Do you know baloney? Get to know it, I mean it. Baloney doesn't happen much in our house because Dad is a veterinarian or something. But yesterday, Mom bought some and made lunch. She left it on the big kitchen working table, I guess because she was real hungry and didn't want to wait to eat lunch. I guess she was gonna put it in the big box I haven't figured out how to open when she was done.
I waited.
Pretty soon she brought her lunch in the big room and sat in a chair and watched TV and she left the baloney all alone. She didn't know I could reach the top of the working table. I've been practicing. But there was never anything there until yesterday. It wasn't easy. The baloney was in an envelope and you have to get it out. But I did it. And it was really really good. I was really excited and that's how I got caught. That envelope thing the baloney came in was really tasty. I took it and ran into the big room and jumped on the couch so I could take my time chewing it. That's when Mom yelled "QUINCY! The baloney!" (that's how I knew what it was called)
Mom sent me upstairs to sleep on the big bed which is something I like to do so I'm not sure if she was really mad or not. Except she sounded mad. I mean. at night she says "C'mon Q, let's go sleep on the big bed" in her good dog voice. This time she used her bad dog voice and said "QUINCY! Upstairs! Now! Get on the bed! Bad!"
Either way, I got a whole lot of baloney and a nap on the big bed. Life is good.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
TAKE ME TO THE DOG PARK OR I'M DRIVIN' MYSELF
Quincy speaks
I was adopted by two old hippies who think they are artists. They are pretty good to me and I think I've figured them out pretty well. Like, pitiful whimpering works really well, biting not so much.
Anyway, I was in this "rescue" place and when they came in I went over to the wall and stuck my face in the corner because I could tell the lady was gonna fall for that poor puppy routine. It worked. The man kept holding up fancy dancy dogs but she picked me and he went along with it. He shoulda tried that pitiful whimpering thing.
Anyway, I was in this "rescue" place and when they came in I went over to the wall and stuck my face in the corner because I could tell the lady was gonna fall for that poor puppy routine. It worked. The man kept holding up fancy dancy dogs but she picked me and he went along with it. He shoulda tried that pitiful whimpering thing.
My dog Mom is a Catahoula Leopard Dog, daddy was a travelin' man. Lots of people think he was a black lab. I guess because I have black fur and floppy ears. We'll probably never know.
So, now I live in a city with them and 2 other dogs called "cats" that just will not cooperate with me but I keep trying. Cities are pretty noisy but I'm getting used to it. There is no yard, but they keep promising to take me to a place called a dog park. I'm not sure what that is, but I hope there aren't any of those cat dogs there.
My new Dad writes a blog about peace and my new Mom writes one about art and they decided I should write one, too, if only to keep me busy I guess.
So, here I am, writing about how life looks from a foot off the ground. Life in a city. Life without opposable thumbs. Life in a land called, as far as I can tell, "nonobadoffdown".
Mom's real blog
Follow Q
Blog Archive
No comments:
Post a Comment