Yup.  4.30am is the perfect time to get up and make some noise.  The first hint of a bark or a whine or a crash as I ‘tidy’ the table top with a well-executed jump gets The Big Dude out of bed in a heartbeat!  His first reaction is to try and keep me quiet.  It seems that humans in this part of the world like to sleep during the night.  Unlike us canines, they require sleep to be continuous, not spread out in segments throughout the day and night.  After some careful and comprehensive experimentation, I have found the perfect pitch at which to bark.  It resonates through the entire building.  Imagine if you will a sound somewhere between a dog being slaughtered, a metal claw on a blackboard and Florence Foster Jenkins on amphetamines.  It is a wonderous sound.  I am sure that if I added a whining note at the end, I could blow out all the windows in his man cave.  It might also improve the smell in there.


4.30 am.  Wake the fuck up!  I am awake and hungry!


How does he try to keep me quiet?  First, he feeds me.  Woohoo!  Then he takes me for a walk. Woohoo! Then he plays with me for an hour or 2. Woohoo!  I get to bite him and chew on his hands for an hour. Muhahaha!  Watching him try to scream silently is comical.  He claims I am developing a soft mouth.  Bollocks!  You should see the facial contortions he makes as I find that sweet spot with a canine tooth.  I swear, he has had an open wound in the same spot on his hand for 4 weeks.  Hehe!


Actual bite wounds may differ from those above.


The food needs to change.  The Dysonator and The Big Dude were discussing a new diet last evening.  It sounded awesome.  Protein for breakfast.  Eggs, smoked salmon, meats and a slice or 2 of toast.  Lunches of salads and more proteins, cheeses and olive oil.  Dinners of steak and pork chops with vegetables.  It all sounded wonderful.  What did I get for breakfast?  A bowl of small, unidentifiable, brown lumps.  They smell great.  They crunch if remember to chew a couple.  But they are basically shit in pellet form.  They wouldn’t eat them.  At least, The Dysonator wouldn’t eat them.  The Big Dude might.  But then I wouldn’t like to be a slow cow if he was around, armed with a knife and a fork and hankering.


The actual Big Dude may differ…



I have decided that today is the day my diet changes.  I am going to refuse to eat.  Yes, you read that right.  I am going to refuse to eat the brown crap and demand in no uncertain terms that I am given juicy steaks to eat at least 3 times a day.  I am a growing lad and I require good wholesome food, not flavored wall filler.  I shall start my protest fast immediately after lunch.  It is always better to begin these things on a full stomach.

The walk is nice.  I like the pre-dawn patrol.  There are fewer distractions.  Not only that, but the pre-dawn darkness has a greater degree of promise to it.  There are smells that have been developing all night, undisturbed and unimpeded.  Odors that offer a tantalizing snifter of their true vulgarity come the daylight.  Food scraps in bags and shoes waiting to be thrown out.  The smells of the street. Signposts sprayed in pee.  Unwashed cooking pots soaking in sinks their aromas drifting out through partly open windows.  The scent of cosmetic creams and lotions leak from every door and window. Their deliciousness is the catnip of the age to a dog with a sensitive snout.  Finally, added to the delectable miasma is the glorious smell of defeat.  The Big Dude exudes it.  He reacts to me.  We march the streets to the beat of my drum. He thinks he is the boss and I ‘obey’ when the mood takes me or the direction is to my satisfaction.  I am in charge. I am the leader on the leash.  I am D. O. G. I just let him think he is g. o. d.  HA!