My name is Juno. I'm about eight years old and weigh 130 pounds. You might think that I have a weight problem, but I don't. My paws are big enough to fit into four small bread baskets, so I was destined to be a pleasingly plus-sized canine. Also, I always say, the bigger the belly the bigger the potential for major scratch sessions. When Joan—the human who adopted me—scratches my belly, I get a monster-sized thrill out of it because it's such a large area. It's like the difference between scratching Rhode Island and scratching China. Scratch Rhode Island's belly, and you'll make a few people happy; scratch China's belly, and you'll make 8 billion people happy. See what I mean? Sure, there have been some vets who've said mean things about my weight breaking their dumb scales, but they're just not into zaftig girls. Besides, they never say that my brother Shane is fat, and he weighs the same as I do. Why don't they call him fat? He's a guy, that's why. Boy dogs are virile; girl dogs are overweight. It just makes me want to grrrrr.
I suppose you're surprised to find a dog writing a blog (dlog?). After all, what could a dog find to say about the world? Well, I have some observations and adventurous stories that I'd like to share. Also, Shane wants to contribute once in a while. Our human is willing to help—you know, with "lexical and syntactical issues" (that's how she talks…. Geez)—but we want to keep her input at a minimum, especially since she tends toward wordiness. No offense, but it's just not our style.
Shane and I are a good balance because we complement each other. I'm quite calm and philosophical; Shane, on the other hand, has "issues," as humans like to say. He still hasn't gotten over his sad puppyhood, and, at this point, change is hopeless. But, he's my brother, and I feel responsible for him.
Today, after Joan left for work, Shane and I settled down for a nap. I only got up once to have a drink of water. Shane got up and walked in a circle three or four times; then he sighed and lay down for another nap. When Joan came home at lunchtime, we went out into the yard. The rain had let up, and there was lots of good sniffing to be had. She leaves the gate open when she goes to work, which is like a written invitation to some neighborhood dogs. "Dear Dogs, The gate is open. Come over and leave your scent." And they do leave lots of scents, including some I'd like to roll in, but Shane always beats me to it.
Anyway, we had a good time for a while. The people across the street are having work done, so we got to watch the helpers smoke and talk on their cell phones. Then, one of them looked at us and yelled, "Arf." Shane got so mad, I thought he was going to hop the fence. God, he's so touchy. Joan came to the door and called him in. Me? I just watched the black cat tiptoeing around under the cars parked across the street. I think she maybe likes me, because she arches her back every time she looks at me. Also, she never tries to make fun of me or Shane by saying "Arf."
Well, it's dinner time. Joan always gives us a little snack when she has dinner. She only gives us one meal a day, but she likes to give us treats when she eats. That way, she doesn't feel so guilty with her three meals a day. Sometimes, Shane farts when she's having dinner. It's his way of giving back. I don't know if Joan realizes that he means well, because she always opens the window and shoos the smell away, saying things like, "I wish I smoked."
A presto, Juno
I suppose you're surprised to find a dog writing a blog (dlog?). After all, what could a dog find to say about the world? Well, I have some observations and adventurous stories that I'd like to share. Also, Shane wants to contribute once in a while. Our human is willing to help—you know, with "lexical and syntactical issues" (that's how she talks…. Geez)—but we want to keep her input at a minimum, especially since she tends toward wordiness. No offense, but it's just not our style.
Shane and I are a good balance because we complement each other. I'm quite calm and philosophical; Shane, on the other hand, has "issues," as humans like to say. He still hasn't gotten over his sad puppyhood, and, at this point, change is hopeless. But, he's my brother, and I feel responsible for him.
Today, after Joan left for work, Shane and I settled down for a nap. I only got up once to have a drink of water. Shane got up and walked in a circle three or four times; then he sighed and lay down for another nap. When Joan came home at lunchtime, we went out into the yard. The rain had let up, and there was lots of good sniffing to be had. She leaves the gate open when she goes to work, which is like a written invitation to some neighborhood dogs. "Dear Dogs, The gate is open. Come over and leave your scent." And they do leave lots of scents, including some I'd like to roll in, but Shane always beats me to it.
Anyway, we had a good time for a while. The people across the street are having work done, so we got to watch the helpers smoke and talk on their cell phones. Then, one of them looked at us and yelled, "Arf." Shane got so mad, I thought he was going to hop the fence. God, he's so touchy. Joan came to the door and called him in. Me? I just watched the black cat tiptoeing around under the cars parked across the street. I think she maybe likes me, because she arches her back every time she looks at me. Also, she never tries to make fun of me or Shane by saying "Arf."
Well, it's dinner time. Joan always gives us a little snack when she has dinner. She only gives us one meal a day, but she likes to give us treats when she eats. That way, she doesn't feel so guilty with her three meals a day. Sometimes, Shane farts when she's having dinner. It's his way of giving back. I don't know if Joan realizes that he means well, because she always opens the window and shoos the smell away, saying things like, "I wish I smoked."
A presto, Juno
1 comment:
Juno good girl!!!
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