You know what I’d like to be when I grow up? A Pet Psychic. Man! That’s a racket, innit? I’d, of course wear a turban so my suckers… “clients” would know I’m a real psychic. Can you imagine going to a boy-type psychic who doesn’t wear a turban? No, me either. (Some people like to point out that should be “me neither”, but these people just need to have their own threads.) I’d feel totally gypped if I went to a psychic and he wasn’t wearing a big ol’ turban. There should be a psychic uniform or something, and if you’re Psychicing Out of Uniform, you should get a fine.
Lady psychics should have a uniform too. I think lady psychics should wear genie pants as part of their uniforms. You just don’t see genie pants often enough these days. Unless you’re living with a belly dancer or something. Then I’d figure you’d see genie pants at least once in a while.
But I wouldn’t want to be a regular psychic. They have to talk to dead people and see into the future and stuff. (Note: If your psychic never won the lottery- even just a scratch-off game, you need a new psychic.) I wouldn’t want to talk to dead people. What would they say that would be all that interesting? “Got a new harp today. It’s a little breezy too and my gown in drafty. I need to stop into the shop and get my wings aligned, I’m starting to drift off to the left.” Bah! How often can you hear that before you just start to make things up? Or worse yet, it’s be all “Oooooooowwwwwwwwiiiieeee! The brimstone! It burns! It burns!”
Someone comes into your psychic office and asks about their dear, late Uncle Jim and you have to say “Oh Jim went to Hell. It’s just pain and torment day in and day out.” You think they’ll tip you for that? No, I don’t think the ol’ tip jar would exactly be overflowing. You tell someone their dear, dead Uncle Jim went to Hell and your tip jar would definitely be underflowing.
So I wouldn’t want to be a people psychic. That’s why I’d want to put in for “Pet Psychic”. How hard could it be? Someone brings their dog in to you and want to know just what’s going on in Poochie Snookum’s head. Poochie Snookum’s idea of a good time is to chase a squirrel, bark at stuff for a while and then lick their bits that most people don’t even want to look at. Gee, what giant chunks of cogitation are we dealing with here?
I’d have a whole routine for the marks… my “clients”. I’d put my turban on nice and tight and go into my psychic trance and maybe put my hands on Poochie Snookum’s head (unless it looks like Poochie Snookum is a biter, then my psychic waves would reach a little farther) and say something like: “Poochie Snookum feels like you’re substituting food for love. Poochie Snookum wants you to be more involved in the pack structure. Take more of a leading role and give Poochie Snookum more definite guidance. Embrace the hunt and go on long walks in the woods with Poochie Snookum. This would let Poochie Snookum feel more empowered in his/her (I’d have to check) dogness. That will be $45 because I have to charge you for the full hour. Now get out.”
The only thing that’s keeping me from becoming a World Famous Pet Psychic is:
I can’t find a really good turban.
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B) By the third person that I had to “consult” I’d be waling away with a ball bat. Stupid people get on my nerves.
-Rue.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all my MMP pals.
I love you all.
Wouldn’t that be “Pet Psychiatrist” you’re describin’? A Pet Psychic, seems to me, would be someone that can use their mind to get the pet to do something they wouldn’t normally do. Like getting a cat to fetch your slippers when you get home from work.
I’m just sayin, that’s all. You seem to have done a lot more research into this.
Pet Psychic, eh? Quick then, what’s our hamster thinking? No, not the white one, the other one. The white is always thinking the same thing, “How can I take nice chunk out of that finger?”
Good turbans are hard to find. I think the uniform for women psychics is a head scarf, a peasant blouse and gypsy skirt and lots of beads and rings and bangle bracelets (like Miss Cleo).
Perhaps you could make even more money as a Pet Psychic if you take a few risks.
Example, “Poochie Snookums is confused about why mommy invites the evil mailman into the house and takes him to the bedroom. Poochie Snookums saw mommy tie the mailman up and jump on him repeatedly and Poochie Snookums was hurt that mommy didn’t allow him to help her torture the evil mailman.” OR “Poochie Snookums wonders why daddy dresses in mommy’s clothes when she’s not home. Is that because he misses mommy and wants to be near her scent?”
You know, stuff like that, after several misses and some indignant clients you’ll be bound to hit the nail on the head eventually and then you’ll get a nice big tip.
Frankly, just about any pet owner is a pet psychic. Dog is pestering you equals=“I have to potty”, “I am hungry”, “I wanna play” and/or “I wanna get that evil squirrel”. I mean, how hard is that to figure out?
I don’t have any turbans or genie pants either. I do have mardi gras beads, do those count?
I don’t have anything exciting to say. I went to dinner this weekend and saw the new DeNiro movie. The movie was alright, but predictable. Too bad, because I really like DeNiro.
If you were reading my Pug, all you’d have to say is “where’s the food, you got any food, bacon, food, food food bacon” How she stays so skinny is a mystery.
Rabbits, on the other hand, are simple creatures and their thoughts tend to reflect this: “Gonna eat me soon. Gonna eat me. They only feed me to fatten me up. Here they come to eat me. Whoa! Survived again! Gonna eat me. Gonna eat me. Here they come! Whoa! Survived again! Hey! Where’d the cilantro go? Gonna eat me. Didn’t I leave some fresh bunny balls around here? Gonna eat me.”
I could make a bundle as a Rabbit Psychic! Especially if I dressed as a Playboy bunny…
And how did you get these beads if turbans and genie pants weren’t involved?
And I’ve been singing my favorite Stephen Bishop love song all morning:
“I gave my love a cherry that had no stone.
I gave my love a chicken that had no bone.
I gave my love a story that had no end…”
Strange, but I can’t remember the rest of the words.
Actually I got my couch off of a woman who was a pet psychic. I should have taken the dog to find out why she pees when I get home for work for me but not for Iris. Then again the dog pees on the couch too and the psychic might not of liked that.
The dog may be a little too submissive and sees you as the leader of the pack and so is urinating for you to show that she recognizes your authority. I don’t remember how to break this behavior but I’m sure an internet search on submissive urination could help.
Or Rue could help as soon as he finds his turban.
I pretty much always know what my dog is thinking: it’s either (1) “I’m rather hungry”, or (B) “I’m rather tired”, or (iii) “I can’t decide whether to eat or take a nap.”
Actually I did a thread last week on this and it helped out. She hasn’t peed for me for two days straight, that might be some sort of record for her. Maybe the woman I got the couch off of had some of her psychicness rub off on my butt or something.
At the moment, my pretty KaliAllie is thinking , “Mom just better stay away from my ears!” I’m just trying to make sure the ear mites don’t come back, but try telling her that!
KaliAllie is also a bit suspicious because I have been packing a suitcase, and she’s smart enough to know that this is a different thing, and maybe not a good thing. I’m on the road all week, first for work and then for my Mom 80th birthday (which isn’t until the 24th, but my sister guilted her into having a party). This means that kitty is going to on vacation at the Cat Cottages, where I have been assured she will be pampered within an inch of her life. It also means you all will have to do without my wit mostly, because I’m not sure how much computer access I’ll have.
I’m not saying anything about the dreadful supposed holiday that is today, but I do love you all, darlins’ that you are. (No smilie as a tribute to Rue.)