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The inner workings of the mind of Malcolm, distinguished canine.
Monday, December 29, 2003
Log 008:
A very Merry Christmas to me, indeed.
I can effectively sum up the Yuletide festivities in three words, my dear readers:
Sequined Bow Tie.
On Christmas morning, the family spent a solid ten minutes laughing over the white, Velcro(TM) bowtie that Tricia bestowed upon my fearless owner for the sole purpose of humiliating me. Lisa attached it around my neck immediately upon opening the package. She did not even give me a scant moment to attempt to scurry away from their gift-opening follies; she grabbed me and dressed me like a cheap version of Tommy Tune without even asking my permission beforehand.
I have been reading of the teachings of the Dalai Lama and Ghandi of late, and I decided to try a peaceful, calming approach. I relaxed and thought of the good I was doing by bringing smiles to the faces of those in the room; how my sacrifice of dignity would be rewarded by good karma and other such nonsensical concepts from the Eastern world. There must be a higher purpose to my suffering. Yet, after nearly twenty minutes, I was able to retreat quickly and without being noticed to my bed. I admit I did attempt a violent removal of the bowtie using the edge of my basket (which I have quietly gnawed to a rough edge in times of opposible digit frustration) and a pair of pliers, but I was unable to muster the strength to drag the pliers to my basket from the toolbox. Nor could I manage to plug in the electric hedgetrimmer I found in the shed. But as the good Lord knows, I did make every attempt to rid myself of the noxious apparel.
The question I pose to humanity is this: What is it about a five-pound, white-and-rich-cream-colored chihuahua mix that drives you to depraved acts of costuming? Fellows like myself do not deserve such treatment; it is degrading and vile to treat a canine differently based solely on his or her small stature. I have just as much pride and intellectual prowess as the tallest Doberman pinscher. Yet, I receive substandard treatment and minimal respect because of my, quote-cuteness-unquote. I have every intention of contacting the ACLU in the New Year. But, first, I must take care of two items on my immediate schedule. One: destroy the Dalai Lama and Ghandi books and pamphlets. Second: Route anthrax-filled envelopes to the company headquarters of Sparkled Bow-Wow Pet Costumes, Inc. Alert them via the media that small canines are no longer going to take puffy sweaters, small rain slickers and anything with sequins lying down. We Shall Overcome; I swear it.
All blessings in the New Year,
Malcolm
A very Merry Christmas to me, indeed.
I can effectively sum up the Yuletide festivities in three words, my dear readers:
Sequined Bow Tie.
On Christmas morning, the family spent a solid ten minutes laughing over the white, Velcro(TM) bowtie that Tricia bestowed upon my fearless owner for the sole purpose of humiliating me. Lisa attached it around my neck immediately upon opening the package. She did not even give me a scant moment to attempt to scurry away from their gift-opening follies; she grabbed me and dressed me like a cheap version of Tommy Tune without even asking my permission beforehand.
I have been reading of the teachings of the Dalai Lama and Ghandi of late, and I decided to try a peaceful, calming approach. I relaxed and thought of the good I was doing by bringing smiles to the faces of those in the room; how my sacrifice of dignity would be rewarded by good karma and other such nonsensical concepts from the Eastern world. There must be a higher purpose to my suffering. Yet, after nearly twenty minutes, I was able to retreat quickly and without being noticed to my bed. I admit I did attempt a violent removal of the bowtie using the edge of my basket (which I have quietly gnawed to a rough edge in times of opposible digit frustration) and a pair of pliers, but I was unable to muster the strength to drag the pliers to my basket from the toolbox. Nor could I manage to plug in the electric hedgetrimmer I found in the shed. But as the good Lord knows, I did make every attempt to rid myself of the noxious apparel.
The question I pose to humanity is this: What is it about a five-pound, white-and-rich-cream-colored chihuahua mix that drives you to depraved acts of costuming? Fellows like myself do not deserve such treatment; it is degrading and vile to treat a canine differently based solely on his or her small stature. I have just as much pride and intellectual prowess as the tallest Doberman pinscher. Yet, I receive substandard treatment and minimal respect because of my, quote-cuteness-unquote. I have every intention of contacting the ACLU in the New Year. But, first, I must take care of two items on my immediate schedule. One: destroy the Dalai Lama and Ghandi books and pamphlets. Second: Route anthrax-filled envelopes to the company headquarters of Sparkled Bow-Wow Pet Costumes, Inc. Alert them via the media that small canines are no longer going to take puffy sweaters, small rain slickers and anything with sequins lying down. We Shall Overcome; I swear it.
All blessings in the New Year,
Malcolm
Friday, December 05, 2003
Log 007:
In the name of exploration, I have given much. I have sacrificed time, energy, and relationships with fellow canines and humans alike. I have been so driven by my desire to explore a new concept in engineering; or to complete a philosophical thought-process that I have forgone eating and sleeping in my drive for excellence. Yesterday, I sacrificed some wayward tufts of fur along with my dignity.
It was a balmy, pleasant afternoon. The temperature was hovering around the 78 degree mark, and the winds were relatively calm. As I basked in the sun and considered the ramifications of proliteriat voting on the upper class, I was interrupted by Callie, who plodded over to "see what I was doing" as I sprawled happily in the sun. Her dripping saliva and offensive noises going from her intestinal tract were more than an annoyance-- it was the equivalent of a nail in my intellectual tire. I could not continue my thoughts with her standing over me and panting like an overweight Special Olympics "athlete." I had to retreat to a location where she could not reach me.
I stood, shaking off her presence, and walked quickly and with purpose towards the west fence. In the past, I had considered slipping my small frame under the fence and retiring to the quiet, unoccupied yard of the next door neighbors. I knew there to be no resident animals--canine or feline--in that yard, and I knew I could have some precious solitary time there. Today, with Callie loudly trotting along behind me, I decided today was the day I would attempt the crossing.
I was, in fact, able to squeeze beneath the fence, only managing to upset my hair but a little. The yard was exquisite in its quiet solitude. The trees whispered softly in the wind, the gravel and grass was unspoiled by large animal droppings, and best of all, my lunkhead canine 'friend' could not follow me, as there was no way the laws of physics would bend to enable her large frame to fit under that fence. I was free.
I spent the better portion of two hours enjoying my relaxation. There were no interruptions, no showers of offensive dog saliva from above. Rather, I explored the entire yard and found it to be rich in various materials I could salvage for future experiments and projects, the nature of which I cannot discuss for legal purposes.
Soon, however, I was in need of hydration and headed back to the fence to return to the house and quench my thirst. To my shock, I could not seem to fit back under the fence from which I had entered. There were landscaping stones impeding my exit. I surmised that the stones were positioning in a way that had enabled me to enter the new yard, but prevented my leaving. I pawed and dug near the stones to try to gain some clearance space, but alas, I could not make any progress.
Shortly afterwards, I heard Lisa calling my name. She was apparently searching for me throughout the house and, not finding me there, had moved out to the yard. I could hear the oaf Callie following her around the yard as she looked for me. As much as I didn't like to admit it, I knew that if I made my presence known to her, she would be able to use her hands, and thumbs, to help me escape from the yard. The only caveat was that, in letting her know about my secret retreat location, she might prevent me from returning. She is hell-bent on keeping me in the yard.
My mouth parched, I finally caved in and scratched my paws in the dried leaves near the fence to give her an audible clue to my location. She did find me and then spent a solid five minutes trying to coax me back through the gap in the fence. I attempted pushing my body through again, only to end up scraping off some of my fur on the bottom of the wood slats. I tried to tell her that I needed her active help, not her cheerleading. I needed her to find my backhoe and begin to dig me out.
Shortly afterwards, I heard Lisa call to Tom. He bent down and reached his thin arms under the fence and even he could not pull me to safety. I heard Lisa say she was going to try to enter the neighbor's property from another avenue. She returned soon afterwards, telling Tom that no one was home and the gate was locked. She spoke to Tom as though I was not there, which humiliated me and made me feel like a naive child. Which I am not. I have an IQ far superior to theirs combined; I just happened to have been born in the body of a five-pound canine.
At long last, Tom moved the landscaping stones aside and, with his assistance, I was able to make it back through to "our side" of the fence. As soon as Lisa and Tom were finished cooing over me and asking me: "Malcolm, how did you get over there, baby?" I tucked my tail down and ran quickly back to my apartment-cage to be alone once more.
I will return to that quiet yard very soon. On my next journey, I will be sure to bring the plastic explosives kit in the event that I need to blast my way back out of the yard. He that underestimates me is but a fool.
In the name of exploration, I have given much. I have sacrificed time, energy, and relationships with fellow canines and humans alike. I have been so driven by my desire to explore a new concept in engineering; or to complete a philosophical thought-process that I have forgone eating and sleeping in my drive for excellence. Yesterday, I sacrificed some wayward tufts of fur along with my dignity.
It was a balmy, pleasant afternoon. The temperature was hovering around the 78 degree mark, and the winds were relatively calm. As I basked in the sun and considered the ramifications of proliteriat voting on the upper class, I was interrupted by Callie, who plodded over to "see what I was doing" as I sprawled happily in the sun. Her dripping saliva and offensive noises going from her intestinal tract were more than an annoyance-- it was the equivalent of a nail in my intellectual tire. I could not continue my thoughts with her standing over me and panting like an overweight Special Olympics "athlete." I had to retreat to a location where she could not reach me.
I stood, shaking off her presence, and walked quickly and with purpose towards the west fence. In the past, I had considered slipping my small frame under the fence and retiring to the quiet, unoccupied yard of the next door neighbors. I knew there to be no resident animals--canine or feline--in that yard, and I knew I could have some precious solitary time there. Today, with Callie loudly trotting along behind me, I decided today was the day I would attempt the crossing.
I was, in fact, able to squeeze beneath the fence, only managing to upset my hair but a little. The yard was exquisite in its quiet solitude. The trees whispered softly in the wind, the gravel and grass was unspoiled by large animal droppings, and best of all, my lunkhead canine 'friend' could not follow me, as there was no way the laws of physics would bend to enable her large frame to fit under that fence. I was free.
I spent the better portion of two hours enjoying my relaxation. There were no interruptions, no showers of offensive dog saliva from above. Rather, I explored the entire yard and found it to be rich in various materials I could salvage for future experiments and projects, the nature of which I cannot discuss for legal purposes.
Soon, however, I was in need of hydration and headed back to the fence to return to the house and quench my thirst. To my shock, I could not seem to fit back under the fence from which I had entered. There were landscaping stones impeding my exit. I surmised that the stones were positioning in a way that had enabled me to enter the new yard, but prevented my leaving. I pawed and dug near the stones to try to gain some clearance space, but alas, I could not make any progress.
Shortly afterwards, I heard Lisa calling my name. She was apparently searching for me throughout the house and, not finding me there, had moved out to the yard. I could hear the oaf Callie following her around the yard as she looked for me. As much as I didn't like to admit it, I knew that if I made my presence known to her, she would be able to use her hands, and thumbs, to help me escape from the yard. The only caveat was that, in letting her know about my secret retreat location, she might prevent me from returning. She is hell-bent on keeping me in the yard.
My mouth parched, I finally caved in and scratched my paws in the dried leaves near the fence to give her an audible clue to my location. She did find me and then spent a solid five minutes trying to coax me back through the gap in the fence. I attempted pushing my body through again, only to end up scraping off some of my fur on the bottom of the wood slats. I tried to tell her that I needed her active help, not her cheerleading. I needed her to find my backhoe and begin to dig me out.
Shortly afterwards, I heard Lisa call to Tom. He bent down and reached his thin arms under the fence and even he could not pull me to safety. I heard Lisa say she was going to try to enter the neighbor's property from another avenue. She returned soon afterwards, telling Tom that no one was home and the gate was locked. She spoke to Tom as though I was not there, which humiliated me and made me feel like a naive child. Which I am not. I have an IQ far superior to theirs combined; I just happened to have been born in the body of a five-pound canine.
At long last, Tom moved the landscaping stones aside and, with his assistance, I was able to make it back through to "our side" of the fence. As soon as Lisa and Tom were finished cooing over me and asking me: "Malcolm, how did you get over there, baby?" I tucked my tail down and ran quickly back to my apartment-cage to be alone once more.
I will return to that quiet yard very soon. On my next journey, I will be sure to bring the plastic explosives kit in the event that I need to blast my way back out of the yard. He that underestimates me is but a fool.
