoys writing comical articles about pets, politics, and cyber culture. She currently writes for Allied Satellite TV. It’ll come as no surprise to you then that today’s post is concerned with that troublesome matter of selecting a pet. Here’s Paisley (after the photo of an onion):

Selecting the right pet for your home can be a daunting process and, with so many choices, beginning with which pet not to choose could save you time and stress. Today, we’ll look at seven really good reasons you don’t want an onion for a house pet.

1. An Onion Reeks. An onion will necessarily have a powerful smell after peeling or slicing. While this makes it excellent at what it does, it contributes little to the family aspiring to adopt a new friend. An onion simply can’t stay wrapped in its comfy little peel forever. Sooner or later, the onion will have to come out. By then, the only options left include lighting a candle to ward off the fumes, or submerging the onion in iced water. Neither option is conducive to cuddling on the couch.

2. Too Many Layers. Of all the vegetables one could select as a family pet, the onion is known to be most complicated. Just when you think you’ve developed an easy rapport, whammo! Another shocking, perhaps even disturbing surprise from your thin skinned friend. The onion is simply beyond our comprehension, in a number of ways — and by the time many onion owners discover what that number is, the damage to the relationship has been done and there is no going back.

3. Fragility. Onions are not the hardiest of vegetables. Even when stored in optimal conditions, the best of the lot can quickly go bad, transforming your sleek-sheathed bulb baby into a furry friend. While it is true that the variety used for cooking can be stored for much longer periods of time at room temperature — as opposed to sweet onions that require refrigeration — even these are overly sensitive about being left alone, and prefer the company of other onions to yours.

3. Cost. Many people are initially attracted by the affordability of onions, but they fail to see the Big Picture; onions can cost pet owners more than they might believe in terms of personal relationships and health care. How many times has a young man let an onion come between him and that special girl? Or a guy come home from a tough day on the job, only to face the perils of indigestion after a too-close encounter with an onion during his lunch break?

4. Disloyalty. Unlike broccoli, the onion is likely to be disloyal to its owners should a more exciting person come along. Onions tend to wander off with anyone who will give them a moment’s attention, and if you disappeared never to be seen or heard from again, the onion would not care so long as someone else was there to feed, bathe, and play with it.

5. Jealousy. Let’s face it: onions need lots of attention and can be quite jealous. They’re jealous of you, your children, your pets, and your life. Even the most affectionate onion will eventually disappoint you with passive-aggression tactics such as rolling around in your pillowcase when you aren’t looking, leaving a slime trail on the bathroom floor for you to slip on, or throwing out your mail before you’ve had a chance to read it. If you decide to go onion, be prepared to coddle a delicate, high-maintenance temperament.

6. High Energy Levels. Unless you’re very young and active as a matter of course, you will likely find the onion’s energy levels to be too high. An onion is constantly on the move and loves chasing and being chased. This is not a pet for a person who expects a nice, quiet creature to nod hello to in the mornings and evenings and not have to deal with during the day.

7. They Hate Family Photos. Onions are notorious for their purposeful avoidance of the camera during family get-togethers. In fact, they are known to go so far out of their way to escape picture time that there have been reports of onions rolling away into the wilderness at high rates of speed, where they are unfortunately lost or preyed upon by wild animals. What better way to ruin a family reunion than the needless tragedy of losing a beloved pet in the chaos?

April 9, 2011
Guest Post: 7 Reasons I am Better Than You

Hi there, it’s Saturday, so here’s a guest post. Curling up on the 7 Reasons sofa today is Horatio Pyewackett Caractacus Fearns who – when he wakes up – wants to explain why he’s better than you. And us, probably.

1. Fur. Ever tried to wear fur? No, of course you haven’t you timorous numpty, you timid wretch, you cowardy, cowardy custard. Because you’re fearful. You’re afraid of PETA. You think that if you don a fur coat you’ll be attacked by a mob of militant lefties who object to your sartorial decisions. But I’m not scared, PETA aren’t going to object to me wearing fur, because I’m better than you; wearing fur is my birthright, and I wear it as if to the manor born, without fear of reproachment. Because I’m awesome! Because I’m a cat!

2. Benevolence. I’m kind to my minions. Very kind. And I’m uber-agile, in fact, I can bend over backwards and lick my own bottom. But you can’t. You have to scrape bits from trees and roll them up into a ball in order to clean your own fetid arses. This is because you’re pathetic and incapable of washing yourself properly. But I’m not, I’m wondrous and supple and can cleanse my own ring with my tongue. Which, let’s face it, saves you a job, so I’m benevolent too.

3. Competition. So who’s the most awesome human that there is? That’s right, Superman. He can leap twenty times his own height; he can hear things that are going on miles away and he can’t be snuck up on while he’s sleeping. Well, me too. Superman, however, can be defeated by kryptonite. But I can’t, I can do all of those things with no fear of kryptonite or of looking like a dweeb at the fortress of solitude. Because I’m magnificent, and because I’m still rocking my fur coat while Superman’s attired in a thin, shiny number with his pants outside outside his lycra leggings. He looks like the world’s worst-dressed cyclist ever, and I just look amazing. Look at ME!

4. Night. You blundering dunderheads can’t even see in the dark. Want to know how many times I’ve fallen over a human when the lights are off? None. When oversized, underbalanced simpletons like you wander around without burning electricity, however, you’re endlessly falling over me (especially the tall one with the ginger beard). Because I’m abso-fucking-beauteously wonderful, and because I like to hang around in the hallway. To mock you. Because I can.

5. Temperature. You mewling, simpering feckless nonentities can’t even regulate your own body temperatures, but I can; I’m the master of my own temperature. The nearest you feeble people come to accomplishing that is the human inhabitants of the North-East of England: Geordies. But they lack my sonorous voice and natural grace. Also, despite their bravura, many of them die of hypothermia on their way home in the winter. But I haven’t. Ever. It would be a waste of one of my nine lives (eight better than you) if I were to do so, and I’m not prepared to do it.

6. Size Is Important. Just look at the size of yourself, you lumbering bioped. Look at the amount of space that your unwieldy, bloated, overstuffed body takes up. Where human designers prattle on about space efficiency as some sort of ideal, I live it. I am space efficiency. Because I take up less space than you. I can curl up into a tiny-weeny ball. Can you? No. Not at all. But I can. I’m fantastic.

7. Nature. I’m just naturally better than you. I am. When you poo, does anyone scurry around to scoop it up? No, of course not. You have to dispose of it yourself. But when I shit, one of my underlings comes and disposes of it for me. Every time. Because I’m a cat, and they’re not. In fact, everything revolves around me, abso-fucking-lutely-everything. Dinner is served at the regular hour at which I require it. Tradesmen come to repair the home in which I dwell and the humans who live here to serve me pay for it themselves. And, when they’re not feeding me or opening doors for me, they even let me use them as chairs. Would they do that for you? No, of course not. But they do it for me, because I’m better than you.

November 27, 2010
7 Reasons I Ended Up Appearing Quite Mad Yesterday (Even Though I’m Not)

Sometimes, when you’re sitting around, minding your own business, an event occurs. An event to which you are compelled to react. And, while your reaction is brilliantly conceived and perfectly rational, a chain of events ensues that eventually makes you appear irredeemably, unutterably, stupendously mad. Like yesterday.

This is not my neighbour's cat, nor is it my cat, nor is it my wall. This cat on a wall is from the internet.

While I was writing, a cat appeared on the six foot high wall at the bottom of my garden. One of next door’s cats. Now, I don’t want any of next door’s cats in my garden, because it’s where my cat lives. I want him to be able spend his time in the garden sleeping, licking, and staring at the gate unmolested by other cats. So I had to let the other cat know that he wasn’t welcome in our garden. Now I know how to scare a cat; it’s easy. But going outside and hissing and shouting at this cat wasn’t going to convey the right message. I needed to let the interloper know he was in another cat’s territory, and that he should stay away.

1. Plan A. I went and fetched my dozing cat from the sofa. My cat didn’t want to know. I showed him the intruder through the dining room window. He saw the other cat and ignored him. This was disappointing. This isn’t going to scare anyone I thought, as my cat fell asleep on the windowsill. This wouldn’t even scare mice. Nervous mice.

2. Plan B. Right, I thought. If the sight of my cat asleep on the windowsill isn’t enough to strike the fear of god into the intruder, I’ll have to escalate things. I’ll have to send my cat out to deal with him. I woke him up, reminded him of the presence of the other cat and carried him into the utility room. I placed him on the floor, next to his cat-flap; I delivered a rousing speech to him and then opened it so that he could sally forth to dispatch his foe. He didn’t move. He sat and purred at me. I tried to usher him through his flap, but he clearly wasn’t going to go. My cat, I thought, is a disappointment.

3. Plan C. I know, I’ll open the back door really loudly. If I can’t scare him away with a cat, then at least opening the door loudly will make the intruder run; and my cat might conceivably think that he’s the one causing him to flee in terror and emerge with feline dignity intact and be that bit braver next time. As loudly as I could, I unlocked the door and, with as much speed and force as I could muster, I heaved the door open. I was rewarded with the sight of a terror-stricken cat, fleeing for its life. Bugger, I thought, as I went to retrieve him from behind the sofa. This isn’t going well.

4. Plan D. I picked him up, returned to the utility room and carried him through the back door. “Look”, I said to the other cat, “I have a cat here and I’m not afraid to use him”. The other cat was not as moved by our presence as I had hoped that he would be. Impassively, he licked his paw and turned his head away.

5. Plan E. Okay, I clearly wasn’t being terrifying enough. I raised our cat above my head so that he was higher up than the cat on our wall. This will do it, I thought, there are only two things that can possibly go through the other cat’s mind. One: “Blimey! What the hell is that hideous giant cat/man hybrid creature over there, I’d better run for it”. Or two: “ Blimey! Look what that man’s doing to that feckless fat-cat from next door. I’m probably next. I’d better run for it.” But if these things went through his mind, he didn’t show it; unless this cat instinctively displays abject terror by blinking slowly, that is. I was going to have to get nearer.

6. Plan F. With my arms fully outstretched, cat held aloft, above my head; I charged toward the other cat. It didn’t move. I was closing quickly and when I got to within eight feet it still hadn’t moved.

7. Plan G. Realising that my charge wasn’t unnerving enough, I decided that I needed a war cry, and I began to roar (at a volume which surprised even me) as I charged through the garden. But the other cat still hadn’t moved, and I was almost upon it. I realised it needed a little more time to realise the desperate situation it was in, so I pulled away at the last moment to run a lap of my garden, still roaring and, as my cat and I rounded the top of the garden and turned to face the enemy once more I saw him react, startled, jump down from the wall and run. My jubilation was short lived. I also saw…

…My neighbour emerge from her back door, the sound of which had presumably – unbeknownst to her, as she couldn’t possibly have seen it – scared the other cat away. I slowed to a halt and stopped roaring. “Hi”, I said, breezily, realising I still had the cat above my head, and that I probably looked quite foolish.

“Er…Hi”, she replied.

I felt self-conscious, and it occurred to me that some sort of explanation of my behaviour was required. “I was just scaring the cat”.

“I’m not surprised”, she replied.

November 11, 2010
7 Reasons a Komodo Dragon is the Ideal Pet

The Komodo dragon: A carnivorous lizard that can grow up to 9.8 feet in length might, to the uninformed layman, seem like a poor choice of pet. But it isn’t. The Komodo dragon is, in fact, the ideal domestic animal for many people. And here are seven reasons why.

1. They’re Cool. Just look at it! It’s a veritable behemoth of a dinosaur/land-crocodile/lumbering monster. It’s got a forked tongue and a pointy tail! It makes next door’s dog look rubbish in comparison. In fact, it will probably eat next door’s dog. Then you won’t have to put up with the damned thing barking at aeroplanes and at your bicycle all night. You’ll be the envy of your neighbourhood because being the owner of a Komodo dragon is cool, and being the owner of a missing dog is not cool. Even if you do a very good job on the posters.

2. Health. For elderly people, a pet can be most advantageous to their health. A small dog can keep them company and provide them with stimulation in the form of exercise. But, for young, active people, a small dog doesn’t go far enough. You need larger, more demanding pet. The physical and mental challenge of getting past a Komodo dragon in your hallway every morning will leave you feeling alive, alert and invigorated. If you are successful, that is. If you’re not successful then at least you may have lost some weight. And you’ll be better motivated the next time. And how many limbs do you really need anyway?

3. Eggs. Komodo dragons lay eggs. This is beneficial as the conventional method of getting fresh eggs is to keep chickens, which are scary creatures with cruel, unblinking eyes and alarmingly pointed beaks that make clucking noises and peck you when you’re not expecting it. But if you keep a Komodo dragon as a pet, you can have fresh eggs for breakfast without ever having to suffer the presence of a chicken again.

4. Return To A Simpler, Bygone Age. “It was much better in my day”, we’re often told by nostalgic elders, wistfully pining for a return to the society of their youth; “we could go out all day and leave our doors unlocked”. And with a Komodo dragon as your pet, you too will be able to go out all day and leave your doors unlocked. Hell, if your Komodo dragon grows big enough, you won’t even need doors. And if the elderly are to be believed, this will be bloody marvellous. In the fullness of time, you’ll be able to bore your grandkids senseless about how nice it was in your day without keys/locks/doors/bolts/alarms or any other security paraphernalia, just good old Tufty guarding the house and the odd bobby on the beat strolling by. That’s if your grandchildren haven’t been eaten by Tufty, of course. And even if they have been, that’s all the more Werther’s Original and Jamaica ginger cake for you. There is literally no downside to Komodo dragon ownership.

5. Feeding. Now I know what you’re thinking and stop that right now: He will not find you less attractive if you wear the shoes with the smaller heels, and she will not notice that the browsing history’s disappeared from the laptop again. Well, she will now, I should never have mentioned it. Sorry. Anyway, I also know that you’re thinking: A Komodo dragon will eat me out of house and home; surely I’d be better off getting a cat. But you’re wrong. Because cats need feeding twice a day, and Komodo dragons can eat on as few as twelve occasions per year, which is 718 less feeds per annum than a cat requires. Admittedly your Komodo dragon will probably need something more substantial than a bowl of Whiskas; a couple of kilograms of mince, perhaps. Or a goat. But that still seems like less food than a cat would consume. In fact, you may never need to feed it at all as, if you let your Komodo dragon out of the house, it will happily forage for pedestrians all by itself.

6. Reproduction. Now I’m not an expert on the reproductive systems of Komodo dragons but, at 7 Reasons (.org) we are nothing if not well-researched.* And, during the initial minute of my study into fauna native to the island of Komodo, I unearthed this amazing fact: The Komodo dragon does not have a diaphragm. This is great for the Komodo dragon owner, as it means that they’ll be fantastically easy to breed: The female won’t have to disappear to the bathroom for ages beforehand, and the male won’t get bored waiting and begin to think about chips. You can’t argue with science like that. A little knowledge truly does go a long way.

7. Home Movies. Many owners film their pets and then show the movies to their friends. But other people’s pets are really dull (unless they have a Komodo dragon, of course). And friends and family can only stand to watch a film of your hamster chewing some string or your cat staring at a gate so many times before their thoughts begin to turn to murder. But if you had a Komodo dragon, built a small set, and filmed in a B-movie style, your pet-movies would be like Godzilla. And that would be beyond amazing. That would be so awesome that we’d need to invent a new word for it: Preferably one that will survive predictive text and is easy to type with the odd missing digit/hand, and while running down a hallway.

I have finished writing now, so go forth to your pet shops and purchase Komodo dragons.**

*The words nothing and if are entirely superfluous.

**7 Reasons (.org) is not legally responsible for anything. At all.

September 24, 2010
7 Reasons to get your Children a Cat.

1. Cleanliness. Cats are self-cleaning. They fastidiously preen themselves with their Velcro-textured tongues and consequently, unlike dogs, never require bathing. In fact, cats are much cleaner than children and therefore set a good example to them. They also bury their own excrement so you don’t have to worry about that either. If you’re really lucky, they’ll bury it in a neighbour’s garden. This is probably something you shouldn’t teach your children to do.

2. Ninja. Children are loud and noisy; cats are silent and alert. You can use the cat to demonstrate silence and awareness to your children. There is no better stealth training than attempting to sneak up on a cat. Your children will learn to tread carefully and to watch out for the cat’s ever-alert swivelling ears. Who knows, they may eventually become domestic-ninjas. Like me.

3. Exotic. You want a sensible, low-maintenance, low-risk animal, but your children don’t. Children never want sensible pets. They always want something terrifying and dangerous like a tarantula, a piranha or a crocodile. A cat is an ideal compromise. Cats come with a free snake. It’s at the back.

4. Porn-Star-Name. The name of your first pet is the first part of your porn-star-name so your choice of a first pet for your children is important. Tortoises are called things like George and Simon; dogs are called things like Pip and Rover; cats, on the other hand, have cool names like Horatio or Socks. If you need to know how important the right pet is in determining your childrens’ future porn-star-name you should ask my wife, Fred Townsend. Or you could ask my friend whose first pet was a cat, Lucifer Jordan.

5. Independence. Cats come and go as they please through a little hole in the door. They go out to stare at the garden gate and sit under cars for reasons that we don’t understand. The important thing though, is that they do it unaided. Unlike dogs, there’s no endless walking and throwing sticks to distract your children from their homework. Besides, they’ll eventually tire of walking a dog and you’ll end up doing it yourself.

6. Biscuits. Cats don’t have biscuits and chocolate drops, unlike dogs. This means that your children will have less opportunity to play pet food related practical jokes on you or unsuspecting house-guests. They will still substitute salt for sugar and gravy granules for instant coffee, but being served dog biscuits with your cup of tea is one less thing you’ll have to worry about if you get a cat. This is what eating a dog biscuit did to Jennifer Aniston’s face. Poor, poor Jennifer.

7. Respect. Cats are cute and cuddly, soft and furry, content and purry – until angered. When you anger a cat it turns from a docile, supine teddy bear of an animal into a hissing, spitting, furious mass of teeth and claws. Nothing teaches children to respect others like being bitten on the hand or losing an eye. If they survive cat-ownership, they will be equipped for life.

January 11, 2010