Blitzkrieg Birthday Manifesto — By Auggie

Jul 1, 2015

I am Augustus Megatron Bulldozer. If you do exactly as I say, EXACTLY…… you may stand a chance of leaving Boothbay Harbor alive this summer.

As so many of you know, my birthday is on July 5th. I will be turning four in dog years, but in human years I’ll be turning 28 – old enough to run for office in this provincial way-station of Maine. I try to be positive, but what can you do with a state whose supermarkets have Prego spaghetti sauce in the World Cuisine aisle? An utter boneyard of the Empire if you ask me.

Most likely the Bipeds will be having a massive display of affection for me at the store this 5th of July. And most likely you will be invited. Please bring me gifts that are not embarrassing to the both of us. If you think a feeble rub on the belly and pat on the head will “do it,” you are sadly mistaken. This behavior will earn you a sharp nip on your butt. Please plan ahead and don’t disappoint me. And for the love of Dog, don’t bring doggie cake. I know the food providers have a specially-crafted cake made by the most talented culinary geniuses in the world for me because I am their favorite dog. Anything you could possibly get along the lines of a doggie birthday cake would be slipshod and meager by comparison. Please also note that I will not be sharing my cake with anyONE or anyDOG. Perhaps you could bring me some steak – good stuff – not cube steak, or flank steak. But rib eye or porterhouse would be a perfect way to celebrate my special day. The middling cuts like New York Strip and Bistro you can just toss to the rest of the Salty Pack. I don’t begrudge them. And it’s in my interest to keep the fickle masses happy. (Editor’s Note: Please give any gifts in Auggies name to the Lincoln County Animal Shelter. And keep all your steaks).

But for such a successful dog as myself, what does this demarcation of another year in my life really mean? Most definitely it means that I am a wiser and a more boldly-defined dog. I have come into my own. And this year I shall separate myself from the thronging rabble of the other household curs by seizing control of Two Salty Dogs Pet Outfitters. This will make me a complete dog. And Don will be ever so proud of me when I take control of the pack because the first thing I will do is stop Coal from discharging his wood and grass-infused vomit anywhere within 50ft of Chez Salty.

I realize my revelation may come as a shock to you. But I trust you will keep the news of my plans in confidence. There is no way I can accomplish my dreams unless my adoring fans can keep their snouts shut for a couple days. And if any those snouts should come loose or garrulous, they will have a terrible price to pay. I say this without anger.

And thusly, like a modern-day Canine Julius Caesar, I will free Two Salty Dogs Pet Outfitters and its noble patrons from the shop’s entrenched culture of tyranny. And just as Mr. Caesar freed Rome from its horrible republic and paid the ultimate price, I will most likely suffer the scars of Two Salty Dogs and its vicious chicanery. No, not Cesar Milan, you reprobates. Julius Ceasar. Google it. And by the way, I will continue to write “Canine” and I absolutely refuse to write “K-9.” Perhaps I am the only animal on the face of Dog’s Green Globe who stands steadfast in the face of all the crumbling walls of propriety. But stand I shall. And if any of you have a problem with any of that, I have a problem with you. Rest assured I will deal with you when I have executed my master plan.

My plan will be to quickly eliminate the string-puller of this whole puppet show – Fatso (Editors Note: Max). He has consistently thwarted any effort to better myself within this facile pack. Employing utter surprise, I will order my heavy tank divisions to advance under massive air cover and a heavy artillery bombardment towards the “Coal Dog Bed Salient”. When Fatso’s troops are routed and in utter panic, my shock infantry and sapper battalions will clear wide swaths through Buddy and Coal’s minefields to annihilate their rear defenses….

(Editor’s Note: Auggie’s diatribe goes on like this for another 3 pages. Instead of publishing it, we’d prefer you remember him as the exuberant and willful pup he is at the store. And please try to drop by and wish him a happy birthday with a little free treat on Sunday. He may mock getting a belly rub, but deep down he really likes the attention.)

I remain,

Augustus Megatron Bulldozer

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