So in case you were wondering what happened to that dog whose mouth never shuts and why he is not spamming you with the details of his life anymore – the answer is – I have been home all along, back from the kennels almost two weeks ago, but my labtop was broken and it took absolute ages to sort out. I missed the Internet and the attention for so long I was actually starting to feel some withdrawal symptoms and ,trust me, it’s not a pretty sight on a dog! Well I’m back now and if you thought you got rid of me for good – think again!
I really liked it in the kennels, but some aspects of kennel life resemble prison. Sure, my cage was massive and had two separate rooms, but at the end of the day it’s still a cage with bars and everything. And my parents got rid of my own cage at home good few weeks ago (as I’m all whipped now and do not unload my frustrations on furniture anymore) so I’m not used to being locked up like a common criminal anymore.
Having said that, the wardens were alright and they fed us regularly. They let us run few times a day and it was fun, even though they didn’t let me run with all the bitches that were in season (and that’s the best kind of bitches!) They said it was because I have not been castrated! Like it’s something good that I’ve missed out on!
Either way kennels are not that bad as long as you don’t bend over under the shower and act tougher than you feel, you’ll be fine. The secret is to bark louder than the other dogs and I can definitely do that. I generally feel like a badass after this experience. I got into a little disagreement with a small staffie, but we’re good now. Thought I’d have a little scar out of that incident and got all excited about it (bitches dig scars), but it’s healing now and I’m back to nice and loveable, when I wanted to be rough and ready 🙁
Hope you’ve all missed me like I’ve missed you!
I won’t be online for about a week and a half, because we are having a family vacation – I am going to my favourite kennels (yes!) and the parents are going abroad for my aunt’s wedding. They seem really sad for not being able to take me – yeah, like I want to parade around in a miniature tie and be squeezed by all the tipsy relatives asking me who’s a good boy in baby talk!
I never understood why humans have this need to get married. If I found a bitch that I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, I would be really happy and I wouldn’t need her to be called Mrs Shaun or anything just to prove that she’s mine. Of course I’d pee on her instead and that would do the trick. But I suppose humans don’t like to do that in public, so they probably have no choice but to get married if they want to label someone as their property.
So instead they make all that fuss and spend all that money just to tell the world “Hey, this bitch is mine and from today on, noone else sniffs that butt!” That’s more or less what they say in the vows, right? There’s no harm in it though. And I am happy for my aunt and new uncle for having found someone to share the mutually exclusive butt sniffing experience for life.
In the meantime, I am still here searching for the one I can pee on forever.
It’s like Sting says – If you love someone, spray them with wee
See you soon
So we had that election thing yesterday and guess what? The world is still the same today, except for my dad who hasn’t slept most of the night and now looks like a zombie. But a happy zombie for some reason. I think he really wanted The Labour Party to get stronger. At least that was what I gathered from the fragments of his conversations to people for the last few weeks.
I don’t understand why humans care so much about all that politics nonsense. All the politicians want the same – money and power. And none of them ever mentions the welfare of dogs, so I couldn’t be more bored with them.
I guess The Labour Party wants to save the NHS so technically I would be rooting for them, but then again – there’s never been any NHS for dogs and I haven’t heard them say anything about changing it, so….
Having said that, The Conservatives want to legalise fox hunting and that’s just pure evil. If there are still humans stupid and cruel enough to hunt anything, they need to be stopped with any means necessary. And, as a canine, I feel somewhat related to foxes. Not to mention that I am a fox myself! (in a purely aesthetic manner of course)
So, all in all, I suppose it’s good that it resulted the way it did, although I still think that NHS should be accessible for dogs too! And there should be dog representatives in Parliament, dozing off during other politicians’ speeches, taking bribes and having affairs with their secretaries. That sort of life would suit me, I’m sure. Shaun The MP sounds good, don’t you think?
And anyone who hunts foxes can brexit off! @#$%
I might run in the next election. I have already started working on my future campaign. Here’s the first draft.
I thought I’d tell you about my first day in my present home as a little innocent puppy and show you how cute I was back then.
As we estabilished HERE, I was adopted by my human parents some time ago and lived with them ever since as their generally happy, but delightfully rebellious son.
I don’t actually remember my first day after adoption (or anything before it for that matter), but here’s how it happened, according to my parents.
When they brought me home, I was so scared, I hid in the corner and wouldn’t move for many hours.
Then they put my on the sofa to sit with them and I was even more terrified (I probably didn’t have a clue what those huge monsters wanted from me and imagination is always worse than the reality so…)
Anyway, probably because of all that fear, I got constipated and wouldn’t poo for the whole evening. As a result, I pooed a lot in my cage later on, when they were fast asleep upstairs. Then I howled, because I was forced to sit so close to the poo I just did. Then I stepped into the poo and howled some more. Eventually they got up at 5am (AT LAST!) and cleaned the whole mess up. They say I had never pooed in my cage after that. I’m not suprirised at all. I’m sure I’d much rather poo in THEIR bed instead, if I had the chance.
I was adorable though, right? Do you see that baby fat? That has now turned into pure muscle and sex appeal, I assure you.
I can’t help but notice how dopey I look on those old photos though. Do you think it’s possible my parents drugged me at the breeder’s house and simply kidnapped me straight from my poor biological mother’s womb? I wouldn’t put it past them!
I’m curious – Why do you always hear about dogs attacking the postmen, but you never hear about the postmen attacking dogs? Surely it happenes sometimes…
If dogs are as mean and horrible to postmen as everyone claims to be the case, why don’t the postmen fight back? I’m a bit sceptical about this whole “mean dog & poor postman” business.
My relationship with our postman is not violent at all, but it is definitely special. I’d call it love and hate relationship. The love part mostly from my end and the hate part – from his.
I don’t know his name, but I like to imagine it’s Pat. He gets to our street everyday around noon with his magnificent moustache and a bag full of exciting letters and packages. Sometimes he brings leaflets too, but I don’t hold it against him.
I want to greet him personally, every time he comes around and I want to show him that I am loads of fun. I bark loudly for him to hear me through the closed door, but that doesn’t seem to impress him much:(
In fact, it seems to make him leave our doorstep that much quicker!
What am I doing wrong here? I just want to get to know him better. He looks like an interesting man with an impeccable fashion sense – his red face matches the red Royal Mail uniform that he wears (coincidence? I think not!)
He must be a deeply traumatised individual to have lost his trust in dogs so completely. I wish he understood that my barking comes from a good place and I’m not going to hurt him.
Mum has been sick over last three days and she has been absolutely useless to work with! I now have to do my own editing in addition to being a brilliant writer.
As you can probably notice, there is no photo of me in this post. The reason for it is that she is lying in bed feeling sorry for herself, while so many of my good hair days and general gorgeousness moments are being wasted every minute she doesn’t take photos of me! I seriously hope she feels better and gets her act together while I’m still young and handsome.
I’d take a selfie, but it is really hard to take a pitcure of a gorgeous dog and BE the georgeous dog in the same time. And we all know that men cannot multitask anyway.
Mum doesn’t just feel bad – she looks awful too! But of course I won’t tell her that. You don’t say things like that to the person who has full control over your food, do you? But, between you and me, this is what she looks like:
Humans are so weak, you gotta feel sorry for them. I suppose you have to forgive them their weakness as they are inferior beings. They don’t have magnificent hair coats to cover their skin like I do and their noses are tiny so they constantly get blocked with flegm and god knows what else (poor things, like they don’t have a terrible sense of smell as it is, right?)
And another thing – Sometime ago I mentioned about some really bad and unfair dog references in human culture (you can read it HERE). Here’s another one for you – humans use the expression to be sick as a dog in relation to someone actually being really sick. Let me tell you something – I’m now a year and 8 months old (which is about 12 or 13 years in human years, I believe ) and I’ve never been ill in all that time. In the meantime my mum had 2 throat infections and 3 colds and my dad had 2 colds and 2 stomach bugs. So there you go – yet another dog reference humans should seriously rethink!
I better lie down next to her now and exercise my tilt to cheer her up, maybe she’ll get her lazy butt up to throw me a snack, which would be a highlight of my day! That’s how low I’ve sunk in my poor dogsistence.
I forgot to mention before that I have a gorgeous neighbour called Lola. She is a brown labrador bitch and she is a little older than me (but not enough to call it creepy!) Our parents know each other from work and yesterday they’ve arranged to meet up for a labradate.
I got there all hopeful and over the moon, because I still remembered how beautiful Lola was and how invitingly she smelled last time I saw her.
At first I played it cool, pretended I wasn’t that desperate.
But we all know that I AM that desperate so I tried to approach her from the right…
..and then from the left…
And finally I made my move
As you can see, she couldn’t be less interested if I was a spot on her collar. All she was bothered about was that green ball in her mouth.
I have balls too! – they’re different colour, but they’re still balls! 🙁
Did you notice how long and hairy her legs are? Absolute perfection!
But she just wants to be friends:( What is a dog to do when they hear that terrible verdict – let’s be friends!
Well, I took her swimming instead. If I can’t have her, I can at least admire her behing from a close distance. Friends can come in all sorts of shapes – my friend has a lovely shape mwahahaha 😀
Shaun in love
As most of you know, I have done some sweet damage in my days (you can read more about it HERE) and my parents have had no trust in me ever since those events and would put me in the cage whenever they had to leave me alone in the house.
But I told you they’re soft and they’ll keep trying to change that, despite their bad memories of what I can do – and I was right.
As I am writing this, there’s a guy in our kitchen, tiling over the electric sockets that are within my reach and putting a massive board over any pipes and cables I might reach; or more like I HAVE REACHED before (sshhh!)
This is me observing the whole proces with all the scepticism and bitterness a young lab can muster and looking for any weak spots that I could use to break through those precautions in the near future.
I’ll have to really think outside the box on this one as they have really thought of it all – no cable or pipe access whatsoever, no electricity in my reach and I heard them say that from now on all the bottom drawers and cabinets will be empty. Plus there’s a big fat lock on the detergent cabinet and tiles on the wall everywhere. This will be a tough one to crack, but I’ll keep thinking.
Any ideas… anyone?
This weekend we went to my favourite park for a run.
I’ve got a special skill that my parents are not too fond of – even if it hasn’t been raining for many days and the whole grass area in that massive park seems to be dry, I always manage to find a little bit of mud to get into and then stick my tongue out to show them I’m my own boss, in case they still doubt that somehow.
Why not anyway? Mud is good! There are at least four big reasons to do it:
1) It’s good for your skin. All spa retreats have mud masks or mud baths in their offers and they charge good money for it too! I get it for free and I will remain forever young if I treat myself to it, whenever I get the chance.
2) Humans will do anything to avoid a dirty dog runing straight at them, which gives me special powers. I feel like a young Thor when I charge around the park and everybody step away as I approach. That’s right – show some respect, humans!
3) It’s a good place for hanging out with the bitches – mud is so smooth and sexy!
4) Annoying the parents – that’s just a cherry on the cake.
After a mud bath I’m usually forced to get into the nearby river and then brutally dragged to a pub where my parents have a pint and wait for me to get dry. It needs to be said, that, while they drink their favourite beers, I only get a bowl of tasteless water, but I pay them back by always managing to hide a little bit of mud left on me and making sure it gets properly smeared on the sofa when we get back home!
They say that Karma is a bitch.
I’d like to meet her:)
A B C !
Not sure what is a blogging dog supposed to say when testing whether his website is working, but I think we’re back online, aren’t we?
Last week mum made a real mess trying to transfer hosting of this website and it took few days and a really nice and helpful man called Craig to bring this website back online on a new hosting platform.
Anyway, in the meantime you missed one of my tiny nervous breakdowns. Not sure if you recall, but my parents have posted an ad offering my stud services when I turned 18 months (which was last month)- And a few days ago a man called asking about me and saying that he had a big labrador bitch that wanted to meet me and that she was coming out of season and we needed to hurry. I didn’t understand what was all that season gibberish about; all I heard was a big labrador bitch and hurry so we got ourselves a date for the following morning.
Everything was good and ready – I put a scented candle on, cleaned my privates and waited in my usual gorgeous position filled with anticipation and excitement, but then that man called again and cancelled.. His bitch was not in season anymore:(
I was mortified. Is this all I’m good for? A piece of hot meat used only for reproduction? How could they have even assumed that I would put out on the first date?
OK, I probably would, but they should NOT have assumed it so easily!
We didn’d have to go all the way, we could have just had a bowl of Pedigree and watch some Dog TV. Or just get to know each other a bit better.
Jeez! Humans are so clinical.
I feel cheap and used. In fact, even worse than used, because I WASN’T ACTUALLY used so both my body and my soul feel lonely and frustrated now.