101 Reasons to Hate Dogs

with thanks to Bill, Bob, and Dodie

 

“Not to state the obvious,” Selina said, “but I don’t really do dogs.”

Bruce’s mouth tightened—not a smile; never a smile. The German Shephard at his feet let a strand of slobber patter onto hundred-thousand-dollar loafers.

“It’s one night,” Bruce said. “I’ll be back from Santa Prisca in the morning. I see no reason why you can’t—”

“I can think of a hundred reasons,” she said. “One: It smells.”

“He doesn’t smell.”

Selina’s lips curled. “And you don’t think it’ll raise any eyebrows?” she said. “Me, traipsing around with Batman’s dog?”

“Batman doesn’t have a dog,” he said. “Bruce Wayne has a dog.”

“How the hell is that better?” she asked.

Bruce kneeled, scratching the dog behind one ear. “Ace is a good dog,” he said. “You could just stay in with him tonight.”

Selina snorted.

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”

“Ah.”

“Bat,” she said, and bent to face him.

Gray eyes locked onto green. “Yes, Cat,” he said.

“Because I love you, I will be a dog person for twenty-four hours. That’s what a saint I am.”

“Hn,” he said.

A sudden wetness at Selina’s fingertips: the animal, slurping. She shuddered but didn’t withdraw. “Reason Two,” she said. “The licking.”

“Cats lick.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need a mop after.”

“Thank you, Selina.”

“Mmm.” She stood. “And I promise if anything happens, I will not replace your dead dog with a lookalike and pretend nothing happened.”

Bruce held out a black leash. “I’d know,” he said.

“Right,” said Selina. She took the leash.

“World’s greatest detective and all.”

Continue reading “101 Reasons to Hate Dogs”

Little Armored Ones: The Armadillo Kingdom, Illustrated

The exhibit and book launch for Little Armored Ones was a dream.

This 60-page, full color book is an illustrated study of all 20 species of armadillos. On 3/3, we raised funds and awareness for the IUCN’s Anteater, Sloth, and Armadillo Specialist Group. (And I got to cuddle an armadillo.)

The book is for sale now!

I made this piece for my nine-year-old self, who searched in vain for something just like it every time he visited the library. But I hope it’s discovered by future animal lovers and conservationists, now that it’s finished.

Cheers,
Ryan

Armadillo Day: The Nine-banded Varmint and Me

Armadillo Day
The Nine-banded Varmint and Me
Ryan E Felton

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          “What is your ‘Medieval Times?’”
          This question, posited by my friend Jessica at dinner, was tantamount to asking, “What would make your inner child happiest?” She’d just returned from a trip to that serf-and-sword-themed mega-restaurant, fulfilling a heretofore unrequited wish of her youth. It was, she said, all she’d dreamed it would be. I myself have never been, but based on her description I now envision a sort of heaven on Earth when I think of it, something like Disneyland dialed up to 11 on the giddy meter.
          Jess wanted her friends – at present, me and fellow diner Matt – to experience the same euphoria of realizing an old unsettled dream. She asked us what would be our equivalent experience. What would be our “Medieval Times?”
          My answer was reflexive.
          “Armadillo,” I said.
          There could be nothing else.
          “All I want is to see a nine-banded armadillo.” Continue reading “Armadillo Day: The Nine-banded Varmint and Me”

Facebook Apology to William Fuller, ca. 2012

Facebook Apology to William Fuller, ca. 2012
Ryan Everett Felton

          Billy,

          It’s nearly twenty years overdue, but my therapist and I feel that I owe you an apology, and it’s all to do with the monkey I brought into Mrs. Stockholm’s class, back in fourth grade.
          You’ll remember, of course, Gipper the capuchin monkey. I’d imagine nobody from the Crestwood Elementary class of ’96 could forget me strolling down the hall that morning, a chittering primate hanging off my neck. I felt like the king of the school that day. Suddenly the kid nobody ever noticed was a rock star. Gipper was the most exciting thing to happen to the class in, well, probably ever, and I was his ambassador.
          It only occurs to me now that the other kids didn’t like me, didn’t think I was cool. It was all Gipper. Continue reading “Facebook Apology to William Fuller, ca. 2012”