It was no secret that Mr. Sheeler—who always wore a full brim hat, polarized shades and a thick layer of zinc oxide on his nose—didn’t like dogs. He said as much to new recruits on the first session of his six week course: “Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t like dogs.” Don’t get me started. But what Sheeler lacked in pleasantries he made up for in results. Statistically, a little less than half of his pupils made it to graduation, most folded under the pressure and perfect attendance was mandatory. But those who did were truly transformed. Even the most hyperactive, undisciplined and socially awkward puppies came out of Scheeler’s program fully potty-trained, responsive to wide range of commands, capable of at least one amusing trick and generally great around other animals including babies. Never, however, had Lake View Terrace’s strictest canine disciplinarian been tasked with the rehabilitation of the only two dogs in town with a police record. The first, of course, was my pal Sparky. No small effort on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Baxter had succeeded in persuading the local judge to drop the attempted shoplifting charge, but the old-schooler took a hardline stance on the public intoxication portion of the report. “We must send a strong message to the canine community,” the judge had said, “that such drunkenness will not be tolerated.” The statement was made on the heels of another unfortunate incident involving a Jack Russell named Sally—also entrusted to Mr. Scheeler’s Academy that semester—and alcohol. It turns out that a few weeks prior to enrollment, Sally had been grocery shopping with her owner when a premium bottle of Chardonnay happened to fall from the top shelf of the liquor aisle. Newsflash puppies: These things happen. Sally, with all the speed and intensity the breed is known for, had managed to consume most of the otherwise wasted liquid well before a mop and bucket could be mobilized. One thing led to another and Sally, admittedly not herself at that point, had led customers and shop attendants on a free-spirited chase that reached its destructive pinnacle in the dairy aisle before culminating, once and for all, in the seafood section. Don’t get me started. For whatever reason, when Sparky met Sally on the first day of classes they fell madly and hopelessly in love.
Happy BIRTHDAY CHUNKY!!!This birthday boy deserves every lick of his cake. Put your paws together for our favorite @bigchunkymonkey and his St. Patrick's birthday!
Morty Exposes The Industrial Chew Toy Complex
If humans got one thing right, it’s the IRS. Wonderful profession. More of a calling than a job really. If I understand Mr. Baxter correctly, it’s an entire agency that sneaks around making sure everybody else is on the up and up. Newsflash puppies: That’s what I do everyday—have been for the better part of a decade. Don’t get me started. Of course sometimes I don’t know why I bother. Most puppies are hopeless. It’s all entitlement and excess with these goofballs. Doggles®? Are you serious!? Ha! I can see fine without “stylish protective eyeware” thank you very much. Who comes up with this junk? When I was a puppy I had one tennis ball. One. Kept it for three years and it wasn’t even new to begin with. That’s how we did things back then. Don’t get me started. Did I complain? Heck no! I was grateful and took damn good care of my belonging—dropped it in my water bucket every now and then, kept it clean as best I could. No telling when I’d get another one if God forbid something happened to it. Of course that was all before the meteoric rise of the Chew Toy Industrial Complex. That’s right puppies, I’m talking about a shadow pack of elites—probably Huskies—who control everything. But don’t expect to read about it in The Droolitzer, I’m pretty sure Bogie is in on their mainstream agenda. Canine social engineering and whatnot. Newsflash puppies: life’s not all biscuits and belly rubs. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And whatever happened to carefully burying your bones for a rainy day? Lemme guess? You don’t wanna get your wittle paws durtie. Ha! Anyway, who’s funding this surplus of assets in the canine community? That’s what I want to know. Half these puppies are underemployed at best. Unbelievable. Which remind me of the time…