If he can do it, so can I.......

The Tim recently posted 10 so called "interesting" things about himself. Not! How 'bout boring and FREAKISH!

Scotch Tape - give me a break - stupid human.

Here are 10 things (about me) - which are interesting:

1) Dog poo (especially Mocha's) makes for a good snack.

2) I can jump six feet straight up in the air about a thousand times a day.

3) I am the official dish pre-washer of the house (see pic).

4) I pee when I get scared.

5) I am scared of air horns and dynamite blasts - see #4 (I just found this out).

6) I like the smell of foam rubber and enjoy chewing it into small pieces.

7) I lick myself compulsively ... and take pleasure in doing so.

8) I go get Mocha for the humans - she's deaf. (I've mentioned this before but its so darn impressive, it bears repeating.)

9) I have a condo in Athens, Georgia.

10) I find muzzles to be both degrading and embarrassing.

Naaaa ....What's Up Doc?

First rats and now this ... you're killin' me here!

Rat Sitting

It has been one week since I’ve bitten someone (other dogs included).

And until a few days ago, I was handling it fairly well. But then the Will guy un-expectantly brought his rats over to my house. The humans kept calling them “chinchilla’s” but I’m no fool. They’re rats I tell ya!

Well at first I thought, “This is great! I’ll chase the filthy rodents around a bit, toss ‘em up in the air a few times and then following the laws of nature, create a scene reminiscent of something the male human (Tim I think they call him) refers to as Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.”

But N O O O O O O !

As it turns out, they weren’t there for my amusement at all. It seems we were “rat sitting.” Can you believe it? As I said before – dumb humans.

Anyway, they put them downstairs in the basement and would not open the darn door. Even though they know all too well that I am neither tall enough to reach the knob nor do I have thumbs, opposable or otherwise.

As you might imagine, the vermin stench wafting up the stairwell, taunted me to no end. It was unbearable. At night, I’d lie in my crate and dream of creeping down the steps, sneaking over to the cage and then without warning, start barking like crazy scaring, the decon right out of ‘em!

Then in my dream, I would knock against the table, sending the cage tumbling to the floor. In the ensuing crash, the cage door would pop open and it would suddenly be “rat-o-mania!” But alas, it was only a dream and each morning I would awaken to find the downstairs door firmly closed.

Then, just as suddenly as they arrived, they were gone.

Such cruel treatment is uncalled for and is on par with other despicable human behaviors such as the “fake throw,” the “pretend treat” and the “let’s go for a nice ride in the car – to the vet’s office!”

Is it any wonder I sometimes bite?

Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight and they’ll bring a stranger home. Then I can play the old “I was only defending you,” routine after taking a well deserved chunk out of their calf.

Dumb humans. They’ll believe anything.

Time Out

Yesterday I spent the whole day in jail or outside, away from the pack.

I acted like an *hole.

I bit Mocha on the nose and drew blood.

I don't know why I did it. Sometimes I get jealous. I want to be the only dog.

The Mom put me in the crate and then later outside. She was pretty mad. Later on, she and the Tim came outside and she let me sit with her. When Mocha came outside, I tried to bite her again and got put off the deck.

Today I'm trying very hard not to get in trouble. Mocha isn't a bad sort. I actually like her but, she is inferior to me since she is deaf as a doornail and way too submissive.

I get extra points with the humans when I "go get Mocha" for them when they can't get her attention.

The Beginning

January 15, 2005. Me at 16 weeks old. Left hell via Washington, D.C.

We (The Mom, BA, and a guy named Will) stayed at Uncle John and Uncle Keith's house, where I promptly defecated and peed on their newly refinished hardwoods, sending Keith into a frenetic cleaning jag.

We arrived in Roanoke a couple of days later. They did not know I was a Hellerhound. Nobody told them. Dumb humans.

I've come to love the three I live with and with some unwillingness, I accepted The Mom as Pack Leader. No others are allowed in the pack, if I have anything to say about it and that includes that Will guy.

Luckily, there are no cats.