Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Rebel - Guest Blogger

Dear People,

Every night for the past three years I have sat under this table and watched the Serving Wench that calls herself "Mama" type on the computer when she gets home from work.  I know what "work" is by the way.  When I was a puppy, I used to go to work with her - primarily because she couldn't stand to leave me unattended while I was being potty trained.  Of course, I ended up breaking her of this habit before she "broke" me - but it was a nice gesture.

Actually, it took her two years to "break" me...and every so often I leave her a gift just to let her know I care.  Somehow, those just don't seem to be fully appreciated.  All I hear is "Bad Dog! Bad Dog! Blah blah blah blah blah." 

Whatever.  What does one expect from a dog that they saw fit to name "Rebel"?  Exactly.  I rest my case.

The Serving Wench has a pretty normal schedule and she does a fairly decent job of making sure that Dixie and I are fed and watered and put out.  She retrieves me each morning from The Boy's room and doesn't even make me jump off the bed.  I've found that stretching and taking my time seems to just frustrate her...but I thought it was pretty genius if the truth be told.  She just cuts to the chase and picks me up. 

I like to think of it as my small way of thanking her daily for that ill-fated trip to the vet a few years ago when I came home minus a body part or two.

Every few days she just leaves me in here until I have to get up, jump off the bed, and go to her room to get her up.  Sometimes The Alpha (otherwise known as Big Dave) shuts the door and makes it necessary for me to sit outside the door and bark.  I'm pretty much the strong, silent type ordinarily, but The Alpha tells me that I bark like a "girl" whatever that is.  Somehow I'm guessing that this isn't good.

Usually this attempt to get her up is a double-edged sword - because all of that yelling reminds her that we probably need a bath. 

Baths suck. 

I mean - after the bath - fine.  During the bath - no.  Some stupid dogs are all about getting in the water - but not the Brown Dog.  I don't struggle anymore and I'll even stand still to be dried.  But nothing makes me happier than shaking all over the Serving Wench when she isn't expecting it.  It is my version of letting her know how little I appreciate this "clean" that she seems so happy about achieving.  Clean?  Does she not know that it has taken a full week of hard work to smell like I do?  It wouldn't be so bad if she didn't bathe me in some frou-frou vile green stuff that smells like fruit.  You'd think she'd know by now that fruit ain't covering THIS up.  Not by a long shot.

That whole frou-frou thing is pretty much because The Blonde thinks that I'm a little less manly than The Serving Wench.  The Blonde insists on dressing me up in various tee shirts that she buys because I look "cute." 

I hike my leg to this "cute."

The Serving Wench thinks I'm a redneck.  I am the Brown Dog.  Not red.  Brown.  Although this crimson team she is obsessed with is rumored to qualify me as a redneck by the Auburn school.  Sounds like a whole lot of bush marking to me. 

Not that I'm against bush marking.  I'm quite excellent at it, actually.

In spite of this, I have found that people continue coming into my yard uninvited.  They may have been invited by The Alpha or The Serving Wench (and when The Blonde lived here it was even worse) but obviously they didn't check it with me.  These delivery people who insist on dropping off items at my house without my approval need the occasional reminder that this is the Brown Dog's yard.  Yeah.

So the Serving Wench had to send some paper with proof of my shots on the machine in the office to the U.S. Postal Service.  Wonder if I'm on a poster..."Most Wanted."  Ha.  I am also rumored to be on the "Do Not Call" list of DSL, UPS, and most of the neighbors. 

But me?  Vicious?  I weigh twelve pounds.  Just don't turn your back on me.  Plus, remember...I bark like a "girl." 

I do know that my life is pretty good.  I sleep in the house (on the camo sheets with The Boy), eat decent and get morsels called "treats" pretty regularly.  Other than the fact that it is allegedly not good for dogs...I am a huge fan of American cheese.  I will even debase myself to do something called "tricks" in order to obtain this delicacy. 

Sure beats digging in the trash.  Dixie does that and to say that The Serving Wench is "not a fan" would be an understatement.

I've just had another bath tonight which was somehow unfair because it is not the late sleeping day, but apparently I was something called "stinky." 

Better stinky than fruity.  Sadly, I am on the fruity side right now. 

I'm off to demand cheese now since I have done what was asked of me and introduced myself to you.  I don't know that I'll do this again, but you never know.  Thanks for reading---The Brown Dog

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