Summer Blog

I've spent most of the summer missing my mom. Settle down, you cry babies. This isn't a sad story. It's a story of conflict, drama and comedy. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll be on the edges of your seats.

I love my mom. When I'm happy, she's happy. When I'm sad, she's sad. In fact, even when I pretend I'm sad, she's sad. Here's the problem; she's a chick. That's right, I said it and you heard me. I'm a little man without thumbs trapped in a woman's world. Now, that's not without advantages. A woman's world means limitless toys and comfort. Squeaky balls, rawhide chew toys and fluffy pillows. I have more soft places to lay my furry belly than an Arabic sheikh. I get up when I want, play when I want, even eat when I want (I just bang my bowl around until she is either convinced I'm starving or just can't stand the noise any longer – either way, the result is the same: a full bowl – yes, there's a reason it's called "MANipulation"). The trade-off for these luxuries is that I must endure doggie clothes, unfortunate haircuts, frequent baths and squeezed anal glands. Females do not understand the need for men to be men. I know this because when my mom goes out of town, I am left in the capable care of a male. He doesn't pick up after me (he doesn't pick up after himself). He does not bath me nor keep me shorn (he barely bathes himself unless he's expecting to see a female). In fact, the way I know Mom is coming home is because quite suddenly our daily routine of lying around, burping and farting is suddenly interrupted by a frenzied trip to the groomer where I'm shampooed, conditioned, blown dry, clipped and cut. At the end, I smell like a flower and look like a fancy lad. Let's cut out the middleman here. Just roll me in honey and kibble and use me as a bait dog for pit bulls.

I feel this is a learning opportunity for you humans – mostly for you, female humans.

Dogs are NOT human. We tolerate your need to humanize us up because the upside to the madness outweighs the bad (the toys, food, snuggling, etc.). But, we are scent-based mammals. We smell each other to size each other up. Take me, for instance. What you see is NOT what you get. I require a certain aroma (let's call it "warrior odor") to announce my less obvious traits. At first glance, I am small but why must I smell small? That's not at all who I am. I was bred to a diminutive stature for a reason - to hunt rats – and even to flush badgers and foxes out of their holes. I am brave, loyal and clever (just look it up on the internet). I am bold and fierce. Unfortunately with the endless bathing and fluffing, I can't make my statement.

Dogs have one thing in common; we wear our odor with a sense of pride. Every smell tells a story; dirt, dead things, even feces. We lift our legs higher than necessary to announce our size, health, and virility while marking our territory. We sniff each other's butts rather than shake hands. One can fake strength and confidence in a handshake. One cannot fake those traits in scent. Sadly, too much bathing can mask those traits and make me, er, us seem as fruity as the soap you use. It's a rough world. My warrior odor is my handshake, the first impression another dog has of me. You don't hear the snickers and jibes from the other dogs when I'm perfumed and clean. Just when I get the perfect spike to my hair, begin to smell of my history, achieve that rogue quality every dog should be allowed, you rush me off to the groomers to have it shampooed, clipped, spritzed and sprayed until I no longer smell like a dog, let alone a dog of such bold and honorable heritage. So, dear Mom (and all the dog moms out there), I take up the mantle for us all when I say we love you. We will endure any humiliation to be with you. We appreciate your love and your tenderness. We love that we live inside (I've seen National Geographic and I do NOT enjoy the wilderness or even the idea of spending a single winter outside or in some outdoor shelter). We enjoy learning tricks to please you, playing catch, snuggling with you at every opportunity. But, if we could ask but one small thing, please allow us to retain a bit of our warrior odor. Not so much that you can't stand sharing your space with us but enough that we won't be mocked or bullied by those we meet on the street or in the dog parks.

For your affection we will gladly suffer the fancy collars, silly clothes and even the occasional Halloween costume (who doesn't enjoy a parade and the anticipation of a first prize ribbon?) but if we can compromise on only one thing, please allow us our common scents.

Gotta split I hear the treat box being shaped, that woman really has me by the balls(I mean if I even had any balls anymore)BOL(Bark Out Loud)

Peace Out
Aldo



Memorial Day Blog

(as dictated to a friend with fingers and opposable thumbs)

Memorial Day, the unofficial start of summer, has passed and it's hot outside. It's the most mouthwatering time of year. The heat, of course, leads to the sweet stench of rotting food on the streets. No, NYC is not the filthy pit you out-of-towners image, it's just science. The "garbage" is put out for pick-up and when it's hot, the "garbage" rots faster (that's why you suburbanites create mulch pits). No matter - back to me. I'm a dog and it smells delicious! I accept that it's confusing to those of you who can walk into a restaurant and order whatever you want, whenever you want or even open your own refrigerators and cabinets. However, again, I'm a dog. I'm confined by the whims of those with thumbs. I eat when and what you want me to eat. But I digress. Let's face it, you throw away a lot of delicious food. You'll throw out meat. MEAT!!! What are you thinking?! Your waste is maddening. Carcasses with succulent chicken, bones with mouthwatering steak, even vegetables (sometimes they're good too). With your soft, human teeth, you've never learned to appreciate the joy of crunching through a bone and sucking out the marrow so you toss them aside thoughtlessly - selfishly!

Now that I have this forum, I want to make a plea on behalf of myself and dogs everywhere. Separate your garbage. Many of you are already separating for recycling so this shouldn't be hard. Take everything you scrape off your plate and whatever you toss out of your refrigerators because you fear "germs" and put them in a separate bag. Or, save yourself the trouble and just throw it out the window onto the sidewalk. We'll clean it up. No lettuce though - no one likes lettuce even when you still consider it edible. Oh, and no fruit either. Sure you can find a random dog who likes some fruit but there aren't enough of us to actually guarantee that it'll be cleaned up. Keep it to meats (including fish and chicken) and potatoes. Basically anything you could put gravy on (which might even make lettuce edible). Oh, and avocados. Many of us really enjoy avocados.

As for those who strap us to the end of a leash for a walk, don't pull us away when we find a snack. It's like you stopping at a street vendor for ice cream (which, if we're honest, you could show a little consideration and get a separate one for your four-legged friend and, if you're really nice, a few of his friends too). I know you Purell yourselves endlessly in fear of germs but I lick my own butt. It takes a LOT to make me sick. And you're all paranoid about your food being fresh. Food is palatable long after you become fearful of it so just give it to me - er, us.

Landfills are full. Recycling doesn't have to be limited to plastic, paper and glass. We can help you recycle your food too. It's a public service we're happy to provide. Consider it our gift to you.

*Typer's note: Please do not listen to Aldo. His perspective is skewed. He's a dog. He licks his own butt. He said it himself. If you accept that he licks his own butt (and he does so you must), you must also accept that his judgment might be distorted. Notice he didn't mention that chicken bones splinter and can cause choking and fish bones are basically already spears. He's adorable and makes a good argument but he's an addict so blinded by food lust (it's hard to ignore the stench of rotting garbage especially early on a hot morning when you?re an addict) that he's willing to risk his own health and the health of his four-legged friends for a snack. Please save Aldo from himself and continue to put your garbage in bags and carefully tie them tightly.

Peace Out,
Aldo



My First Blog

The first thing I guess you should know about me is that I really don't want to do this blogging. Lynne (my two-leg) is insisting I do this. She thinks that I need an outlet for my emotions since she has been having a problem controlling me lately. Truth is I love her, but she is so female! Crying all the time, trying on clothes and watching shows I don't like and can't relate to on the television. I mean we have lived together for 7 years.

I have been peeing with my leg up since I was 4 weeks old (which is no easy task when you are a little fella) and yet she continues to leave the TV on the Bravo channel or A&E. It's depressing and quite scary. I am either listening to over-privileged housewives vent or watching some sad heroin addict be ambushed by what is left of her family. I guess it could be worse, I mean, I know this pug named Nub (I hang out with him a bit at the dog run) whose two-legs leave some animal channel on he swears he saw his mom and one of his sisters last week living on a farm up state. Now he is obsessed with leaving the dog run some day and getting back to his family.

I don't remember much about my "dog mom" Lynne is really the only Mom I remember and though she does get on my nerves quite often she keeps me in bones and greenies. And when she gets home at night she always throws the ball a bit. She does this dumb thing where she pretends to drop it she looks like a fool but ya gotta love her for tryin'. i know she feels guilty for having to work so much and that's when the crying comes in she always tells me she's sorry she has to go... but I get it, I mean its not like I'm gettin' a job any time soon (sometimes I bite people) because sometimes people really get on my nerves or outstay their welcome and SHE (Lynne) is too nice to tell someone to beat it. So, I nip at them, I have never drawn blood... but apparently It would be difficult to take me on a plane or try and train me for television. Of course she has never told me these things directly but I hear everything.

I just go in from a poop, so i need to go and scrape my butt on the carpet - plus I hear yelling my name, I think it's time for dinner. I will write again this week.

Peace Out,
Aldo