Post by Panic.Rose on Dec 27, 2009 20:53:55 GMT -5
All I am is a Budding Rose full of the worst kind of [PANIC].
CLICK
My name may or may not be Panic . Okay, it is. So sue me for being smart.
You say it as Pan-ik
I am known only as Panic . Can’t do much with that, can you?
I am 1 ½ Years of Age
Considering the fact I am not a dude, I am Female.
I seem to be a Smooth Collie
I look pretty good, I guess. Here’s the proof:
In appearance, I may look a little bit on the odd side. My legs are very long and thin, along with my body and head. Unlike a few dogs of my breed, my chest isn’t very deep. My neck just slopes down into my stomach, without any major difference. My coat is short and smooth, hence my breed name. I have a gray back with black patches of varying sizes across my back. The gray fades into a pretty red-brown on my haunches, with the spots eventually fading. My face is also mostly gray and black in coloration, with my muzzle being the same red-brown I mentioned before. My neck is white and this color wraps around to my chest, front legs, stomach, and my shoulders, along with my back paws. My ears are perked forward and flop over on the tips. When it comes down to it, I have nice eyes. They are the color of melted milk chocolate and are just as warm and sweet, for the most part. See what I mean? Pretty good, eh? I try to keep myself clean all the time. Got to make a good impression, right?
Now, this is what I call a personality!
Let’s get this straight.
I’m sweet and friendly for the most part, but I can not be perfect. Really, I try to be kind, but it’s just so hard to do. A lot of times, I’m just calm, orderly, sweet little Panic. Things set me off easily, and I don’t mean in anger. Well, sometimes anger, but mostly in fear. I wasn’t named Panic for no reason, hun. So I did have a different name…I just don’t remember it. I scare easier than a hare and am in a semi-constant state of fear. That’s why I’m called what I am. So fear breeds anger, am I right? When I’m scared, I will snap, bite, basically rip you to pieces if it’s your fault. Or I’ll go hide under the closest thing I can find. It matters on how terrified I can get.
I’ve gotten good at not being so scared of things. I’m pretty resilient, adaptable. Some things ar just so…..goodness. They’re just so scary. Mostly thunder storms, and bigger and meaner male dogs. I will not be dominated. I am my own girl.
I can also be quite the sarcasm queen. I’ve got that down pat, really. You can tell when I’m starting to get nervous, because I can crack ‘em like a whip. If I’m not stopped, things will go into full on panic attack mode. Heh..that was funny. I get panic attacks and when I get scared…Panic attacks. That is good! Admit it!
I have a history worth repeating.
At last I think it is. You may not, or you may. Take your pick, because it’s not like I can stop you.
I was born to a pair of very well-respected collies of what I was told was very, very high standing. St. Runningsworth-something-or-other-blahblahblah was my father and I knew my mother as The Sweetest Lilly-Belle of the Ball. I called her Mama Lily, and so did my three brothers and my other sister. I was given some weird little name, but I never responded to it. Why would I? All I remember of it was that it was ridiculous and I didn’t want it.
When I was about eight weeks of age, I was sold to some guy on a farm to watch, guard and herd his oh-so-precious livestock. I wasn’t perfect, far from it. The stupid guy beat me for it and starved me. I was two months old! What else did he expect from an untrained pup? After that abuse and nearly getting trampled, kicked or nearly eaten (Cows are bad things….quite dumb, too.), I was jumpier than the local rabbits. Freedom was on the wind…I could just smell it.
One day, he picked me up, arms around my waist and threw me in the back of a truck. I was exactly one year old at the time. He intended to drown me, shoot me, sell me to a dog fighting ring as bait…anything to get rid of his not-so-dear little “Panic Attack Dog”. I jumped out of the back of that rusty old pick-up and ran for days, finally ending up in this city. So, for the past six months, I’ve been roaming the streets, fearful but determined to live on, scouring every inch of any place I can find for the life all dogs deserve.
[/font][/color]My name may or may not be Panic . Okay, it is. So sue me for being smart.
You say it as Pan-ik
I am known only as Panic . Can’t do much with that, can you?
I am 1 ½ Years of Age
Considering the fact I am not a dude, I am Female.
I seem to be a Smooth Collie
I look pretty good, I guess. Here’s the proof:
In appearance, I may look a little bit on the odd side. My legs are very long and thin, along with my body and head. Unlike a few dogs of my breed, my chest isn’t very deep. My neck just slopes down into my stomach, without any major difference. My coat is short and smooth, hence my breed name. I have a gray back with black patches of varying sizes across my back. The gray fades into a pretty red-brown on my haunches, with the spots eventually fading. My face is also mostly gray and black in coloration, with my muzzle being the same red-brown I mentioned before. My neck is white and this color wraps around to my chest, front legs, stomach, and my shoulders, along with my back paws. My ears are perked forward and flop over on the tips. When it comes down to it, I have nice eyes. They are the color of melted milk chocolate and are just as warm and sweet, for the most part. See what I mean? Pretty good, eh? I try to keep myself clean all the time. Got to make a good impression, right?
Now, this is what I call a personality!
Let’s get this straight.
I’m sweet and friendly for the most part, but I can not be perfect. Really, I try to be kind, but it’s just so hard to do. A lot of times, I’m just calm, orderly, sweet little Panic. Things set me off easily, and I don’t mean in anger. Well, sometimes anger, but mostly in fear. I wasn’t named Panic for no reason, hun. So I did have a different name…I just don’t remember it. I scare easier than a hare and am in a semi-constant state of fear. That’s why I’m called what I am. So fear breeds anger, am I right? When I’m scared, I will snap, bite, basically rip you to pieces if it’s your fault. Or I’ll go hide under the closest thing I can find. It matters on how terrified I can get.
I’ve gotten good at not being so scared of things. I’m pretty resilient, adaptable. Some things ar just so…..goodness. They’re just so scary. Mostly thunder storms, and bigger and meaner male dogs. I will not be dominated. I am my own girl.
I can also be quite the sarcasm queen. I’ve got that down pat, really. You can tell when I’m starting to get nervous, because I can crack ‘em like a whip. If I’m not stopped, things will go into full on panic attack mode. Heh..that was funny. I get panic attacks and when I get scared…Panic attacks. That is good! Admit it!
I have a history worth repeating.
At last I think it is. You may not, or you may. Take your pick, because it’s not like I can stop you.
I was born to a pair of very well-respected collies of what I was told was very, very high standing. St. Runningsworth-something-or-other-blahblahblah was my father and I knew my mother as The Sweetest Lilly-Belle of the Ball. I called her Mama Lily, and so did my three brothers and my other sister. I was given some weird little name, but I never responded to it. Why would I? All I remember of it was that it was ridiculous and I didn’t want it.
When I was about eight weeks of age, I was sold to some guy on a farm to watch, guard and herd his oh-so-precious livestock. I wasn’t perfect, far from it. The stupid guy beat me for it and starved me. I was two months old! What else did he expect from an untrained pup? After that abuse and nearly getting trampled, kicked or nearly eaten (Cows are bad things….quite dumb, too.), I was jumpier than the local rabbits. Freedom was on the wind…I could just smell it.
One day, he picked me up, arms around my waist and threw me in the back of a truck. I was exactly one year old at the time. He intended to drown me, shoot me, sell me to a dog fighting ring as bait…anything to get rid of his not-so-dear little “Panic Attack Dog”. I jumped out of the back of that rusty old pick-up and ran for days, finally ending up in this city. So, for the past six months, I’ve been roaming the streets, fearful but determined to live on, scouring every inch of any place I can find for the life all dogs deserve.
