There they are. In all of their practically naked glory. Hairless and frankly rather smelly. My nose is something like 100 million billion trillion times more sensitive to smells than that of a human. The fat dude reeks of marzipan and The Dysonator smells rather strongly of Pas. Pas being a menthol based something or other. Like deep heat or tiger balm. Maybe that is it. She is a tiger! It would explain the odd compulsion to clean everything in sight. Me included. Does she not know that dogs, particularly puppies love to blend in with the background smells of the local area? How else are we to avoid the dinosaurs when Dr. Who fucks up and brings them crashing into the 21st century?
OK. Here it is. This is why I have them. The Big Dude on the left was seriously in need of some exercise. I took pity on him shortly before a nap and agreed to adopt him. I will have him down to a fighting weight, closer to my own in no time at all. The one on the right. The extreme right. Well, not that extreme. She isn’t quite in the rabid, fantasy, horror nightmare of the GOP , the Tories or the Empire from that finest of documentary series ‘Star Wars’. She doesn’t look or smell like the Marmalade Mussolini either. No, no. Just look at the picture, on the right of the picture. She is the Dysonator. She flew all the way to the US to get hold of a Dyson blah blah blah skinny hangs on a wall blah blah with which to go to war with something called Vader Tull? More investigation required, I guess. I thought her desperate desire for combat help with the Vader Tull rather sweet and so I adopted her, too. They got pretty lucky really. If the dude she is taking a picture with is any indication, she is going to need all of my handsomeness to make some new friends. Now that I think about it. There is a considerable degree of resemblance between the Big Dude and the Wood Dude. They might be litter mates. Hmmmm.
So here I am. Waiting 14 more days for the humans to get the paperwork together so I can adopt them officially. They were talking about shots. Seems they want to celebrate. I am down with that. Anything that helps me generate the pee needed to go claim me some trees, tires, cars, benches, slow people and lamp posts. All part of the master plan to lay ownership of the world!! A pup can dream. As one of my slower litter bros said just this morning.
“When in doubt just ask yourself ‘What would Watson do?'”
Piss on it.
As the lyrics to that annoying song went…. if you love it then you shoulda just peed on it. Or something like that. Nice sentiment, but I am not a fan of spreading the master plan about the airwaves where anyone can hear about it!
OK. That is me done for a while. I shouldn’t get so excited about shit. Now I’m going to have to have a 16 hour nap just to find my center again.
Hurry up humans. I gotta get outta here! I live close to a swamp. I don’t want the wankers with pitchforks rocking up to drain the damn thing whist I wait for you two to get your shit together!