Oct 1, 2015
I am Emperor Augustus, your Canine Lord and Master. I can be benevolent or malevolent. Your attitude towards me will determine what attitude you shall receive from me.
Thanks a lot, Deadnoses. One of you ratted me out and ruined my dreams and ambitions of taking over this rotten pack in a single email. Please leave me YOUR bosses and wives email addresses and allow me to write them and tell them what a knuckle-scraping, mouth-breathing, mediocrity-motivated, fur-less, soap-using, treat-withholding, tail-less, Pabst drinking, cat worshiping bumpkin you really are. I loathe you and I suspect you are only a generation away from eating your own young. You will soon be hearing the whimper of your own ruin.
The Harbor is finally back to normal now that all you miscreants and reprobates are safely back in less desirable states. Thank you for leaving all your disposable income and taking only memories. And rest assured, after a typical glacial scraping from this coming Maine winter, we will have Vacationland all spruced up and smelling wonderful for your future debauched memories. But next summer, please don’t throw your empty beer cans in the dog houses. Don gets very upset and the quality and quantity of our dog treats is compromised.
Speaking of Don getting upset, he had only one meltdown moment at the shop this summer. Some woman accused Don of making her 10yr old son pee his pants. Don wouldn’t let them use the bathroom. Don kept saying “The public restrooms are RIGHT down the hill! Go NOW!” But the poor hapless woman just wanted to argue. And argue and argue. And argue until WHAM! I could smell human pee in the shop instead of the hundreds of poorly trained dog “accidents” I normally smell. Having a highly-defined sense of smell can be a curse as well as a blessing.
Of course Don has become deadened to the thronging rabble who constantly demand restrooms, indestructible dog toys, sappy “bling” collars, and awful treats like “Pupperoni.” I don’t know what I hate more about Pupperoni – the scalding, chromosome-crushing taste of all the chemicals and roadkill in that garbage, or the cutesy, whimsical name that’s trying to cover up the garbage. But I refuse to become deadened. I am a hero to all, and many Bi-Peds ask my advice on serious matters. I cannot let them down. I will not let them down.
I have joyous news to report! It is like Christmas, Thanksgiving, National Dog Day, and all MY birthdays rolled up in one fantastic yet metaphorical burrito wrapper!
YES! I was in a fashion show. I was asked to do this by the most important people in town and the organizers of Harbor Fest. I could not let them down. And before any of you precious little urban Pomeranians scoff at this, let me educate you (Yes. Educate. Thats what we say when we want to be rude). I was not dressed in frilly autumn dresses! I was given the solemn responsibility of modeling dog life jackets and dog goggles. I may be a dog. But I am the best dog I can be. And I strive to yield every tiny bit from life I possibly can. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for a lot of you Thumb Users out there.
After our accolades at the fashion show, Don brought us all to one of his favorite watering holes to celebrate with mashed potatoes. Technically, we waited in the car until the restaurant closed and then we were brought heaping bowls of steaming left-over mashed potatoes. It was sooooo good! Such a thoughtful reward for such demanding and hard work! Even Coal and Buddy who did -NOTHING- got the same amount of mashed potatoes as me – the hit of the fashion show. What a joke! It’s incidents this like this that undermine my confidence in the power structure of “The Salty Pack” as Don so quaintly calls it. Quaint indeed.
Augustus Megatron Bulldozer