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.

Pup fiction

I hadn't actually noticed until last night, what with all the comings and goings lately, but my little people have been away. Gutted. Not gutted because they've been away, but gutted because I wasn't aware of it. I could've been having a fine old time lazing around on their bed and chewing their toys. In they walked last night without so much as a by your leave and took control of the front room. They started that "down Ronnie" and "no Ronnie thats mine Ronnie" business quicker than you could say "Grrrrr". They don't seem to realise that I have spent many hours this week laying down my scent. They really must learn to respect my authority and realise that if I've peed on it, it's mine!

It's VERY cold outside at the moment and the long man still hasn't bought me a bloody coat! I notice he has taken to wearing TWO coats whenever we venture outside lately, and a hat, and a scarf, and a pair of gloves. Then he spends nearly all the time we're walking moaning about how cold it is. I'm well aware how cold it is, I'm stark bloody naked! He's lovely, but my goodness he can be thoughtless sometimes.

A bit of a break from the norm now, I generally like to be factual in my entries but I'm going to throw in a bit of fiction for a change. I heard a joke this week and thought I'd share it with you. I've been rehearsing it for ages. It goes like this.... Theres this dog, crawling throught the desert under a blazing sun, dragging his back leg behind him and leaving a little trail of blood in the sand. He crawls all day and all night, then the next morning comes upon a little Western town full of cowboys and red Indians. (Ooops, how un-P.C. of me, I of course mean native Americans.) He crawls up the main street and heaves himself up on the hitching post, standing on his hind legs, and limps into the hardware store where he buys himself a little stetson, a little waistcoat, a little pair of boot, pair of spurs, gunbelt and two little six shooters. Then he limps across the street and into the saloon. He looks left and right real slow, then spies black Jake, leaning on the bar with his back to him. He draws his guns and shoots Jake in the back, twelve times, killing him stone dead. The Sherriff grabs the dog and drags him to the cells. Once the dog is safely locked up the sherriff says to him "Boy, we gunna hang you tomorrow, you wanna tell me why you did it?" The dog looks the Sherriff straight in the eye and says...

"He shot my paw."