Most of the puppies at Mr. Sheeler’s Academy For Bad Dogs had been enrolled in an effort to address minor canine infractions—walking too fast when out and about, growling at strangers, answering nature’s call in a manner unbecoming, etc.—all stuff that for the most part could be chalked up to the same endemic lack of discipline and situational awareness I’d been protesting in Lake View Terrace for the better part of a decade. Peeing on the kitchen floor? Are you serious? For God’s sake, hold it in and bark. Don’t get me started. But Sparky and Sally were different. My neighbor Vern would later speculate that perhaps they “subconsciously bonded over the fact their attendance alone was court ordered and mandatory.” Whatever the reason, the attraction was mutual and immediate. Furthermore, it inspired in my pal a strong desire to impress Sally with the speed and physicality for which he was now notorious. Newsflash puppies: bitches are complicated. Within seconds of Mr. Scheeler employing his whistle to command the attention of his new recruits, Sparky lunged nearly six feet into the air—an altitude he’d later say could only be attributed to the propeller on his baseball cap—and managed to snatch the shocked disciplinarian’s full brim hat in his mouth while transitioning into a backward-arching aerial maneuverer that simultaneously knocked off Mr. Scheeler’s aviator sunglasses while reallocating the prodigious streak of zinc oxide from his bulbous nose onto a good portion of my pal’s back and abdominal region. As Sparky hit the ground running he resembled a Dachshund/skunk hybrid from Hell with a hat in its mouth. The surprised man managed to let out something between a gasp, grunt and scream before surrendering to gravity and falling backward. All semblance of order was thereby shattered as the dozen or so new recruits seized upon the frenzied atmosphere to begin howling and wrestling and what not. Don’t get me started. But not Sally—she couldn’t take her eyes off Sparky.
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…