I caught the gnome planning "my next dog."

I've made a decision.


For sale: Used Deaf Gnome.
Five years' supply of dog food
Or best steak offer.

-Wilbrodog-

Gosh, Spring is here!

Now that the snow's finally thawed out, I can dig out that camera. Here's a few pictures the gnome took of me over Christmas.

Here is one of me doing a fabulous catch on a downstay. A certain young boy was throwing paper airplanes in people's faces, and he got told the next airplane that went wrong would become MINE. He didn't listen. I did!



And here's me enjoying our green Christmas, unaware of the wild jungle cat stalking me from off-camera under cover of those huge potted plants.



It was great to see old friends all over again. The best thing is that home seemed all the better for being away, too! Especially since I got some steak for being so good on the flight there and back, too. It's sure nice to get appreciated, huh?

I've loved the endless snow this winter, but I'm all excited to see the snow go and things get dry. Last summer was very good, hope we'll get to do it all over again!




-Wilbrodog-

Phew, all is well today

Sunrise, sunset, my fur feels the same as ever. However, as the gnome and the evening sky reminded me, it's not even full moon yet.

Ulp.

To make things even worse...

My nails are glowing even brighter today, and I'm feeling all odd after I wound up dancing an Irish jig to Jewish music this day dai dai day....

I have a feeling I really shouldn't have learned those freestyle moves after all. What was I doing dancing in public? Everybody knows I have TWO left feet!


-Wilbrodog-

(And it wasn't even Liverdance music, either.)

I have the Toenails of DOOOMMMMM!

Never let a bored gnome do any Christmas shopping in the cosmetics aisle, I tell you.

Just look at what happened to my handsome, rugged, masculinely black nails. They got MAULED. And squeaky silver-gold.



I'm ashamed to show the rest of myself now. I JUST know that stuff was infected with magic poodle dust, and I'll be poofing into a poodle tonight.

Tomorrow I'll be howling at the saloon that my hair hasn't been sufficiently brushed and cut enough while I'm on the phone booking concerts in Las Vegas... wait, that's Liberace. ANYWAY.

Ahem. I'll sign off now, while I'm still the Wilbrodog you all have come to know and love. Sob...

All I ever wanted to do was love and trust people. How could anybody do this to me?

-Wilbrodog-

Groundhogs II. Prisoner of Alacratz wages Breakout!

Sob. I'm about ready to talk about it now. See, we actually LEFT the yard to the mercy of groundhogs for a week-- not my idea! Repeat after me: just say NO to groundhogs diggin' up dogs' lawns-- anytime, anyplace.

See, when we came back they still had lots of sticks on the ground, concrete, and wheelbarrows. Now, I don't mind picking up sticks, but not sticks thicker than a beer can and 20 feet long.

Then they got to banging little hoops on the posts and stuck those sticks through the hoops and then started rolling out this chain-link wire... you catching on yet? I didn't until it was all done and I was fenced in..COMPLETELY!

See, here's how I see fences. Fences are for OTHER dogs. Homeless dogs. Dogs that like to ram passer-bys' crotches.. HARD. Dogs who like eating other dogs. Dogs who like eating themselves.

So... I was fenced in. with 5-foot black chainlink... with the ONE tree I never, ever, pee on. (It's a dog religion thing. That and the ants start biting me silly.)

Meanwhile, I have to watch all the loose dogs of the neighborhood pee on MY front yard. I couldn't have this. I didn't study hard for nothing.

I immediately pleaded for parole and good-behavior forays so I could keep checking my tree-mail. Well, you know prison bureaucracy. Puppy eyes don't cut it.

I went into a funk. See, I'm a social butterfly. I don't do well all alone behind bars. I was starting to watch the moving shadows fall on the garage walls all day, just to pass the time. Man. Boring.

I hate buttering up misbehaving gnomes, but a dog has to do what it takes to reunite with his beloved trees. Fortunately I could bait the gnome with a "friend" to talk to the gnome while I played with the "friend's" dog, so I conned the gnome into going out for long walks daily I could break out of the coop to visit trees and romp, and then visit trees again.

Good times never last--the friends moved.

Well, I couldn't have that, so I helped plot for us to MOVE to somewhere there are no fences and plenty of trees (and walks) again. I'll endure a permanently leashed gnome for THAT anyday.

Always bad news, I tell you!

-- Wilbrodog--

Yard All Woodchucked!

Goodness Gracious, can't a dog have a quiet morning sleep without groundhogs moving in and hammering through concrete?

Well, I couldn't bear it and woke up a cranky gnome... TWICE. The first time, I got mumbled gnomish curses.

The second time, I brought a toy carrot, because that symbolizes outside, see, also it's all stinky too, and so got the gnome up to see the horrible, horrible scene outside.

Beer cans on the lawn, grass all torn up, clothesline taken down, and... two groundhogs digging holes with shovels... in my precious YARD! Boy, give me the smelling salts already. I barked a little to underscore my angst.

Now, you'd think once the groundhogs knew that I had reinforcements, they would clear out. Bah. Groundhogs have no shame. They continued as usual and the gnome was too craven to go and give them a good woodchuck chucking-out.

Instead, I was banished to the front yard on leash and allowed to sniff the evidence of their destruction-- concrete rubble, shovels, ground drills, gasoline... oh, I can't go on. The agony.

Nobody consulted me on this feng shui. What if they destroy my trees? What will I be peeing on? Air?

With even worse chutzpah, they then stretched string all over, drilled even more holes and then poured concrete to put black metal post thingies in...like it's an acceptable thing to do on dogs' personal lawns. Hah!

I would take a nap, but the sound of further concrete pounding tells me that I'll only wake up and find it still happening all over again. Sob. When do I get my yard back?

-Wilbrodog-

(p.s. the gnome says as long as they don't actually dig up the garden, they're GOOD groundhogs. Heresy, I say!)

For all my Poodle Amigos

Another fine poem I have been working on under a new nom de plume (Woofhouse).

To an Unknown Collie-gue
by P G Woofhouse

He was my friend - if friendship's proof
Be sympathy profound and sweet;
Eight months we toiled as with one woof,
Yet somehow never chanced to meet.

So near and yet so far! I own
We may have passed upon the street;
Yet, if we did, we passed unknown;
No master's leash did let us greet.

He knew not it was I. Alas!
With such community of souls
That he and I should blindly pass
And sniff our memos on the poles!

For I, when darkness sealed my eyes,
Would place my sentiment in his ears,
Would ask him humbly to advise
And yield myself to hear his fears;

Just hinting what my view might be
(If asked) on this or that affair,
But never in undue degree
And with a territorial air.

And he, thus modestly addressed,
Would raise a loud amen
And say he thought my view was best
In full nine cases out of ten.

And so in deep harmonious flood
Our friendship flowed, and proved a help
Though water may cling less than blood,
Our bonds with ground-marks we did whelp

And now when things are somewhat slow,
My leisure moments I beguile
By sniffing o'er with heart aglow
A certain odd and dusty stile -

One out of hundreds, marked to prove
A truth the world may oft forget,
That there can live pure trust and love
'Twixt canines who have never met.

Oh! Sweet the trill of mating larks!
But sweeter, sweeter, I aver,
That soft leg-raise - "For your tree marks,"
That gentle answer - "We savor".

.... And I hope you will leave your comments on this!

The wind's blowing, the birds are singing, and I'm rolling in grass.

... and writing poetry. Ayup. It's time poets wrote about what really matters to dogs.

Take Jane Austen's Happy the Lab'rer. Now this is all wrong. She not only misspelled labrador but she thinks dogs wear old-fashioned clothes, like in children's books, and care about cabbage roses. Nope.

Here's a much better version.

"Happy the Lab'dor"

Happy the lab'dor in his Sunday clothes!
In service vest, smart collar, well-wash'd toes,
And leash upon his neck, to church he goes;
As oft, with conscious pride, he upward throws
A glance upon burgeoning diaper woes
That, stuck in mother's arm, regales his nose,
He envies not the gayest poodle beaux.
In church he takes his seat among the rows,
Pays by his pants the reverence he owes,
Likes best the prayers whose meaning least he knows,
Lists to the sermon in a softening doze,
And rouses joyous at the welcome close.

--Jane Wilbrodog Pawsten

See, it makes perfect sense now, doesn't it?

And here's another I wrote as P.G. Woofhouse. All dogs know a bark must be done right.

"For One Night Only (A Tragedy)"
by P.G. Woofhouse

I met him at a fair
As if with care 'twas weighted,
A droop his back did wear,
His tail was quite deflated
I asked him, "Why so pale?
What grief does your soul rankle?"
And gleaned his painful tale
O'er a friendly bite to my ankle.

"Once," the mongrel began,
"I knew not what the blues meant,
I was a genial pup,
And never shirked amusement.
I wagged, I tugged, I fetched
I ran the fields at leisure,
My life, even outstretched,
Was one long road of pleasure.

"In those delightful days
I do not mind confessing
That, if I had a craze,
It was for loud expressing.
One night - it shows my vow
How labor omnia vincit -
I WOWed a perfect BOW;
I've not been happy since it.

"I woofed with watchful eye,
With muzzle soft but wary,
It seemed a decent bow,
But not extraordinary.
But when at length I gazed,
To watch the fleeing stranger,
I staggered back amazed,
Ejaculating 'Danger'!"

"Oh, had I but the ken
That serves the inspired poet,
I'd try to echo then,
With proper force and woe, it.
That billowy wave of sound,
The leaps, the letters flying;
Were I a bard renowned -
But I know only my sighing.

"Suffice it to repeat
That on minute inspection
It showed in each heartbeat
The hall-mark of perfection.
The sort of bow which you
When wrapped in sweetest sleep
occcasionally woo;

A bow to mark an epoch.
"That night no peer I owned,
I strutted all before me.
The neighbors"-he moaned-
"United to stare at me.
Whenever I passed wow,
Men stopped their conversation,
Drank in that Perfect bow
In silent consternation.

"Since then that striking bay
(Would hounds thus bawl on a trail tour!)
I've striven to display
Result: completest failure.
Though toiling, as I say,
As much as blood and flesh'll,
The bows I wow to-day
Are good, but nothing special.

"So now, my fellow hounds I shun,
no matter who 'tis.
As far as mongrel can,
I cut my mongrel duties.
I seldom eat or rest,
I'm gloomy, laggard, mirthless.
To one who's barked the best,
How-do-you-dos are worthless."

.....

Wags, and hope those verses make your heart wag!

Wilbrodog