Gus’s Life ---A dog's eye view of his world.
Intro
Okay here are the bare facts. The ugly truth; I am a dog! I guess it could have been worse; I could have been born a cat. Now there’s a bad attitude and a waste of fur if ever I saw one. With dogs, you always know where you stand. Cats have a hidden agenda. Always appear like they couldn’t care less. Let me tell you this people! IT’S A FREAKIN’ BIG LIE!!!!!!!!!! CATS DO CARE!!! IF IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT THEM, YOU PAY FOR IT BIG TIME!
So here I am living with these animals that walk on two legs, they call themselves people, and humans. I don't know which they are, but they treat me pretty well. We all stay in this big box they call a house, in what they call the burbs, whatever that means. It's a great house; there are plenty of places to catch some Z’s. I get fed three meals a day and if I will do some crazy things like sit, or roll over some tasty little treats. They let me out to do the dirty business, trust me, I don't want to ever do it in this thing they call a house anymore; they scold me if I do. Most days we walk to the park for what they call exercise; I think it's fun just to get to smell all the new smells, sniffing to tell what friends have visited the area.
The two-legged female human is a real piece of work yells a lot; especially when I screw up. This happens often. Anyway, her name is Mary. She has nice human legs. I can’t tell you much more because that’s all I can see from down here. Mary not only complains about me; I have heard her gripe about Tom— her male companion, never being home to help. There are two smaller humans; Adam, who looks to be about ten and Janet, the girl is three. The kids are cute for humans. I still think dogs are cuter, but I am biased. Adam is a good kid he plays ball with me in the grassy area behind the house. They call it a backyard—to me, it’s a small park. I liked Janet when she was confined to the highchair and the playpen. Right now she thinks I am a toy. Her favorite game is to grab me by the tail and drag me behind her. I really hope she outgrows this bit of fun.
They brought me here when I was just a golden-haired fluffy pup. They called me Gus after three days of debating what I looked like. Adam said I looked like a Pete. Mary wanted to call me Bogie after some actor. Tom just called me dumb-ass. Janet looked at me and said, Gus. It stuck. So here I am three years later, Gus, the retriever. Fetching don’t ya think?
Part One
Where’s my ball? Gotta find that ball! Did one of those kids steal it again? They’re always takin’ my stuff; no wonder I have to bury things. It’s only to make sure I know where it is. I plunked myself down on the living room floor, rolled onto my back, and contemplated the matter. ”Now was it the front or backyard that I might have hidden it? I don’t want to have to dig through Mary’s garden again. I caught royal shit for that last week.” Just when I was about to give up on ever finding my favorite toy, I saw it; wedged underneath the couch. ”Dang can’t get it without some help. I tried that before and got nailed for knocking over the side table with Mary’s’ vase on it. I am NOT spending another week in the doghouse for that. They think I am that stupid, well forget it. Maybe if I do that head tilt, eye thing I will get a new one. Sure I’ll have to break in a new ball, but that’s okay--a good excuse for a park trip. Well, we’ll work on the ball angle later. For now, it’s time for some grub, and then a trip outside. Whose lawn do I want to mess on today?”
Okay, I did enough whimpering and leg crossing to garner me a trip outside. The lengths I have to go to have a good piddle. Now if Mary would kindly guide me over to that fire hydrant so I can take care of business. Every complaint about the hassle they go through having to get up let the dog out to do his thing, and why can’t they use the toilet like people do. Listen up people; fire hydrants and trees were made for creatures like us. We have been going outside for eons, and that’s how we like it. Good woman, she read my mind. Now off to the park for a new ball. Let’s get to the tennis courts. It’s a target-rich environment; lots of balls there. Oh, look there’s Fifi—stuck up bitch if ever I saw one. Damn poodle thinks she is better than us all; coiffed fur, ribbons, nose in the air attitude. Best in show, so what; she squats like the rest of us. Just once I’d love to…Oh, never mind. She’s not worth the headache.”
“I believe the tennis courts are this way. Come on Mary, can’t you move faster than that?” Yo Roscoe—I nodded to my best dog buddy. A real Dog; yeah he’s a mutt but really you want to be man's best friend; you have no better choice than a Heinz fifty-seven. Hey, Roscoe, I barked; any good ones? I looked at Mary to let me off my leash so I could run and get my Ya-yas out. She listened and I followed Roscoe to the far end of the courts in search of the perfect replacement.”
After what seemed like hours of searching; I found a really good one. It was an icky green tennis ball—partially broken in by another dog. There is still plenty of bounce left in it too. In the short term; it will do. Now I yawned and decided it was time to go home and grab some serious nappage. I heard Mary calling me anyway.
Part 2
So here’s the thing. We get home, and all hell is breaking loose. Adam is yelling at Janet to get away from his stuff. Got that! HIS stuff! It’s okay if it’s my stuff being messed with but apparently the kids stuff is suddenly sacred.
Mary walks in and Adam is whining about a baseball game he has to get to. Janet is squawking about Adam yelling at her. My sympathies lay with the three-year-old at this point, and let her pull my tail just for fun and games. I was still royally cheesed off at Red for stealing my good ball, so Janet was getting the benefits of my doggy affections.
Debbie, the au pair—French for babysitter-- I think was talking to Mary about getting a call from the Vet. Mary looked at her, pointed at me and reminded her to spell it. Okay so the V-E-T called about my S-H-O-T-S and getting F-I-X-E-D.
To me, this translates to needles and manhood. MANHOOD? The heathen VET is going after the junk? Not in this lifetime! Maybe if I go hide in the basement, they won’t find me in time to do the big snip. Apparently Mary and Tom had been talking about the snippage, and why it needed to be done. Rumor had it that the neighbors were pointing their fingers at me for fathering a litter of spaniel retriever pups. The neighbors are miffed because I got to her before they could have her bred with a stud with all his “Papers”. I am not sure what papers they referred to but, the only papers I know of are thrown on our lawn every morning in a plastic bag and were used to train me as a pup. Anyhow, one of the cute little whelps looked suspiciously like “yours truly”. What, they can’t appreciate a mixed breed?
Mary was ranting about getting the job done. The neighbors were threatening to sue as they had paid a hefty sum for the breeding. They were going to have the breeding done but wanted me taken care of, or heads would roll. What I got out of that conversation was –FAMILY JEWELS, GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tom was in total sympathy with me on this one. He pleaded that it could have been any retriever that did that deed. I happen to know I had doggy relations with Jasmine; I had no clue about my alleged fatherhood. Mary stated that my appointment was two days hence and Tom was taking me as she had a conference she had to go to.
Tom gave me the sorry dude look. If this doesn’t happen, it’s my package on the chopping block.
Oh great, I thought, me and the big guy –Eunuchs in solidarity!
Intro
Okay here are the bare facts. The ugly truth; I am a dog! I guess it could have been worse; I could have been born a cat. Now there’s a bad attitude and a waste of fur if ever I saw one. With dogs, you always know where you stand. Cats have a hidden agenda. Always appear like they couldn’t care less. Let me tell you this people! IT’S A FREAKIN’ BIG LIE!!!!!!!!!! CATS DO CARE!!! IF IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT THEM, YOU PAY FOR IT BIG TIME!
So here I am living with these animals that walk on two legs, they call themselves people, and humans. I don't know which they are, but they treat me pretty well. We all stay in this big box they call a house, in what they call the burbs, whatever that means. It's a great house; there are plenty of places to catch some Z’s. I get fed three meals a day and if I will do some crazy things like sit, or roll over some tasty little treats. They let me out to do the dirty business, trust me, I don't want to ever do it in this thing they call a house anymore; they scold me if I do. Most days we walk to the park for what they call exercise; I think it's fun just to get to smell all the new smells, sniffing to tell what friends have visited the area.
The two-legged female human is a real piece of work yells a lot; especially when I screw up. This happens often. Anyway, her name is Mary. She has nice human legs. I can’t tell you much more because that’s all I can see from down here. Mary not only complains about me; I have heard her gripe about Tom— her male companion, never being home to help. There are two smaller humans; Adam, who looks to be about ten and Janet, the girl is three. The kids are cute for humans. I still think dogs are cuter, but I am biased. Adam is a good kid he plays ball with me in the grassy area behind the house. They call it a backyard—to me, it’s a small park. I liked Janet when she was confined to the highchair and the playpen. Right now she thinks I am a toy. Her favorite game is to grab me by the tail and drag me behind her. I really hope she outgrows this bit of fun.
They brought me here when I was just a golden-haired fluffy pup. They called me Gus after three days of debating what I looked like. Adam said I looked like a Pete. Mary wanted to call me Bogie after some actor. Tom just called me dumb-ass. Janet looked at me and said, Gus. It stuck. So here I am three years later, Gus, the retriever. Fetching don’t ya think?
Part One
Where’s my ball? Gotta find that ball! Did one of those kids steal it again? They’re always takin’ my stuff; no wonder I have to bury things. It’s only to make sure I know where it is. I plunked myself down on the living room floor, rolled onto my back, and contemplated the matter. ”Now was it the front or backyard that I might have hidden it? I don’t want to have to dig through Mary’s garden again. I caught royal shit for that last week.” Just when I was about to give up on ever finding my favorite toy, I saw it; wedged underneath the couch. ”Dang can’t get it without some help. I tried that before and got nailed for knocking over the side table with Mary’s’ vase on it. I am NOT spending another week in the doghouse for that. They think I am that stupid, well forget it. Maybe if I do that head tilt, eye thing I will get a new one. Sure I’ll have to break in a new ball, but that’s okay--a good excuse for a park trip. Well, we’ll work on the ball angle later. For now, it’s time for some grub, and then a trip outside. Whose lawn do I want to mess on today?”
Okay, I did enough whimpering and leg crossing to garner me a trip outside. The lengths I have to go to have a good piddle. Now if Mary would kindly guide me over to that fire hydrant so I can take care of business. Every complaint about the hassle they go through having to get up let the dog out to do his thing, and why can’t they use the toilet like people do. Listen up people; fire hydrants and trees were made for creatures like us. We have been going outside for eons, and that’s how we like it. Good woman, she read my mind. Now off to the park for a new ball. Let’s get to the tennis courts. It’s a target-rich environment; lots of balls there. Oh, look there’s Fifi—stuck up bitch if ever I saw one. Damn poodle thinks she is better than us all; coiffed fur, ribbons, nose in the air attitude. Best in show, so what; she squats like the rest of us. Just once I’d love to…Oh, never mind. She’s not worth the headache.”
“I believe the tennis courts are this way. Come on Mary, can’t you move faster than that?” Yo Roscoe—I nodded to my best dog buddy. A real Dog; yeah he’s a mutt but really you want to be man's best friend; you have no better choice than a Heinz fifty-seven. Hey, Roscoe, I barked; any good ones? I looked at Mary to let me off my leash so I could run and get my Ya-yas out. She listened and I followed Roscoe to the far end of the courts in search of the perfect replacement.”
After what seemed like hours of searching; I found a really good one. It was an icky green tennis ball—partially broken in by another dog. There is still plenty of bounce left in it too. In the short term; it will do. Now I yawned and decided it was time to go home and grab some serious nappage. I heard Mary calling me anyway.
Part 2
So here’s the thing. We get home, and all hell is breaking loose. Adam is yelling at Janet to get away from his stuff. Got that! HIS stuff! It’s okay if it’s my stuff being messed with but apparently the kids stuff is suddenly sacred.
Mary walks in and Adam is whining about a baseball game he has to get to. Janet is squawking about Adam yelling at her. My sympathies lay with the three-year-old at this point, and let her pull my tail just for fun and games. I was still royally cheesed off at Red for stealing my good ball, so Janet was getting the benefits of my doggy affections.
Debbie, the au pair—French for babysitter-- I think was talking to Mary about getting a call from the Vet. Mary looked at her, pointed at me and reminded her to spell it. Okay so the V-E-T called about my S-H-O-T-S and getting F-I-X-E-D.
To me, this translates to needles and manhood. MANHOOD? The heathen VET is going after the junk? Not in this lifetime! Maybe if I go hide in the basement, they won’t find me in time to do the big snip. Apparently Mary and Tom had been talking about the snippage, and why it needed to be done. Rumor had it that the neighbors were pointing their fingers at me for fathering a litter of spaniel retriever pups. The neighbors are miffed because I got to her before they could have her bred with a stud with all his “Papers”. I am not sure what papers they referred to but, the only papers I know of are thrown on our lawn every morning in a plastic bag and were used to train me as a pup. Anyhow, one of the cute little whelps looked suspiciously like “yours truly”. What, they can’t appreciate a mixed breed?
Mary was ranting about getting the job done. The neighbors were threatening to sue as they had paid a hefty sum for the breeding. They were going to have the breeding done but wanted me taken care of, or heads would roll. What I got out of that conversation was –FAMILY JEWELS, GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tom was in total sympathy with me on this one. He pleaded that it could have been any retriever that did that deed. I happen to know I had doggy relations with Jasmine; I had no clue about my alleged fatherhood. Mary stated that my appointment was two days hence and Tom was taking me as she had a conference she had to go to.
Tom gave me the sorry dude look. If this doesn’t happen, it’s my package on the chopping block.
Oh great, I thought, me and the big guy –Eunuchs in solidarity!
