In the market for a furry friend? Bond manager and man who communes with animals Bill Gross has fond memories of his golden, Honey, and highly recommends the breed (despite the fact that, unlike Bob Gross the Cat, there's no evidence Honey Gross the Dog knew jack about interest rates). In related news, Gross apparently thinks the concept of curbing one's dog wasn't invented until the 90s.
If you were a dog, what kind would you be? I can’t say I’ve thought about it a lot myself, but it is an interesting, possibly introspective question considering the theory that many dog owners pick a breed that looks or perhaps acts like themselves. [...] The dog I picked for myself over 35 years ago is at the top of the page – a Golden Retriever, appropriately named, Honey. It would be pretentious to say that I resembled Honey in any way, but nonetheless she was the puppy I chose. Honey turned out to be a little bit of a tramp, so maybe there’s the connection. Back in the freewheeling ‘80s when society had not even contemplated poop scooping and blue pick-up bags, Honey would roam the neighborhood, depositing wherever she pleased, but bringing things back home in return. There was always a fresh assortment of rocks on the front porch, and stale loaves of bread from neighborhood garbage cans. Like the Nathan’s hot dog eating champion, Joey Chestnut, who last July 4th downed 61 hot dogs to win the Coney Island championship, Honey once swallowed four frozen swordfish steaks placed innocently on the kitchen counter. One minute they were there; five minutes later there was nary a trace. Like I say, sort of a tramp. But a loveable one and a loving one, that’s for sure. If you’re into love, and not so much concerned about a fresh fish dinner, I’d recommend a Golden Retriever. If otherwise, I’m sure you’re happy with the mutt in your own “dog” house. Arf, Arf. Sometimes when life seems to be going to the dogs, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.
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