I smell trouble

Joan doesn't feel like blogging anymore. She has taken to her bed with the vapours. So you are stuck with me. By the way, this is just between you a me..what stays in Vegas...you know the drill.


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.

Yours truly,

Penny Loafer