Woof Humor

The Hundred and Second Topic-Change

I’ve been droning on about B-Dawg for far too long now, Dear Reader, and you had better admit it. I mean, this heated debate as to who is going to replace me has taken up extremely too much of our time. There are other things we have to discuss, things that just happen to be slightly more earth-shattering than a run-of-the-mill advice columnist.

This like what happened to me this morning;

The day started out like any other; Mom preparing breakfast, Dad “suiting up,” Taylor and Kathryn getting ready for school and myself snoring away to glory. As on time as a cue in Broadway, the sisters marched into the master bedroom at 8:05 AM precisely and proceeded to tickle me ’til I stopped eliciting the abnormally loud snored that erupted out of my snout.

Giggling frivolously, the girls then walked back out, mission accomplished, leaving me with:

1] A bad case of the hiccups and

2] An equally -if not worse- case of morning breath [This part is also, unfortunately, part what happens to me every singly morning]

I struggle to pull myself to an erect position and continue towards the dining room, where the [mostly] happy family is seated by now, chatting about mild, unimportant stuff like the supposed discovery of a cancer-curing antibiotic and some weird thing called the “higgs boson”. The Philistines. If only they knew there were more pressing matters to be discussed.

Like how nobody has filled my bowl with breakfast yet. I mean, what’s up with THAT?? Would they rather talk about lamo scientific breakthroughs than feed their dog who, last time I checked, was also classified as a living being, therefore their equal??

Before I could start sending them the Hunger Signal [i.e, a loud-enough-to-shatter-glass tummy rumble succeeded by a sorry-about-that-but-I-haven’t-been-fed-for-a-while-now-so-WHAT-ON-EARTH-DO-YOU-EXPECT, semi-sympathetic look], Mom edged away from the table and quietly made my first snack of the day.

Grateful that SOMEONE cared, I dug into my bowl…

… Only to taste TUNA. TUNA!!

‘Relax Feni,’ Mom coaxed, noticing my panic-stricken face. ‘They ran out of chicken kibble at the pet shop, so we thought we’d try out another flavour. How do like it??’ She asked, as if she expected me to answer.

I’m sure that even if my tongue was capable of forming understandable words, I wouldn’t have been able to talk. My mind swirled, my head twirled and all I could think about was how dumb, how dumb and UTTERLY STUPID humans could get.

“Try out new flavours??” What was THAT supposed to mean?? If they run out of Cornflakes at the supermarket, do my parents decide to try out RAW GARLIC for breakfast instead?? NO, they drive along until they find ANOTHER mart and purchase the Fruit Loops from THERE, right??

SO WHY DID I GET TUNA??????????

I mean, even if it was a life-and-death kind of thing and my ‘rents just HAD to choose a flavour from THAT VERY STORE, why TUNA, the KITTY-FOOD-FLAV??????????

Sure, I’m not an idol-citizen and I make my fair share of mistakes. But to bring me down to the level of a FELINE?????? That’s harsh, brother. It really is.

God, those four-legged fuzzballs really do give me the creeps. Have you SEEN anything more sickening than a CAT?? I’m telling you, if ONLY horror movie makers replaced zombies and flesh-eating monsters with tabbies, they’d make millions. Millions.

They’d be the richest guys floating around. Everybody will want to be one of them. And if this idea ever DOES come into play, remember that you first heard it from a little blogging dog from a corner of the earth.

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