A Day In The Life Of A Dog

7:02 AM. Waking up at home. Dreamed of chasing a squirrel through an endless meadow… and just when I caught up to him, I woke up.

I hate those dreams.

7:08 AM. Staring outside through the front window. Snow falling. Looks like we could get a lot of it today. Well, that’s good. Though it probably means I’ll have to curtail an extensive run for the day. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the mailman will be buried by an avalanche.

7:10 AM. Watching the Weather Network. They’re predicting fifty to seventy centimeters for the day of the white stuff. That’s a lot. Fortunately they don’t have that paranoid nutjob on the air anymore, because he’d be in full panic mode right about now, screaming about eating the dead and how the world’s coming to an end in a wall of white fluffy snow.

7:12 AM. The forecasters are talking about that Groundhog Day coming up in a few days. I don’t get it. Why do humans put any faith in the predictions of a rodent that’s probably pissed off at being woken up early?

7:15 AM. Waiting on the human to get downstairs. I’m feeling quite peckish, and unfortunately I lack the vital asset of opposable thumbs that are so handy in opening pantry doors.

7:19 AM. Thumping my tail against the floor when my human comes downstairs. Good morning, human! Say, have you seen all the snow falling outside? And have you given any thought at all to seeing about my breakfast? 

7:21 AM. Watching with anticipation as the human starts pouring me a big bowl of kibbles. Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy…

7:22 AM. Licking my chops after devouring breakfast. A mere three seconds off my all time fastest consumption of breakfast. Not bad, if you ask me, and you are asking me.

7:26 AM. Inquiring with the human as to if she’ll let me out for my run. She opens the door and I sprint out for freedom. See you later, human!

7:31 AM. Barking my head off, plowing through fresh powder, as happy as I can be. Life is good!

7:37 AM. Rolling around in the snow. Getting it all packed into my fur. I must look like the abominable snow-dog.

7:45 AM. Okay, I think that’s enough running about for me for one day. Time to get back home, maybe think about a nap. Even if I’ve only been awake for less than an hour.

7:58 AM. Barking at the back door for the human to let me in. Human! It is I! Loki, Annoyer of Mailmen and Chewer of Slippers! Let me in!

7:59 AM. The human opens the door but blocks my way before I can run past her. She informs me that she’ll have to dry off my fur. Oh, come on, human! Not the Towel of Torment.

8:01 AM. Being subjected to the Towel of Torment by the human. I don’t know why she does this. As far as I’m concerned the best way to dry off after a ramble about in the snow is to lie by the fireplace and dry off naturally. There is no such thing as wet dog smell.

8:04 AM. The human finally lets me back into the house after she’s deemed me dry enough. I head to the living room, circle around three times in front of the fireplace, and promptly lie down on the floor.

9:29 AM. Waking up from a nap. The human has the television on. They’re talking about a state of emergency in this part of the province and encouraging people to stay indoors. Well, that’s what you get when a proper blizzard comes and pays you a visit. 

10:08 AM. The human is having a cup of tea. I’m having an oatmeal cookie she’s given me. Yum yum yum!

10:39 AM. Watching the human through the window restocking the bird feeders. Well, the birds will appreciate that. Of course it might bring out a squirrel or two, in which case I’ll feel obliged to bark my head off.

12:23 PM. The human is having lunch. I’ve used my mooching technique of sad eyes to get her to give me a sandwich. Ham and cheese suits me nicely.

12:51 PM. Watching a snow plow going by slowly out on the road. I wonder if this means that accursed mailman will be able to make his rounds today.

2:10 PM. Well, if the mailman is out there, he’s running seriously late. And I’m feeling like a nap, so I’m done with my vigil for the day.

5:46 PM. The human is heading over to the kitchen. And at this time of day, that usually means she’s getting ready for dinner. A meal I approve of. It’s my favourite meal of the day in a four way tie with breakfast, lunch, and snacks.

6:27 PM. Dinner with the human. She’s kept it simple with bacon and apple pancakes. Which of course I like.

8:31 PM. Lying in the living room, pondering the great mysteries of life. Is it true that the dog wags the tail, or does the tail wag the dog?

11:24 PM. The human is off to bed. Good night, human! Sleep well! Don’t worry, I’ll guard the house against any intrusion by squirrels. Can’t trust those bastards for so much as a minute if you ask me, and you are asking me. So I’ll keep a close eye out. In between naps.

Megxit 2020: Grandma Lizzie Is Mad

The following is the latest reason I'll never end up becoming the Canadian governor general. Or if I do, it'll come back to haunt me.

So You Say You Want To Quit The Family Firm

London (Reuters) The fallout of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex announcing they intended to step back from their royal roles continues to be felt among royal watchers, the paparazzi, and the family itself. In what some are describing as the biggest schism in the House of Windsor since the abdication of Edward VIII, Harry and Meghan have informed Her Majesty that they wish to pull away from their duties and split their time between Britain and living in Canada. The rest of the Royal family have been stunned by the turn of events, according to sources.

It’s been a difficult few weeks for the Queen, what with her son Prince Andrew caught up in a scandal surrounding sex allegations with under-aged girls (“Her Majesty is not amused,” one source told this reporter in November). Now the news that Harry and Meghan, two of the more popular members of the family, are running off to Vancouver Island to spend time in pottery and yoga classes, drinking lattes, and effectively turning their backs on royal responsibilities, adds to the difficulties.

Some blame the British tabloid press. It’s a valid point of view, given the bloodthirsty, relentless way they treat the Royals, looking for any scoop. They’ve been particularly ruthless in their treatment of Meghan, given some of her unseemly relatives and their behaviour. But the British press have always been this way where the Royals were concerned. Will they find refuge in Canada, away from the immediate attention from the British tabloids?

“Well, the Canadian press is quite laid back,” Royal watcher Calliope Wentworth-Taylor admitted. “However, living in Canada means they’ll be all the closer to the American tabloid press in Hollywood, and those people are just dreadful. Dreadful, I say. Entertainment reporters who latch onto any story they think they can milk. It’s a ghastly shame. They’ll have Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood camped across from their home day and night.”

Indeed, both entertainment shows have just opened up satellite offices in Victoria, British Columbia, staffing them with teams of entertainment journalists- if you want to call them journalists- on 24/7 Harry and Meghan watch. “How big is this?” ET producer Merry Merrington gushed. “This is like Brad-Angelina-Jennifer times infinity! Or is that divided by infinity? I don’t know, I was never that good at math. Anyway, that’s not the point! The point is we’re going to be on Harry and Meghan watch all the time. We’re going to buy a house in their neighbourhood just so we can ask them questions all the time. There’s no such thing as too much attention, if you ask me, and you are asking me! This is better than sex!”

The Duke and Duchess appear to be giving up the right to be called Their Royal Highnesses, not to mention the considerable funding the Royal Family gets. That’s not to mean they’ll be destitute, as they’re both wealthy in their own right and won’t need to be applying for cashier positions at a Tim Hortons. The question of their security is a matter still up in the air. Will the British government be picking up the tab? The Canadian government? Or the couple themselves. After all, whether or not they’re living a private life, the couple are certain to be targets, and the question of their security is a legitimate one.

Bill Blair, the Minister of Public Safety and Emergency Preparedness, admitted to reporters that the issue is still being sorted out. “We’re in talks with our counterparts in London, as well as the Duke and Duchess to address those needs. Some of our Mounties have been working on contingency plans in case they are called on to form the protective detail for the couple. As to who will be picking up the tab, that’s part of the talks.”

Blair was asked who might head up such a detail, with the names of several high profile Mounties noted by the reporter in question. “I can categorically deny that it’ll be Inspector Ulrich,” Blair stated, referring to the legendary but cranky Mountie known for saving the world from megalomaniacs, beating up gigantic monsters, holding grudges against entertainment reporters, and being mistaken regularly for the Other Lars Ulrich. “First of all, Inspector Ulrich is needed in the capacity that we have him in- a kick ass last line of defense. Second, that detail would expose him to way too many entertainment reporters. And he hates entertainment reporters. I’d rather keep him happy than drive him crazy.”

The last word in the matter belongs to Ulrich himself. Reporters sought him out at his detachment in the Alberta foothills, seeking to confirm whether or not he had been approached for the job. First reassuring the inspector that the press were all aware he was not the Other Lars Ulrich, we asked for his comment. “It was asked. I refused. Hey, they’re a nice couple and all, but daily exposure to morons from the entertainment press would leave me feeling homicidal.”

“Lars! Lars!” It was the voice of someone from outside the circle of reporters, an excitable voice that reminded one of the paparazzi that was the bane of too many existences. Sure enough, someone poked through the crowd, with a cameraman in tow.  He had the general look of your average entertainment reporter: casually dressed, with an utterly clueless expression. “Lars, I’m Nick Nolan, with Access Hollywood. What  everyone wants to know… what does Metallica think of Harry and Meghan ditching the Royals?”

“I am not that Lars Ulrich,” the inspector said, his voice seething, as the real reporters backed up out of the way.

“Are you sure?” Nolan asked.

Ulrich punched him, sending him flying. Nolan started to run, the inspector hot on his heels. When last heard of, Nolan was spending time in a local hospital, bound up in a body cast, whimpering about how London Bridge was falling down.

Grievances And Pineapple On Pizza

I have an image blog today. Enjoy!