Sunday, Sept 27th, 2002
Dear Diary,
Weather slightly overcast today. Moderately warm, but chilly in the morning. Two walks today. Both to the beach.
Walks relatively uneventful, despite my titanic excitement in anticipation of them. Played with a standard poodle named Samson, who is pleasant enough but empty headed, and drools a lot and has a tendency to run off and play with larger dogs whenever one happens by. At least he has given up that nasty mounting habit which gripped him when last we played. Thank Dog! There is little in the world more humiliating than being mounted by a dog half one's age, even if that dog is twice one's size.
My play friends, Bob the Fox Terrier, and Archy the Vizsla were no where to be seen. I was especially worried about poor Bob, who was attacked yesterday by that nasty White Puff-Ball that belongs to the Mustache Man. I hope Bob is feeling okay. Archy, at least left me a message in the sand near the garbage can by the board walk. Sadly, my Mistress Wendy yanked me away before I could lift my leg and reply.
(Archy: If you are reading this: What did you mean by "Yummy dead fish near the rock by the water"? There are hundreds of big rocks! Which one? Please reply.)
I managed to roll in Archy's message so I could enjoy it again later. But when I got home My Mistress Wendy & Master Eric put me in the large white basin in the room with the cold white seat in which the Humans Leave Their Messages, and they covered me with sudsy water and scrubbed Archy's message right off of me! I don't understand! I thought they wanted me to play with Archy. Why o why? Have I done something wrong! (Master Eric & Mistress Wendy, if I offended you, forgive me! I only wish for your love & affection, unworthy though I am.) Maybe they were jealous that I had Archy's sent on me. I'll make it up to them by stealing some clothes from their laundry bin and rolling in them. That should put me back in their good graces.
Speaking of messages, the Angry German Shepard who is often tied in one of the other lots that backs onto my Poo Yard peed another threatening note to me on the lamp post. I don't see what he has to get so huffy about. It's my Poo Yard, not his. At least, I don't bark at him when he walks through it. Stupid Mongrel eats his own feces, and he has the audacity to leave a nasty message for me to smell! The nerve!
My Owners keep putting me in a down stay, placing a firm hand on my back so I can't stand up, and waving a meat cookie in front of my nose, while yelling, "Crawl! Crawl! Crawl!" I have tried everything! Barking, sitting, rolling over on my side, but nothing satisfies them! What can they possibly want?!! (Dog in Heaven! give me strength to be worthy of this baffling & difficult task!)
After dinner, I learned HTML and started this website. It's not as much fun as fetch or tug, but it passes the time when Mistress Wendy is out, and Master Eric is cooking.
Yours,
Schubert.