Ruff justice

The little people and the clippy cloppy woman came along with the long man and I for a nice walk in Worden park on Sunday. I say a nice walk, that's what it would've been if not for their incessant whining. "I'm cold", "Can we go home yet?" and "Whyyyy". Oh they make my blood boil sometimes. I mean, I think you all know by now that I'm not one to complain but come on, moaning about being cold when I'm stood there stark bloody naked. The irony of it all.

And while we're on the subject of injustice, I couldn't help but notice that, invariably, every other dog we come across whilst in the park is unrestrained. What's the deal with that? The long man has absolutely NO reason to believe that I would run away if not tied to his wrist, although given half a chance obviously I would. I'd be off like a shot. Arrivederci suckers. But that's not the point, the point is that he has NO reason to believe I would. Yet still I'm tied to his arm. What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Brown's Britain eh? So much for a free country. Why not go the whole hog, put a bag over my head, dress me in an orange jump suit and whip the soles of my paws with a rubber hose? At least then I'd not be bloody naked.

When we got back to this dump we call home the long man decided I needed a bath. The cheek of it. I'd just had a good roll in some fox poo in the woods so I know I was smelling fine! He slung me into three inches of luke warm water and scrubbed me to within an inch of my life with some foul smelling substance. He didn't even use conditioner. The good rubbing I received with the towel afterwards was rather enjoyable though, as was jumping all over the long man whilst I was still sopping wet through.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I must bid you adieu. I have to arrange a meeting between the kitchen floor and one of my fragrant, curly poos. These little pleasures are all that keep me going sometimes.