Tuesday, December 19, 2006

A terrible story

I don’t think I can finish the story of my life… this meaningless existence that I have led, is truly becoming more and more pathetic, and to chronicle its happenings would be like writing another chapter of “Tales from the DMV”. However, if I am to leave this journal, and through its binding into some river bottom, I must not leave until the latest has been told.

It all began innocently enough on a Thursday, after being let outside at the appointed time (my schedule doesn’t change much) in the wee hours of the morning, I went gallivanting across the fruited fields that is my neighborhood. Everything was fine and dandy, and then I saw him.

Our neighborhood is relatively nice. We have nice neighbors, nice roads, nice houses, and beautiful weather. Like any other neighborhood though, we have our terrible secrets. One such secret, that is particularly important to my tale of woe, is that we have a killing dog down the street. His name is Harley, and he is the ugliest, meanest, biggest, and dumbest canine thug to hit the history books. He has very short white hair, a long and thick tail, and is a little taller than me. From what Jake (his younger and friendlier brother) has told me, he spent a few years in the mob as a hitman, and then was demoted to a bouncer at a local club, where he was finally kicked into the humane society, where he was picked up by his current owners. I unfortunately had the terrible misfortune to run into him the other day.

I rounded the bend and saw the monstrosity standing in the road. Shocked that he was loose (he usually wears a shock collar for their electric fence) my muscles tensed, and I was frozen with fear. Slowly, he turned his ugly white head towards me, and I could see what looked like someone’s hand in his mouth (ok… maybe not… but it wouldn’t surprise me). Looking straight at me, he started to trot, and then run, barking wildly. In the next moment, I was running faster than I ever have in the opposite direction. I could see Jake in the corner of my eye, he was laughing hysterically… I was terrified.

I could hear him gaining on me, so I made a be-line for the one place I knew I could find refuge, out front porch. To my dismay, I discovered upon approaching it that the front door was closed. I turned to see him catch me full on with a vicious bite… I was helpless, to fight back, and he held me down as he bit me again and again. God was watching that terrible morning, because as the noise of our battle (or slaughter) grew… the door flew open, and Jonathan ran out of the house and kicked Harley really hard, causing him to fly off the porch in pain and surprise. I was safe… and I will never be the same.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Another post

... Continuing the story

For the next year or so (the days blend together like a Saturday morning smoothie). My family tried to train me... which essentially meant doing everything in their power to reduce me to the status of family dog, which similar in rank to entry way doormat.

Once, in an attempt to break my will, and put me in my place. They took me to this creepy dog trainer, who lived in the heart of nowhere. He had this bumpy windy road that lead to his house, and I got quite ill in the endeavor to keep from slamming into the car door. When we arrived to his house (actually, it was his dog training building) he gave me all this nasty smelling food (he kept saying, "dog's love cat treats" and bits of overcooked hotdog. When ever I would sit, or lie down, he would shove more food at me, which made me cranky. I was already sick from the car ride, the food was like eating dog food with icing (which does not make it taste better), and I already knew how to sit and lie down on my own. And didn't need some long bearded weirdo telling me how to do it. Besides, 'SIT!' is a command, not a how to, he must have been mixed up.

My family says that I am un-trainable, and this is a harsh twist on the truth. I know perfectly well how to do what they wish, their problem is expecting me to do it when the tell me to. Again... I'm not a doormat!

Gotta run.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Eating, and a continuation of the story

Jordan went off to do his math, and left his laptop unattended, so I thought I would add the next part of my unraveling story of doom, or maybe just the story of my life...

Actually, I think I'll break from that pattern once more, and touch on a topic that has me in knots as I write, this is... of course, the subject of my eating habits. I must warn the reader, the following segment is not dinner table worthy (kind of like me;-)

I DON'T like dog food, at all, period. End of discussion. I think its nasty, it tastes bad, it's hard to chew, it doesn't smell good on ones breath (when trying to meet new dogs), it makes me gurgle in my tummy, and generally puts me in a sour mood. Imagining a human eating such kibble would be unthinkable! And thus is completely and utterly unsuitable for me.

However, I must eat to live, and thus am resigned to soup bones (kind of like eating ice cream thats dribbling down a dumster), human food (much better), dog food (already touched on this one), or... if the season is right, a little delicacy called bovine pie. Yes, i'm talking about cow pies.

Can I help it if the good Lord made my sensitive taste buds to relish this creamy treat! It smells great, tastes great, and works a lot like hair gel... which keeps my ruff out of my face. I love the stuff, and my family hates it. They always threaten me with baths, and won't let me on the couch, or keep me out in the cold! Depressing... thats what it is.

Well, enough of that... Let me get back to my life, since that is the main reason I am using this laptop. Here comes a short addition:

The first night at home was very hard. My mother was a gazillion miles away, my sister was off with some other family, the cage they had me in was uncomfortable, and I pooped inside of it like tomorrow was a forgone conclusion. I probably ended up barking all night, which made Jonathan irritated. Chills come running up and down my spine when I relive those moments. Fortunately, the next day came, with a ray of bright sunshine, and a promise of another shot at this new family. It was I who must be convinced, not the other way around.

It was Saturday, Mom and Dad (I met Dad the night before... he has a mustache, and is really tall) left for something, and I was home alone with Jonathan, Jordan, and Justin watching over me like I was some sort of meal they were going to devour... actually, they kept up with annoying squeals and cooing, which really got annoying after a while.

Later on that day, Jonathan brought out this long rope, with a metal thingy at the end of it, which he attached to another shorter rope, which he proceeded to wrap around my neck! I was outraged that he would treat me like an animal, and made the entire process very difficult I am sure (its hard to remember). He took me outside, and started pulling me along with this rope (which I found out is called a leash) as if I was really going to follow with earnest. No one was going to treat me this way, and promptly planted my rear end on the gravel, and let him drag me for about a 1/4 of a mile. My butt was very sore after that!

For the love of Saint Bernard! Jonathan is playing guitar with this loud amplifier thing, and it hurts my ears... have to write later. Besides, I'm hungry for you know what.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

A Short Post

Wow... the family hasn't given me much space lately, and the fact that Jordan's laptop hasn't been working of late doesn't help. I switched to his computer, because its much less unusual to find a dog in his room (where the laptop is) on a computer, than in the office... I think ahead on these things...

I'm going to review my last post, and figure out where to start up again...

Ok. As I was saying, my family came in this green van, to pick up their new puppy. I was of course, glad to see them, but maybe not as happy looking as I should have been. That strange daughter was looming around the corner, and I wasn't going to let my defenses down. People tend to get their laughs at my expense... its kind of a sad part of my life.

Once Jonathan had finished signing all of these papers, the family was ready to take me home. Where home was, I didn't know, but I was soon to find out. We (including myself) piled into their car, and I was deposited next to Jonathan on the back bench. He put me on top of some towels, which didn't really make sense. Later on, I learned that this was to keep the seat clean, but the implications derived from that reason, lead me to believe that the towels must have been for looks. Once I found a way to get comfortable (which took some time) I fell asleep.

Jolted by the bumpy gravel driveway, my eyelids slowly opened, as the car turned off the highway onto a private road. Suddenly, I felt very ill. It may have been the winding and weaving of the car, or the brownies I sneaked before leaving the breeder's, but I my tummy started convulsing. With my usual calm, I spilled the contents of my stomach on the seat, and assumed Jonathan (who was sitting next to me) would find the matter to be just as un-alarming. Instead, he started yelling about 'throw up' and pushing me over like I had the plague, I had just begun falling asleep, and wasn't pleased with this interruption, however, Jonathan calmed down (I'm not sure what his problem was in the first place) and cleaned up the mess.

Not long after this traumatic event (only a couple of minutes), we pulled up to a house, and the car stopped. It was late, and dark, and winter... so I was not able to see the house very well, but the family seemed happy enough to arrive, and I went along with them.

Chippy wants to bite my ear, and that makes it rely hared to spel rite... gota run!

Picture of me....

Monday, November 06, 2006

My first post

My life has been… rather dull. I’m not sure why you’re interested in this, because its not filled with the stuff they put in lassie movies, or the adventure you find in chips the war dog type show. Instead, it’s just the story of a mistreated family dog, a story which I feel compelled to pass one to future generations. Kind of like hamlet or something, only, that movie was so boring, I wet the couch.

I must tell you that I am risking a lot by doing this. No dog owner wants their misdeeds published, and my paw prints on the keyboard don’t help either. Lying on the couch is what I usually do on Sunday morning, not sitting on an office chair and hunting and pecking these annoying little plastic squares, (that q is really hard to hit for some reason). When my family gets home, I’ll have to run to the door to avoid suspicion, but I will return to this account when they leave me alone again.

That’s always been really annoying! They keep telling me what a great dog I am, what a brother I am, how cute I look. And yet, they don’t have the courage to take me anywhere, its not like I’ll bite the pastor, or go in the grocery store, (by go I mean…. You know…). Anyway, I get left behind so many times, and there’s never really a good reason. Just for the record, I only messed in the car because they were shooting guns… I hate guns… they scare me.

Whew! I’m telling you what… something in this house keeps making these awful smells. One could just been minding his business, and suddenly be enveloped in a cloud of nauseous fumes! The family says it’s my fault, but Chippy said he smells it after we play together, it must not like playing. Happens after I eat to… most annoying!

Yikes, I brought a character into the story without introduction, and I’m still in my opening comments. (For some reason, the computer has this wavy red line under the word Chippy, like it wants to take it out… it says it should be choppy, huh?) I should probably introduce the family to you, but that was for the first chapter! If you can wait, I’ll get to the cast in a minute. For now, I’ll just say that Chippy has the funniest teeth I’ve ever seen, except Jordan; he has barbed wire on his teeth. DANG! Did that again!

My family is always taking pictures of me, which for my purposes here… is a good thing. But on the flip side, its always pictures of me looking like an idiot. Like at my birthday party, they had the nerve to put a pointy hat on me, and scare me with loud whistles and stuff… and then take pictures… Mom is always saying… take a picture! I’ll have to sort though all of the pictures of the other people in this family, and find some ones of me that I can actually show people. Which is like 2 pictures.

So here it is, my life thus far, and remember my warning… its not for the faint of heart, or the people with a short attention span, cuz this is taking forever to type. For the rest of this tale, please take everything with a grain of kibble. It all happened to me…. for real… except that parts that I make up.

The Beginning

I don’t remember much of my years as a young pup. I think my memory receptors shut down those archives; it would be too painful to reopen that vault. That’s where all of my problems really started. So I guess, if I am to be truthful, or at least, partially accurate, I’ll have to put on a gas mask and go through the past, to when I lived at the dog breeder.

I think I was the runt of the litter, but I don’t really know that, cuz my eyes where closed (I hate scary things… so that’s probably why I didn’t open my eyes for the longest time). After being around me for any length of time, people always say… must have been the runt… so that’s how I know. Regardless of my entrance to this world at the bottom of the ladder, I was treated like all the other pups I guess. My brothers and sisters were great fun… and my Mother was… (I’m sorry, trying to hold it together hear, the tears are coming hard and fast…)

Ok, I’ll cut to the chase. Of all of those puppies, I was the last one to be sold, my older siblings were show dogs, made from the same bolt of cloth that Terhune (look it up… same red wavy line again.) spun his tales of collie virtue. Did I mention I am pure bred collie? Well… I am. Sable and white, my family always said something about inbred, but I think bred is shorter and sweeter, since its easier to type. Anyway, I was last, because I was NOT show quality. Ninety nine percent, that’s how close I was… but I had one defect. Mom (the human one) always said God spilled paint on my butt (yes… I am talking about my rear end). One little patch of white that kept me from stardom. Or at least, from the ‘last to be desired’ bin at k-mart, yup… that’s the truth.

So there I was, in a cage all by my self, no one to love me, no one to care (are you crying with me yet?). My mother was probably taking care of another litter, and I was just the left over from the last batch. The unwanted leftoverL

The breeder also had this strange daughter, I think they call it mentally disabled. I felt sorry for her, because she couldn’t say things right, but she sure knew how a dog wants to be loved… or NOT! She would pick me up by just one leg, or grab me into the air when I was just minding my own business! It’s a godsend that than green van pulled in the next day, or I would have bit her pretty soon, and then I would have probably been put down.

The green van was sort of a harbinger of new things to come, and would later be my dumping grounds when the gun went off. Yup, that was my family, coming to get me.

They piled out of that car and walked over, four of them: Mom, Jonathan, Jordan and Justin. Mom was like mother, she was kind and loving, and very happy to see me. Jonathan was kind of in charge, and was the first to pick me up (thankfully, not by one leg). Jordan was a scrawny kid with a laugh that sounded like a car trying to start, and Justin had a head that was slightly larger that the rest of his body, and just stood there with his mouth open… smiling. They seemed odd at first, but I would later get to know them really well, they became my brothers…

Whoops… The family just got home…. I’ll finish this chapter later.

I’m back… but only for a second, everyone went outside to rake leaves, and I feel I must voice my frustration! I love to be comfortable… really, its one of the few joys I get out of life. My family however, likes to mess with my mind, first they say… get on the couch, so I do… then Dad comes in and makes me feel all guilty like, then I get off the couch, then I get on the bed, and Mom tells me to get off, then Jordan lets me on his bed… and Mom says its cute! What is there problem? Don’t they understand I am an old guy in my years… I need the lower back support that my ortho-napper can’t provide… and if it means I have to bend some rules… they should love me enough to consent.

Family is coming inside now… I’ll have to act like I’m eating Justin’s lunch by the computer… which I am.