Its quite obvious to me that Noah has become more of a ‘big-time blogger’ than I could ever hope to be. So I am letting him ‘guest post’ on my blog today.
I was born on a farm. My most favorite toy was the blankets that we were raised on. It was so fun to drag them around. I don’t know why the lady gets upset when I grab her blankets [editor's note: quilts] and drag them around. It is comforting to me and brings back great memories of my humble beginnings.
One day the lady drove up in the mud. I heard later that she almost left before she got out of the car because it was so muddy. What did she expect? It was a farm, for goodness’ sake. Next thing I knew, she stuffed me in a box [editor's note: crate] and we left the farm and my bio mom and dad and sisters. Now I liked the wet weather and the rain. But I could hardly believe it when she got me wet ON PURPOSE and then put this stinky white stuff [editor's note: shampoo] all over me. And then the indignity of having a noisy air thingie [editor's note: hairdryer] blowing at me. Somehow this made the lady happy.
Note the stick.
Time went on and the lady (she likes to call herself mom–who is she kidding) liked to hold me up and take pictures of me in that stupid white square [editor's note: computer] that she is always staring at.
The Joy of Sticks.
Then one day I discovered the ‘joy of sticks.’ Oh what fun! The lady gives me these little miniature nylabones made for the two little house monsters*. Those bones are like a toothpick to me. Whatever. Doesn’t she know I am a he-man? Really, she has lived in an ‘all girl house’ for too long [editor's note: for a long time I only had female pets.] Here’s a picture of today’s triumphs. The lady told me I should take a ‘rest day’ and tried to encourage this mini-stick.
I humored her for a minute or two before moving on to a man-sized stick, worthy of my superior strength and skills [editor's note: typical man, even if he is neutered.]
Actually, the lady and I are getting along very well now. She still doesn’t appreciate my superior guardian skills [editor's note: non-stop barking] when I try to warn her about the deer and the turkeys and the trucks and the goldfinches and that ant crawling across the floor… But today we had a great day. I am very good about getting in and out of the new car. And today we went to the dump, and I managed to resist chewing the garbage bags as long as the lady kept feeding me cookies to distract me. We went for a walk in a new place. NO STICKS there. Hmmmmmph.
And then when it was raining, the lady kept me in the house and tried to get me to get on her lap and stare at that stupid white square again. Talk about mixed messages. Every other time she is yelling at me ‘no jump’ ‘get off.’ Yikes. We have a bit of a communication problem still. But I see mom (I call her that sometimes to humor her) reading books on how to communicate with me, so there is still hope. [Editor's note: Culture Clash, The Latchkey Dog.]
*the house monsters:
Oh can’t you just see the evil lurking in their eyes? Especially that skinny-faced bitch. [Editor's note: doggie talk does not count as swearing.] She steals my toothpicks and then hides under the chair and comes after me like a snapping turtle. And that snuffly-faced one. Well, he doesn’t even know how to be a dog. Doesn’t believe in the whole ‘let’s get acquainted. I’ll sniff your butt and then you sniff mine.’ Whatever. House monsters are evil and must be avoided at all costs. [editor's note: hey, that's my mantra. Insert 'doctors' in place of house monsters.]
All in all, I have fond memories of the farm, but this is a pretty nice place to live. Here’s a view of the road where mom and I walk. (Notice how I have cleared it of all sticks.)
The end. Mom says ‘habanada.’ Whatever.