Input, output

The conversation this entire weekend has been about my gassiness. Apparently, it's reaching alarming levels. Here I am laying one of my silent death bombs. You would never know it until it hits you. I can do it in my sleep.

Laura consulted my biological dad, Ajah, to find out what he eats. Turns out that my malodorous nature may actually be a reaction to the kibble I've been chowing down. Laura's thinking of putting me on the same "super-premium" diet that my dad swears by. Will I smell any different? Stay tuned.

Size is relative

And you thought I was big. This weekend Tim and Beth are visiting us from Duluth. This time they brought their dog, Woolie. She is a Newfoundland, which means she's the about the size of a polar bear. When she sits down, she takes up the entire floor!

After some intial barking and circling and sniffing each other's rears, we are beginning to get along. Jesse and Laura say I shouldn't provoke her with my antics because she's not a puppy anymore. Woolie has a very wet mouth, and she drools more when she gets excited. My fur feels fabulous right now with her slobber.

We were supposed to show Woolie the Minnehaha dog park this afternoon, but it's been raining and snowing all day. Hopefully she'll come back soon so we can romp around on the beach together.

The world outside my window

Sometimes my pops and I like to watch the goings-on in the Blue Nile parking lot next door. I don't get terribly agitated, though I do like to throw in a low-sounding "woof" from time to time.

Apologies

I'm so sorry I haven't been blogging much. Between obedience classes and trips to the dog park and my overall rambunctiousness, it's been hard to find time to sit down at the keyboard.

But I did hear poet Billy Collins on the radio recite this poem, and I got such a kick out of it that I wanted to share it with you. Enjoy!

The Revenant by Billy Collins

I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.

When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.

I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair and eat,
a napkin on your lap,
knife in your hand.

I would have run away,
but I was too weak,
a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.

I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.

You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.

The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.

While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all my strength not to raise my head and howl.

Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat,
monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place

except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.

Share the wealth

I love going to Tosa's place. She lets me play with her rawhide toys. Here we are bonding over a good chew.