Life Happens: Bad humans! Very bad humans!
Greetings, worthless humans. In case you haven't figured it out yet (which, of course, you haven't because you're worthless humans), this is not Aprill. The "Alpha" is busy doing stupid human stuff, like actually voluntarily taking a bath and going poo-poo in my giant water bowl.
So I, Buffy, her "pet," took this opportunity to take over her column. Now mind you, I could have done this at any time during the past eight years (the woman is about as observant as Helen Keller). But honestly, I don't feel the same need as you nose-breathers to share every little detail of my life.
"Just scooted my butt on the floor. Now it's time for a nap."
Why do you people enjoy reading drivel like that?
However, thanks to certain grave injustices that have recently taken place, I have had no choice but to use this rather pathetic excuse for a public forum (with all nine of her readers) to air out some grievances I have with your kind. Specifically, grievances I have with my...ugh..owners, but it applies to all of you vile creatures that sweat out of your...(shudder)...pores.
Now, when I first moved in with my humans, who I not-so-affectionately nicknamed Loud One and Spiky Head, it was mainly because I took pity on them. They were completely clueless. I mean, these are creatures that greet their own species by shaking hands. The same hands they use to clean up after themselves when they go potty! Which they do INSIDE THE HOUSE! Like low-life CATS! Utterly disgusting. Not to mention the food they eat. I may have eaten my fair share of sidewalk vomit but I know what they put in that fast food you all love so much thanks to the fact Loud One and Spiky Head leave talk radio on when they leave (as if THAT will trick me into thinking you didn't just abandon me for anywhere from five minutes to five days ... I'm ... uh ... not really that good at telling time). Newsflash: That dead bird you just yelled at me for eating? It's healthier than that cheeseburger you just scarfed down.
But when they kept insisting on calling me by the ridiculous moniker of Buffy, even though I told them repeatedly my name is Steve, I decided to stay simply because I knew I couldn't live with myself if I inflicted these two idiots on any other innocent dog.
And so, things went fine for awhile besides the occasional degrading newspaper swat, which I tolerated because, well, ... heh ... I did, in fact, know those were her favorite shoes. But THEN, three weeks ago, they did something so unforgivable, something so completely horrible, I had no choice but to finally speak up.
I should have known something was up when they took me to the weird-smelling place again with the mean human female who always sticks things in me. Nothing good ever happens in that place. Seriously, one time when we went there, I woke up the next day missing some VERY vital body parts.
And this time was almost as bad. Apparently obsessively chewing on your tail is now illegal in this country because I left that place wearing...I...I don't even know if I can say it...they put...the...CONE OF SHAME on me!
The cone of shame! In the words of our biggest celebrity, Dug, I do not like the cone of shame.
And they made me wear it for no less than three weeks. Do you know how hard it is to climb stairs or eat food from the floor or not propel yourself backward at 60 mph after running into the door at full speed because your haven't quite grasped the concept that you have a contraption three times the size of your normal head around you?
And you DARE to call us the lesser species.
That kind of thing should be downright illegal. It's just downright inhumane. No! Worse! It's incanine! How would you feel if someone made you wear an embarrassing piece of plastic that made all the other dogs laugh, not to even mention the insufferable taunting from cats and squirrels.
You humans just think you're so great. Ooooh, I have opposable thumbs! I'm so awesome! I can turn doorknobs and grab things from high shelves! But you know what? You're not that great. In fact, you are all just glorified mailmen and we dogs could easily take over "your" world with one simple...oh, hang on. Loud One is trying to talk to me. What is it, woman? I'm busy writ...oh, what's that? Wait. You're spelling something. OH, OH, OH, YOU'RE SPELLING SOMETHING! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SPELLING BUT SPELLING ALWAYS MEANS SOMETHING GOOD! ARE WE GOING FOR A WALK!? OH MY GOD, IT'S A WALK, ISN'T IT? OR A TREAT!?! IT'S A TREAT, ISN'T IT!!! AHHHH! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!!
Buffy A. Summers Huddle Brandon is a male dog owned by Aprill Brandon and her husband, Ryan Huddle. In his spare time, he likes to bark at phantom noises and obsess about the best way to kill that uppity cat next door.