And no I'm not quoting Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil."
My name's Buddy, obviously. I also go by the name of Buddy the Wonder Dog and Buddy Damn It, although I don't care much for the last one. I'm six years old and live with my adopted parents, Chris and Phyllis. My real mom and dad, Darla and Burt, still live on the farm where my adopted parents picked me out and brought me home.
When I came home with my new parents, I was greeted by Max and Murphy, two rather odd looking animals. I think they're called cats. I sauntered up to Murphy to say hi, and she proceeded to smack me in the nose with her paw. Hence, my brutal introduction to pet hierarchy. Unfortunately Max and Murphy passed away a few years ago. So, it's just me and the mommys now.
My one mom, Chris, is more like my dad. She's an author. I know this because she sits with this rectangular thing on her lap a lot in the room called the "butch den." I'm not sure what that means other than Dad goes in there for hours at a time, sometimes coming out for a drink or a snack. My mom sits with me while Dad works. Dad is always telling Mom how much she sacrifices in letting Dad pursue her dream. I don't know exactly what that means, but I do know how much they love each other.
I've recently been put on a strict diet. See, us beagles love to eat. Anything. You name it, we'll eat it. My doctor hasn't been happy with my recent weight gain, so now my food's even more closely monitored. Which means Mom and Dad are much more aware of my presence and are more careful as to the placement of food within my reach. Damn... I mean... darn! I still manage to move the tablecloth with my paws and drag things to the edge of the table within reach of my mouth. But I have to be quick. I can be lightning fast when it comes to scarfing.
Well, I think it's time for a nap. I'll write periodically when my moose hits me. I think that's what it's called. At least that's what Dad calls it. I don't get it though. Why would I want to be hit by a moose?
Later...
Hey Buddy......thanks for the new blog to enjoy. I hope the moose visits you often.
ReplyDeleteMy 2 Goldens aren't as strong in the writing dept but they'll give you a run for your money in the food dept.
Thank you, Beth. I hope the moose does, too, as long as he doesn't ram into me. Wait...do mooses ram?? Hmm...
ReplyDeleteI dunno about your goldens and food. I've managed to consume quite a bit. Stuff I'm reeeeeally not supposed to have. Like cooking grease, for instance. I got into the trash can when Mommy wasn't looking. That ended up with me in the doggy hospital and Daddy muttering about an $800 bill.
LOL Buddy, I think you win with the grease story.
ReplyDeleteAlthough.....one of my Goldens did some kitchen counter surfing and snagged a whole turkey breast. He was soooo proud of himself that he came out into the living room to show me his "prize"
Sorry it took me so long to answer your post, Beth. Daddy wouldn't let me have the laptop again until tonight. I'm thinkin' your Golden has the right damn idea!
ReplyDelete