Does anyone here speak "dog?" Barklish?... anyone?
If not, never mind I will just show the hovel I have to live in and the abuse I live with everyday, because of one incident...well okay, maybe two.
I live under a wheel barrow in the back 40., Joan and Gord thought I was too rowdy in the house so they built me a sandbag house with a wheel barrow for a roof. In this picture I was trying to get into my little house with a tiny morsel of food they threw to me from the deck. It was cold and lonely in there at night, I was scared... I didn't mean to make a hole in the water bed when all this started... I swear I was only "nesting"... when one of my very sharp nails caused water to blow forth...at a great rate.
I live in a grapevine bush by day, and in the sandbags at night. They wouldn't let me in the house. Even though they treated me like royal shit.... I barked at everything that moved to keep them safe. That is just the way I roll. I'm loyal even though they treat me like shit.
I have to go to the pond and drink slime water. They took my bowl away. I have to fend for myself. I am becomming a lean dog, a mean dog, hunting on my own. Looking after number one. I eat nothing but ants, and gnaw at broken tree branches, sometimes they throw out carrots for the rabbits, but I got them first. I was so hungry.
Then one morning '"she" came out and complained I was scratching around in my sandbag house wayyyy to loud, she took away the wheel barrow roof so she wouldn't be able to hear the sand blasting on the metal. I was devistated.
Finally I sought refuge in a pyramid they happened to have in the back 40. There were writings all over the walls in a strange language. I, who can only read "dog" could not decipher it. But then I smelled something...underneath the earth. A tomb. I started to dig, because that is what I do the best. I dug and dug, and finally I unearthed bones from a Pharaoh. My first good meal since the incident.
The next morning when Joan came out to look at me disapprovingly, I presented her with one of the bones I had found the night before. Well holy hell, apparently she buried her old favourite dog out there 10 years ago, and now I had dug the sucker up!!! Back to the sand bags.
So, one day, I came back to the patio door and put on my "woe is me face," hoping she would let me back in. " How much "time out" is enough I thought.? All I did was scratch on the water bed and put an iddy biddy hole in it, and flooded the bedroom...that's all...and I was so sorry about unearthing her old dog..but he was tasty.She never came to the door.............so I just went back down to the back 40. And cried.
Back to being a Bag Lady!
Call you nearest humane society, because I don't have a cell phone, another contention in our relationship. Hey, I never did drugs, never smoked, never bit a mailman I couldn't reach and always try to clean up the snot I leave on the windows with my tongue. And I don't shit in the house....yet.
We are trying to work out a situation whereby I might be let back into the house. Rules, smules, I hates them. Because I know when I see any movement around here I will paste my beak on the nearest window. I will get back in the water bed, and I will scratch at it to make my little homey hole nest and circle it 45 times before I find a comfortable position to lay in, but I really hope I don't see anymore water spouting out of it. I don't want to be a "bag" dog anymore.If you vote for me, she might let me back in the house. Check the left sidebar I put up when she wasn't looking...I just want to be warm again, I want something good to eat, I want to bark at everyone on the the front street, I want a bus pass, so I can go to the library.....ooop's that might be a stretch.