Ugh....she said I had to let Puffy the Ancient have some bloggie time, since I entered him into the MM Bad Sport dog group. Well, no one was supposed to know I did that! It was just my way of getting even for...well, never mind that.
So...instead of letting him defile my pretty pink laptoppy, I thought I'd borrow a page from Dory and interview his smelly ole self.
B: So, Puffy, lets start with a little bio about you.
P: Well, I belong to the idiot Marine, except when I moved here, he was an adorable 7 year old and I was a double fisted ball of cream colored fluff. When he grew up and stopped paying attention to me, I became Momma's little love bundle.
P: It's true! She gave me everything I wanted and so did Dad. Pizza and beer for Dad, pizza and beer for me. Life was great!
B: Can you tell us about the original sin...I mean...the original BITE the hand that fed you?
P: I can assure you it was blown way out of proportion. She should have know better than to reach in under my hiding spot when I was mad at her. Served her right, actually.
B: And what was the outcome of this unfortunate event?
P: Don't make me say it. You know it bothers me.
B: Isn't the unfortunate event, as you put it, the real reason for your ...ummm...TUTORING?
P: safeplacesafeplacesafeplace ...lalalalallalalla....I can't hear you!
B: OK....moving right along...lets jump to the present time. Isn't it true that when I moved into this house, you used to terrorize me? And bite me? And run me off from my foodibles?
P: Well, some of that may be true, but you've got to remember you had these awfully sharp little razor teeth and you were forever hanging onto my ear or tail and it hurt! And they were spending a lot of time with you, and giving you treats for doing stupid things like SIT or STAY.
B: Actually, that was my Mr., not HER....no THEY about it, bud!
P: Hey! You don't have to be so picky about details. I thought you'd leave after a week or two, and when you didn't leave, I had to take matters in my own hands. You needed to GO....and not come back!
B: Let's talk a little about why I thought you'd be the perfect BAD SPORT. Isn't it true that you often go into your own crate, when the door is open, and start barking and growling and gnashing your 3 teeth?
P: I had more teeth, missy, until YOU knocked them out! Yeah, so what? It's my crate and I'll do what I want to do in it....including barking and snarling and biting anyone that sticks their hand in my crate...or any smart mouth scottie that sticks her over sized snooter in there too! SNARL!
B: Ack! Cover yer mouth when you snarl! You've got killer bad breath! Now, for the last question today, isn't it true that the peeps have to drug you to be able to give you a bath and groom you, and that the vet won't even let you in the office unless you are drugged and muzzled? And that my Mr.s primary care Doc had to report you as a BAD DOG to the authorities????
P: All of that is a grave misunderstanding! I only bite people when I am afraid, and it's easy to be afraid when you are almost blind and deaf. Water and grooming scare the bejeebers out of me...and the vet lady likes to torture me with sharp instruments. And Dad, well, that was a mistake...I meant to bite YOU!
There yah go folks...the original bad sport.....bad dog bad dog, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
Bonnie, the innocent