Post by Panic.Rose on Jan 2, 2010 21:14:10 GMT -5
Warning:This Wiring is Faulty!
My name may or may not be Viper . Okay, it is. So sue me for being smart.
You say it as Vy-purr
I am known only as Viper, or Vipsie . Can’t do much with that, can you?
I am 4 Years of Age/b]
Considering the fact I am not a dude, I am Female.
I seem to be a German Shepherd Mix
I look pretty good, I guess. Here’s the proof: I am not short, but I’m no Daddy-Long-Legger either. Just the perfect height. I’m not perfect in every way, though…but we’ll cover that later. My coat is medium-length. You know…not too short, but not too long. It’s sort of plain, being pretty much brown. It’s a very nice brown, though, because it’s light. Kind of like Cinnamon Sugar-y in color, I guess. That’s really it, except a black saddle marking upon my back. My tail is sort of fluffy, and kind of long. My ears stand almost fully erect except for the tips which sort of flop over…just a teeny bit. My muzzle is kind of long, but not really. I’m all full of “kind of’s”, I guess. I’m kind of cute, kind of not. I’m kind of this, kind of that. It’s what comes with being a good ol’ mutt. My eyes are wide, big, beautiful browns. I’m quite proud of them. I’m just a bit muscular, but that’s because I’m running so much. I have average-sized paws and all of my Dew Claws are still around. Never got ‘em removed.
I also wear a thick brown leather collar with outdated tags, from when I lived on the farm.
Now, this is what I call a personality!
Lemme tell ya’ something, please. Thank You for listening.
I have never been quite right in the head. I’ve known it for quite a while now. I mean…I have this tiny mental issue….um, I kinda repeat things I’ve heard a lot. But not right away. I won’t go around repeating what you say right after you say it. It’s like there’s this memory bank in my head where I store things I’ve heard, mostly songs on the radio. So I’ll just randomly pop out song lyrics,. It’s not aways random. Sometime’s they make sense with the situation I’m in at the time. I’ll be walking along and it’ll seem like I’m singing…but I’m not doing it on purpose. It just happens. Oh, that’s really my only problem. Other than that I’m a stable dog, nice and fine. I like to play with others, and act like a general spazz. No problem. There’s no issues with that, but I can’t seem to keep some friends around. Some of them get annoyed by my antics with words. They don’t understand that it’s not my fault, that the wiring in my brain in faulty. I can’t help it. It makes me kind of sheepish, so I don’t make friends easily. It’s also why I don’t have very many.
((Her disorder is called Echolalia. Thank you, e.MBER, for the help finding that one.))
I have a history worth repeating.
Okay…so my existence is an accident. My mother was this fine German Shepherd, full-blood with absolutely amazing eyes, just like mine. She was a show dog to everyone else, but she was momma to me. Her cat was dark brown and black, and her ears were big and pointed straight towards the sky. Oh, how I wished every day I was with her that I looked like my momma.
My father was some run-of-the-will mutt who lived next door. One day, when Momma’s people were out visiting friends, he hopped the fence. This happened a couple times and thus I came into being, along with my five other siblings, three brothers and two other sisters, all in varying shades of grays, blacks and browns. Momma’s people knew it was their neighbor’s homely mutt that had fathered the puppies, for my brother Hazel looked just like him, right down to the fluffy gray and black coat. Our siblings were sold to various people, but Hazel and I were dropped in the car’s back seat and driven to the local no-kill shelter. At least those people had some heart. There were radios playing in every room of that huge place, and I loved it there. Hazel and I were inseparable, but he started to notice a problem with me. After a year, half of our conversations consisted of me reciting song lyrics to his normal questions and statements. To the humans, my singing sounded like a happy, humming noise…despite the appeal I had to them, no one adopted Hazel and I until we were three years old. We had to be adopted together, specialist’s order.
For some reason, we were never fixed, Hazel and I. Do we lived on together, ruling the roost of a twenty-acre horse farm. It was fun, being with him. We slept together, curled up by a large space heater on an old blanket in the farm House’s basement. One day, I caught a whiff of something I couldn’t identify. I followed it without Hazel, talking to myself in lyrical ways. I became lost and had wandered for miles, into the city. I can’t find my way back to Hazel now. Oh, how worried I’m making him.
