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.
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.