Monterey Bay Aquarium
we're not kids anymore.
Show & Tell
i don't do bad sauce passes
#extradirty
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
ojovivo
No title available
Claire Keane
Game of Thrones Daily
Origami Around
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
ellievsbear
h
Mike Driver
hello vonnie
AnasAbdin
Xuebing Du
Kaledo Art
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
seen from Germany
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Netherlands
seen from Spain
seen from Germany
seen from Singapore
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Norway
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands
seen from Belgium
@reallysadcat
Anatomical Heart, Inhabited - Shallow (2026)
Today is the last day of Cabinet of Curiosities at Beinart Gallery @beinartgallery in Australia!
View and purchase via online catalogue
オーストラリアのBeinart Galleryで開催中の「Cabinet of Curiosities」展は本日最終日！
ご購入はギャラリーのオンラインカタログからどうぞ。
♦️🐉
“JABBERWOCKY” - made with a thrifted cutting board and posca markers.
it really is appalling that the vast majority of people still consider psychotic disorders to be a moral failing and an abject horror that couldn't possibly happen to them or anyone they care about (because they wouldn't make the mistake of investing their affection and compassion in someone like that). that so much of society globally is still structured to be as hostile and inaccessible to psychotics as possible. that antipsychotic ableism intersects not inconsiderably with other forms of social violence like racial discrimination, misogyny, classism, and transphobic and homophobic legislation; even how we treat the most vulnerable age groups like children and the elderly. and yet it's still an afterthought at best and a boogeyman as standard. if you see someone acting suspiciously in public, report it. record it and post it online as a warning to others. humiliate these subhuman failures into disappearing. exorcise them like demons. people like you should be executed in the street, and they are. frequently.
and not even being a "high functioning" enough psychotic to successfully integrate into society by masking effectively at the expense of exhausting yourself accommodating for the rest of the world without expectation of any return of the favour will save you. you'll just always be waiting for the other shoe to drop; for the moment when you fuck up in front of witnesses and do something that marks you as one of Them, the frothing rabid crazies, and any credibility you've managed to accrue is rendered instantly null and void. you'll never be trusted or believed ever again. your life will be halted in its tracks for the crime of being anything less than perfect. these are, of course, the ideal conditions for your chances of ever getting any "better". who needs support and medication when you can simply frighten people into compliance, or else falling apart under stress and providing you with the excuse you needed to have them removed from polite society and disposed of.
I refuse to fall into self destructive behaviours again just to feel cared about
if disability is your fetish you need to pay me. no free boners
The only people who get upset when you set boundaries are the ones who benefited from you having none.
That’s why they perceive it as a personal attack— because your boundary encroaches on space they’re used to owning: eg, yours.
Diagnosis??? More like diagNOsis haha am I right I don’t want this illness someone help
i’ve been too chronically ill the last few months to maintain a strong tumblr presence but i’m feeling slightly better now. here is what i look like with vs. without cat. if you would like to help me continue to recover and make art, gimme some love on patreon. $1-$10/mo.
This blog is Dedicated to anyone suffering from Anxiety! Please Follow Us if You Can Relate: ANXIETYPROBLEMS
The Racism & Appropriation of Africana Traditions Masterpost
You’ve heard of hoodoo and “voodoo,” but what can you do? Everything you’ve ever wanted to know or ask about cultural appropriation and the various magic traditions, cultures, and religions that have their roots in Africa. I’ve featured a number of different posts that cover a range of topics and perspectives from various sources and bloggers. Updates and additions will be made over time!
So, what is cultural appropriation, and why does it matter?
An explanation of what it is and why it’s harmful
What the idea of cultural appropriation isn’t implying
Why it won’t work even if you try anyway
Santeria Church on Cultural Appropriation by Non-Initiates
The Impact of Cultural Appropriation on Hoodoo
How can I avoid racism and cultural appropriation of Africana traditions?
What do “Afrocentric” and “Africana” mean?
What are “ATRs” and which ones are open/closed/semi-closed?
List of non-Kemetic African deities who are closed/semi-closed
Is it okay to purchase Africana magic and/or spiritual services?
Is it okay to wear African clothes from Africa and other cultural items?
Which tarot decks to buy (or not) for supporting diviners of color
Understanding Eurocentricity in mainstream witchcraft and magic
Eurocentric standards & racist criticisms of magic
Racist stereotypes in the magic community
What are hoodoo, rootwork, and voodoo?
The definitions of and differences between each of those terms
An overview of Haitian Vodou
Hoodoo has nothing to do with Satanism
Is hoodoo really open or closed? What’s the real story here?
Why are there many different opinions about this topic?
Why do so many black rootworkers feel it’s closed?
If no one can stop me from practicing, then why not do it anyway?
How do I know if I can practice hoodoo or what I can/can’t borrow from it?
Can I practice hoodoo and/or is it okay to be interested in it?
If I can’t practice hoodoo, what are the boundaries of what I can borrow?
Can I practice ancestor work?
Is it okay to use voodoo dolls? [x][x]
Can I mix hoodoo with other types of magic and/or witchcraft?
Can I incorporate hoodoo into brujeria and practice hoodoo as an Afro-Latine person?
What if I have recent black ancestry, but don’t identify as black?
I have reasons why as a white person I still want to practice hoodoo. Heard those other arguments before, please tackle the REAL questions?
Why can’t I practice hoodoo if black people practice white traditions?
What about if I’m Irish because the Irish were slaves too?
What if my white ancestors had nothing to do with slavery, and they weren’t oppressors at all? (About Vodou, still relevant to hoodoo)
What if I am white but from an African country?
At the end of the day, what about my personal opinion?
If I’m already a rootworker, how do I avoid appropriation in the craft?
What about all the cultural appropriation I see in botanicas?
Is it okay to burn ancestor money?
Hoodoo has Jewish influences, how can I avoid appropriation?
Books to avoid due to cultural appropriation & misinformation
Why Cat Yronwode & Lucky Mojo are extremely problematic [x][x]
Posted 4/14/2018, updates pending. If you have questions, please ask bloggers who are legitimate practitioners of African descent or Afro-Latine heritage if your question relates to an Afro-Latine tradition. If you have concerns or anything listed here is problematic in some way, feel free to contact Yejide the OP!
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils. Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch. Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather. Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here. Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗
that addition is a+ :)
THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS
Every time this post shows up on my dash, it gets better (and more heart wrenching. Y’all! Stop cutting the onions okay?!).
If ever don’t reblogging this, I’m either dead, dying, or buried under cat.
Okay, but what about in Season 3 when a demon foe finds out about ‘Todds’ human friend and life in the human world? He threatens to tear it all down and “Todd” has to build an army of Demons to help him protect the small life Annette carved for him.
GIVE US A SHOW ALREADY.
Intuition is real. Vibes are real. Energy doesn’t lie. Tune in.
This is actually called thin slicing. Your brain recognizes patterns from very small “slices” of information by comparing them to things you have experienced before. This all happens very quickly on a subconscious level without our conscious mind being involved. So intuition is actually really fast pattern recognition, and it can be very accurate. So yeah, if you have a gut feeling that a person or situation is not good, get the hell out. Your brain knows what’s up.
When I was young - because I’ve always been a big skeptical pain in the ass - I thought that when people were talking about interpersonal “energy,” they were on some Gay Ass Shit.
Years later, after spending hundreds of hours reading studies about intuition and neuroscience and pattern recognition and the processing power of the subconscious mind, I realized that that kind of talk - “she has such good energy,” “you need to read the energy of the room,” “I just got some really bad energy off of that guy” - is a convenient shorthand for the lightning-fast, weirdly-accurate, real-as-fuck subconscious processing of the probability of positive or negative social outcomes likely to result from hundreds or thousands of variables. That “energy” isn’t a tangible thing floating around in the air. It’s your brain updating you constantly with information about your situation. Listen to it. Especially if it’s telling you to be nervous or scared. Your brain is very good at recognizing danger. Let the enormous processing power of your subconscious mind protect you. It’s better at spotting patterns than you are.
“Bad energy” isn’t some hippie shit. It’s your brain setting off a claxon because it knows something’s not right.
Thin slicing is wonderfully helpful, but be aware that if it’s doing its pattern recognition from bad sources, you need to actively override it. We’re raised in a racist society, inundated with racist media, and bombarded with subtly (or unsubtly) racist advice. Thin slicing can save your life, but it’s also the cause behind the unconscious elements of racism (and misogyny/ableism/antisemitism/islamophobia/etc.) that we all suffer from
Trust your instincts, but if your instincts tell you something that seems prejudicial, double check their work.
A+ addition
No one actually knows exactly why they hold their own tails in their mouths.
One main theory is that it uses its furry tail as protection from the harsh cold in the mountainous regions it lives in. In cold conditions, it is possible that this could prevent frostbite, as has likely evolved as a behavioral trait. In captivity, many snow leopards likely have this trait ingrained in their behavior, and thus perform it even if its not freezing cold outside. However, like all cats snow leopards do like to play, and biting their tail can also be interpreted an act to pass time or cure boredom in captivity.
STPD summarized
StPD, or Schizotypal Personality Disorder, is a Cluster-A personality disorder.
The symptoms of STPD are as follows:
-Ideas of reference -Odd beliefs or magical thinking (In children and adolescents, bizarre preoccupations or fantasies) -Unusual perceptual experiences -Odd thinking and Speech -Suspiciousness or Paranoia -Inappropriate/Constricted Affect -Behavior/Appearance that is odd, peculiar, or eccentric -Few or no close friends/confidants -Excessive Social Anxiety that does not go away with familiarity
I’ll go over these symptoms in more detail later, but there they are!
Basically, STPD is like a very mild form of Schizophrenia. Those who have it are very detached from their peers, but not by choice–their separation is generally very painful for them, because they WANT to have close friends, but they don’t trust people enough to get very close.
They may also have mild psychotic symptoms–their ideas of reference and magical thinking resembling delusions, and odd perceptual experiences resembling (very mild) hallucinations. The difference, however, is that they can tell the difference between reality and fantasy. They will usually be able to tell that, realistically, no one is watching them and that the things they hear are just illusions. It’s still terrifying, though, and they’ll still feel very anxious and paranoid about it!
There are two subsets of STPD, which are timorous and insipid. Timorous schizotypals are more passive and fearful, and share some characteristics with AvPD. Insipid schizotypals are more withdrawn and indifferent, and share characteristics with SzPD. I’ll go over these more later, but that’s the gist of it.
Around 1-3% of the population has StPD, (which is the same statistic for people with red hair.) Very few people with StPD receive proper treatment, both because of the bias surrounding personality disorders and the disconnect between Schizotypals and themselves. People with STPD can’t often tell that they have a strange way of thinking until they consciously compare themselves with others. However, that doesn’t mean they will NEVER see their thinking as strange! Some schizotypals are aware of their own disorder, and some psychologists theorize that this is because their disorder stems from cognitive deficiencies rather than their environment or predisposition.
If you have any questions, feel free to ask!
Thanks for reading :)
It’s a difficult thing to try finding your spirituality when you’re also delusional. Trying to figure out which part is the truths your believe and which are the delusions of your diagnoses. But in the end, if you are striving to be a better person and be more in touch with nature and the universe, why does it matter if you also believe you’re possessed by an ancient, chaotic entity?
are you an aliens psychotic, a government psychotic, or a demons psychotic?
Happy Chinese New Year!
This year is the Year of the Dog 🐶, the eleventh sign in the Chinese Zodiac
This dog is scratching his ear on a 2,500 year old Athenian red-figure cup by the Euergides Painter. According to the Chinese Zodiac, those born in the Year of the Dog are loyal, honest and just, similar to our canine companions. One myth claims that the Jade Emperor, or the first god, decided to order the animals of the Zodiac based on the order in which they arrived to a celebration he was hosting. On this occasion, the Monkey, the Rooster and the Dog were in another country helping another god to defeat evil spirits. They arrived late to the party and all at once, so the Jade Emperor went by the order in which they met the aforementioned god in the other country, making the Dog the eleventh guest.
