Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
The master of all I survey
This week’s Random Flickr Blogging brought to you by the number 7226.
I blame Kibbles ‘n Bits.
I’m a hunter by nature, a beast who lives for the chase, the capture, the jet of hot blood as I sink my teeth into another hapless furry neck. My mother didn’t bring me into this world to eat out of a bowl.
Kibble. Bits. Bits of what?
They expected me to take it like a bitch, but I showed them. No more rolled-up newspaper for this predator. No more five-minutes-only of sniff-ass in the park, either. Now that they’re gone, I’ll mount whomever and whatever I please, whenever I please, thank you kindly and woof. I’m my own dog now.
When Homicide arrived on the scene, I whined and sulked and made a pretense of deep depression. The ruse worked. Not one of the detectives suspected me, despite the fact I stabbed Him in the eye with my rawhide chew toy and strangled Her with my leash. Oh, delicious irony!
One of them scratched me on the belly and called me a good doggy. I would have shot him with his own weapon — I could have done it, too; I know where to put my claw — but that would have ruined everything. Instead, before Animal Rescue could arrive, I dashed out the front door when they weren’t looking.
From that moment forward it’s been one continuous, exhilarating crime spree. First thing I did, I taught Delilah, that uppity Shih Tzu next door, a lesson. I’ve been wanting to shag that hairy bitch for months. Then I took a dump in her owners’ swimming pool and left her to take the blame.
I hitched a ride by leaping onto the back of an open-bed truck owned by some good ol’ boy with a Golden Retriever named Max. That evening, I told Max How it Was, and How it Was Gonna Be. His master got drunk that night like usual, but this time, Max laid down across his face. Poor bastard choked on his own vomit — ugly, but effective.
Life’s been pretty good. I have a blonde Toy Poodle who does anything I ask (lick me there, I tell her, and she licks me there) and a crew of Pit Bulls who are cleaning up this planet one human at a time. If you’re alive to read this, listen up: get your affairs in order; kiss your loved ones goodbye.
There’s a new master in town.
D.
Best be careful there, buddy. My feline princess, Perry Penelope the Bipolar, will whup your butt if you show up in her part of the world. Other than that, I can suggest a few addresses where you should go…
[…] [Random Flickr-blogging explained. See also contributions from Doug Hoffman.] […]
This is great!
aa! i’m scared now!
Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!! Lol. I love it. I’m looking at my Golden with new eyes now, surreptitiously moving her rawhide chew bone away with my quaking toes.
While she’s yet to kill any humans, not that I know anyway, it’s a long established fact that she rules my world. I mean, why else would I make treks downstairs for her to spray the grass and run after geckos and why else would I suffer the ignominy of tangled leash about human legs, tripping over and yelps…of other hapless humans, that is? Why else too would I allow this yellow mini carpet on the bed, convinced by doleful eyes that the floor is too harsh an environment, and put up with puppy snores and dreamland whines?
New master? No, no. Not new.
GG
Doug,
You are sick, demented, twisted, raving and insane.
I love you.
You better alert Bruno‘s owner about these new tendencies. That dog is bad enough already without some silly ideas of freedom. 🙂
As Nietzsche said, “What does not kill me makes my right leg twitch back and forth uncontrollably.” Or something like that.
thats my dog and she is called leia. great tale lad.
Hi portlandbill! Glad you liked it — and sorry I got Leia’s sex wrong 😉