Science has so far been unable to tell us how self-aware dogs are, much less whether they have anything like our conscious thoughts. This is not surprising, since neither scientists nor philosophers can agree about what the consciousness of humans consists of, let alone that of animals.
Do animals understand the concept of dreams or do they think they enter another dimension when they get tired?
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Do animals understand the concept of dreams or do they think they enter another dimension when they get tired?
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Now give me some advice about how to take full advantage of this city. I__ always looking to improve my odds.___ust what I__ expect from a horny actuary._____ serious.__arlos reflected for a moment on the problem at hand. He actually had never needed or tried to take full advantage of the city in order to meet women, but he thought about all of his friends who regularly did. His face lit up as he thought of some helpful advice: __et into the arts.___he arts?___eah.___ut I__ not artistic.___t doesn__ matter. Many women are into the arts. Theater. Painting. Dance. They love that stuff.___ou want me to get into dance? Earthquakes have better rhythm than me_And can you really picture me in those tights?___ake an art history class. Learn photography. Get involved in a play or an independent film production. Get artsy, Sammy. I__ telling you, the senoritas dig that stuff.___eally?___eah. You need to sign up for a bunch of artistic activities. But you can__ let on that it__ all just a pretext to meet women. You have to take a real interest in the subject or they__l quickly sniff out your game.___ don__ know_It__ all so foreign to me_I don__ know the first thing about being artistic.___eeb, this is the time to expand your horizons. And you__e in the perfect city to do it. New York is all about reinventing yourself. Get out of your comfort zones. Become more of a Renaissance man. That__ much more interesting to women.
Speaking of body decorations, I luuhhhvv your belly piercing!_ Heeb said, looking at the gold ring in the center of her slim, tan waist. Despite the artic cold, Angelina had opted for a skin tight, black tube top that ended just above her belly, on the assumption that a warm cab, a winter coat, and a short wait to get into the club was an adequate frosty weather strategy. Heeb was still reverently staring at her belly when Angelina finally caught her breath from laughing.__o you really like it? You__e just saying that so that you can check out my belly!___nd what__ so bad about that? I mean, didn__ you get that belly piercing so that people would check out your belly?___o. I just thought it would look cool_Do you have any piercings?___ctually, I do,_ Heeb replied.__here?___y appendix.___uh?___ wanted to be the first guy with a pierced organ. And the appendix is a totally useless organ anyway, so I figured why the hell not?___hat__ pretty original,_ she replied, amused.__h yeah. I__e outdone every piercing fanatic out there. The only problem is when I have to go through metal detectors at the airport.__ngelina burst into laughs again, and then managed to say, __on__ you have to take it out occasionally for a cleaning?___ah. I figure I__l just get it removed when my appendix bursts. It__l be a two for one operation, if you know what I mean.
Percy wakes me (fourteen)Percy wakes me and I am not ready.He has slept all night under the covers.Now he__ eager for action: a walk, then breakfast.So I hasten up. He is sitting on the kitchen counter Where he is not supposed to be. How wonderful you are, I say. How clever, if you Needed me, To wake me. He thought he would a lecture and deeply His eyes begin to shine.He tumbles onto the couch for more compliments.He squirms and squeals: he has done something That he needed And now he hears that it is okay. I scratch his ears. I turn him over And touch him everywhere. He isWild with the okayness of it. Then we walk, then He has breakfast, and he is happy.This is a poem about Percy.This is a poem about more than Percy.Think about it.
My old man's a white old manAnd my old mother's black.If ever I cursed my white old manI take my curses back.If ever I cursed my black old motherAnd wished she were in hell,I'm sorry for that evil wishAnd now i wish her wellMy old man died in a fine big houseMy Ma died in a shack.I wonder were i'm going to die,Being neither white nor black?
If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much.