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Julie Dog appeared on the scene way back in the days of 2001 as a wee little pup in a box. We collected that silly and cute dog at a McDonald’s in Kayesville from an old farmer for around $100 (US). The old man asked by brother (who purchased the pooch) what he was going to name her. “Ah… um… er… oh, why not… Julie?” he said, trying to sound as if he took the name off the top of his head. In all reality, the name was constantly on his mind seeing as how he had a heavy and very long-lived crush on a redhead named Julie, who is now engaged to be married. That’s always a good conversation piece– it gets kicks out of everyone I’ve told it to: My brother named my Julie Dog after Julie, the girl he was obsessed with from the age of fifteen until he was twenty one.

Julie traveled home in a little carboard box in our car and slept the whole way. She wasn’t more than the size of a little loaf of bread.  We put her in the back yard, and she didn’t do much. I think she was rather sad to leave her mommy– such as in the movie Babe. At any rate, this didn’t last very long at all, and Julie has never been sad ever again (except when fireworks explode, which she’s more terrified of than saddened by).

Everyone who has met this lovely Julie has remarked that she is the cutest dog in existence (except for those who are in denial about their own dogs), not to mention the nicest, kindest, most loving dog, as well. I know the dark side of Julie, however, and I have experienced first-hand (literally) when she actually attempted to bite me while trying to escape. She can be rather naughty these days because she’s a master digger and master escape artist and will escape out of any backyard you toss her into; these days she has to be on a chain most of the time, sadly. I blame Quita, the blasted dog from next door, for Julie’s digging and escaping addiction. It wasn’t until that cursed Huskie first dug its way into our yard that Julie ever attempted escaping.

Apart from this dark side of my Julie Love, I love her completely and utterly. All she has to do is sit on that dirty rump of hers, smile that uneven, toothy smile of hers, and look at me with those great brown eyes of hers, and I usually give in to whatever she wants (as long as it’s still noble and human).

Julie, like Eedie in the previous volume of Intrinsic Influences, has always been there for me through thick, thin, thicker, and even completely solid. I’ve gone outside to talk to her many a time and tell her my troubles. When I’m sad, she makes me happy. When I’m happy, she makes me happier. When others are down and unhappy, I often suggest they come and talk to Julie for a little while to cheer them up. Nobody who hasn’t tried it seems to believe me, sadly. They give a half-hearted smile as if to say, “That’s dumb. Julie can’t do anything. I’m going to be sad and depressed and not even attempt to let Julie cheer me up as you so heartily suggest I do.” If only people would heed my advice and come have a visit and maybe even a walk to the park with my Julie, the world would be a much happier place. Those who have tried will attest: though she can’t solve your problems, she sure has an absolving effect.  I intend to take her on many walks come this summer.

Julie’s most favoritest game is to drop rocks into the grass and try to pick them back up with her teeth, usually ripping out large chunks of grass. We generally frown upon this dirty habit and cast the rocks into neighbors’ yards, but she simply won’t give it up. She also enjoys playing fetch with any objects, stealing children’s shoes, and running back and forth along the edge of the fence when a dog is so much as let outside the house into the yard next door.

Julie is absolutely terrified of fireworks and marshmallows, though she’ll eat the marshmallows after making sure they won’t explode. She is also deathly afraid of thunder.

There were good old days when Julie used to have the privilege of sleeping in my room every night. I would usually fall asleep on her tummy, and she would always wake me up at approximately six o’clock, sitting on my head and smiling. This means: “Wake up and let me outside! I need to go to the bathroom!” She would keep me company as I wrote or read in my room.

One night I awoke to find her escaped into the bathroom, drinking out of the toilet. After laughing and calling her a bad dog and herding her back into my room, I later found her in the kitchen with the garbage can’s contents spread about her. By this point it was no longer cute and I was unhappy, so I chastised her and set forth cleaning up her mess. Walking back towards my room, I found Julie set hard at urinating across the living room. I nearly screamed in fright (as my mama would probably hang the dog if she saw), threw Julie outside (I actually set her outside– I don’t know that I could throw her), and set hard at work cleaning up Julie’s newest creation. I received motherly aide after my mama woke up, and that was the last of Julie living in my room, sadly. **sniff**

I’m telling you. Julie is what has gotten me through the years of being a boy during teenagerdom with only mild brain damage versus most others who have attained damage to the cranium in the most severe degrees.