March 19, 2009; They have their uses...

I have finally found a use for the Mooks: saving my life.

At last they gave me a little liberty and allowed me to go out onto the balcony to watch (ie: hunt...but they don't know that) squirrels. There was one playing in the yard, two floors down, and I stuck my head through the balcony railing. Mook B said, "Shouldn't we stop him?" Mook A: "He can't get his shoulders through." It was true then, but a little while later when B was working inside and A was reading his paper, smoking, drinking coffee and not paying any attention (there is always that moment if you wait for it), I got my shoulders through the railing. 

The problem? That's all I could got through. So there I was hanging out there, my front feet floating above 30 feet of nothing, and my ass not getting through the railings so I could jump or fall, as the case may be. So I started to push this way and that and now my shoulders weren't coming back to terra firma and it was nuts. I guess I was making noise 'cause A threw down his paper, bellowed and grabbed me by the ass and yanked me back. 

I was relieved except by what he was saying: "You are the most retarded dog I have ever met; truly the mind boggles at how stupid you are." I bet he wouldn't say that to Neil Armstrong or Vasco da Gama or any human explorers. However, the fact remains that if I had fallen through the railings there was nothing to stop me becoming yard-kill, unlike other times I've done it. (Like once before with my last slave-owners where I dropped into a gutter just below the balcony and toddled along all around the house before coming back in...dogs can do that if you let them.)

What I get to see of the balcony now...from inside the door

Later, Mook B also saved my life...sort of. I like to meet other dogs but I also like to fight other dogs. B is trying desperately to "socialize" me so he lets me, during our walks, go for a sniff if we meet a pooch on the street (they're all pooches and dandiesand Lassies out there...no real dogs anymore. Usually I don't like what I sniff and go straight for the idiot's jugular (a snarl at this point always helps the drama). Most times, the other goomer backs off; big or small, they're almost always cowards. But sometimes they don't and...well...I could get killed. That's when Mook B yanks hard on the leash and I go flying back out of danger. Just to show I'm no pussy, though, I do continue to snarl and if the two of us are still kept apart I let out one of those blistering SAVE ME SAVE ME I'M BEING BEATEN TO DEATH!!! screams. Yeah, Mook B may have saved me, but he's not allowed to be proud of it. 

So, slowly, I'm developing a nice rep in the hood for being the crazy fuck who jumps off balconies and beats up dogs ten times his size or just screams like a lunatic off his meds.

I like it.

Vikki with some fat married pervert with a cheap watch

PS: Received an e-mail from my cousin Vikki and she's not doing well. She's a spirited old bitch who's easy to love. My thoughts are with her.