the rules according to the bad man

So I am subject to some infringements on my liberty. Fairness is not always in evidence when it comes to this doggy.

These rules are the wrong way around (I shouldn’t be on that sofa)

I have some issues

The bad man and the mummy lady have a Massive bed and I am not allowed on it. Massive. Big enough for two or three more humans. BUT NOT ONE SMALL JACK RUSSELL.

Not allowed in the bedroom on my own since I rubbed my bum on the bad man’s pillow. HE DESERVED IT. And what’s more he didn’t notice for a couple of nights.

Not allowed to lick rock salt put down when the snow comes. EVEN THOUGH IT’s TASTY

Not allowed to jump up on strangers in the park and lick their hands. EVEN WHEN THEY PUT THEIR HANDS IN THE WAY

Not allowed to growl at impertinent dogs who don’t know their place. JUMPY SWINE

Not allowed to have puppies, (cut off in my prime) I SHOULD TAKE THEM TO COURT OVER THAT ONE

Some fecker docked my tail before the mommy lady and the bad man got me. I ONLY HAVE A SMALL WAG. OK. So that’s not a rule. But if we are airing some grievances…

When I am in the car now I am LOCKED in the back of the car. With a metal grill. LIKE THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO or that fella, Terry Waite. Something to do with legislation about people getting fined for not having their dogs under control in the car when driving. What about my canine rights? The right to see what is happening. The right to stick my head out of the window and sniff the beautiful smoggy air. The right to eat anything that is dropped whilst those two are talking? HMMM HMMM? What about those rights?

Where’s the protest group campaigning for ME?????????????

So following on from Dry January, now they’re trying to get fit!

Spandex should be banned. End of.

In the immortal words of Homer… Simpson, “Stupid sexy Flanders”.

Some things once seen cannot easily be unseen, and the sight of my two fortysomethings squeezing into running gear isn’t pleasant.


We are appealing for help. We just want people to wear clothes when exercising which isn’t skin tight enough to reveal their digestive tract. It isn’t too much to ask?

Every Saturday they now do Parkrunning, which entails lots of humans taking off lots of layers and gasping and grunting around a park. Twice. Ridiculous as it sounds they seem to get some sort of buzz from it. But I am not allowed to go. No. The organisers are dog racists.

Not that I would want to go. Whenever they run and I am with them (the bad man and the mummy lady) and I get a sniff they shout and scream at me. I am not trying to trip them up, I have a job to do. Sniffing scents is not an easy job. I take it very seriously and thier grunty running must come second to sniffy detective work.

The bad man calls me Vera. Something to do with changing direction. Ha ha. People are weird. My name is not Vera.

So I don’t get to go. I get locked in the Utility Room (which smells of sweaty pants) and they play really bad reggae or house music to “help me relax”. What’s wrong with leaving me in peace for some quiet contemplation sleep? It’s impacting on my rights as a canine. It’s like the CIA and those acid fuelled mind experiments in the 60s. And they don’t have the decency to give me the acid.

At least it’s warm.

I don’t want to run. I am nearly 11 you know. I should be enjoying my well earned retirement, not having to put up with human fads and mid-life crises.

I would post pictures of the humans in spandex but it’s just too darn painful. The sight police would probably intervene to protect lives.

Postie postie big red fake

I am Anti-postman I admit it. But think about it. Why shouldn’t I be? Why are they so special, with their electrical signy thing and their stupid caps. And their crap loud trolleys.

What’s in the sack? Limitless evil probably…

They walk up your drive every day as if they own the place

Could be sticking anything through the door. It could be a snake. Or a cat! Or a horrible fungus that makes you retch if you lick it. By barking I am drawing attention to a massive red intruder on the premises. With possible weapons.

Shorts in February? Have a word.

All of the burglaries happen when he / she is around. Think about it.

They know everything about you, probably read your mail. Probably laugh at your spelling

Act all nice so they can get a tip at Christmas.

When in a safe zone (ie not my territory) they act as if they like dogs and offer you a biscuit. I see through you ya great big red fake. But I will have that biscuit. But I see through you!

Who brings their cat to work with them? I tell you who, people who hate dogs…

Postman Pat had a cat. Enough said.

They wear red! I mean come on. Even Billy Ocean knows red spells danger.

They taste a bit… off. Don’t ask me how I know.

Every day I see them off but they are the most persistent buggers ever. They come back to rub my nose in it day in day out

They never deliver anything tasty

They are not the bad man or the mommy lady. Or the big man who smells of chips. Mmm chips. *

Is there anything finer to sniff with a nose seven times more than hoomans, than roast flamin’ chicken. I am off now, I can smell chicken…

*this dog’s owner would like to point out that the dog has nothing against the postal service in principle and the dog means no real harm. Legal Disclaimer etc. She’s just grumpy.

So: dry January? It makes my humans so miserable

Thank Goofy that’s over. Hallelujah for February. First and foremost, as a canine I don’t drink. I don’t want any of you ringing the RSPCA, or Pets in Crisis or something.

It’s only pineapple juice darling

But my pet people, they get so damn down in January. Misery is not the word. One of them, the bad man, he mutters on and on about seasonal affected disorder, and his invoices getting paid, and spending too much at Christmas. The mummy woman keeps leaving the room, muttering something I can’t quite hear.

So what do they decide? We have had a heavy December, let’s cut out all of the lovely poison in January. THAT will make us feel better. Well I can tell you, it may make YOU feel better, but as the recipient of many “bloody dog!” and “get out of the bloody way” comments in January, it certainly hasn’t made ME feel better. I haven’t been able to relax. Bloody humans. Keep taking the medicine that makes you hug, and urinate in public, and sing terrible songs with the wrong words, and fall asleep on the sofa. So I can lick your face awake. Mmmm, human face! Tastes almost as good as what I was licking ten seconds earlier.

So I don’t deprive myself of the things that make me happy. Sometimes they are denied to me, but my big brown eyes normally get me through. Embrace your wicked. Do not deny it. Do you think this waggy tail comes from imbibing pina colada till four in the morning? Certainly not. But for the sake of the furry ones who have to put up with your wicked behaviour. Carry on drinking and stop wining whining winning.moaning.

It’s enough to drive a dog to drink.