Woof Humor

The Hundred and Fifth Protest

I openly revolted against my family’s alarming decision today. I refused to touch my meals, didn’t allow them to take me outside to relieve myself, shut my snout firmly when it was medicine time, didn’t even let myself get tempted by the beef  chew they were attempting to coax me with.

That’s why they’re frantically calling up every vet in town, informing them about how their pet is acting “abnormal” and would they be able to squeeze in an emergency appointment??

However, according to my expert opinion, my behaviour is definitely justified. In fact, I think I’m letting it slide easy. I should be staging full-fledged hunger strikes, toilet-papering their house, arranging for disastrous riots. Ignoring the food they’ve kept out for me is too mild for the cause I’m fighting for. Surely.


Woof Humor

The Hundred and Fourth Disbelief

Out of all the ways they could have sinned, out of ALL of them, they chose to… they chose to do THIS!!

It’s downright outrageous!! I mean, the Tuna-kibble is bad enough [curse its producers. What were they THINKING??] and now they go ahead and do something as absolutely disrespectful as what they have done just about a week ago.

Do they have ANY idea what this is going to do to my spotless reputation?? Don’t blame me if I suddenly become the least-popular, most-bullied dog on the block. It’s all their fault, after all.


Seriously, if humans are supposedly at the top of the living creature hierarchy, I shudder to think about the bad hands the earth has fallen into.

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??


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.

Woof Humor

The Hundred and First Bewilderment

I’d walked up to the desktop this morning, all cute and innocent, only to find KATHRYN, of all people, perched on the cushiony red swivel chair, browsing the net.

Although every fibre of my being advised me to rush over to my foster sister, shake her till her bones rattled and COMMAND her to check her eMail, I settled for the next best thing; curling up into a furry ball and snuggling next to her feet.

Hello?? How can you JUDGE me for that?? I mean, who doesn’t like a good cuddle. Besides, even if I DID manage to “shake Kathryn till her bones rattled,” there’s NO WAY I could’ve told her to check her inbox because of my -ahem- lack of speech. I’m a DOG, for crying out loud. Give me a break.

Soon enough, though, Kathryn DID sign into her Hotmail account…

…And when she read the first message I sent her, words can’t describe how happy she sounded.

‘MMMMMMOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DDDDDDDDDDAAAAAAADDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! COME HERE QUICK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WON, I WON, I WON, I WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

I was a little taken aback by this exclamation, ESPECIALLY because I was SOO close to sending her the SECOND eMail, in which I was going to inform her that she could no longer actually BE B-Dawg.

Watching her gleefully narrate to Mom and Dad about how SHE’D won the competition… It made me feel a weird sense of… well, joy. For someone else.

And it got me thinking.

If being ME made Kathryn so happy, then who was I to take away that pleasure?? Did I have the right to crush someone’s obvious ecstasy?? [Granted, I was the person she wanted to become, but STILL]

And, right then, as I stared Kathryn tear up and down the house, screaming to anyone who wanted to listen about her “Big Break,” I amde a decision. One that will possibly change my life for the worse. But one that I’m going to keep, anyway.

From now on, till the end of all eternity, Kathryn and ONLY Kathryn is B-Dawg.

And I get that it’d kind of like pawning away my second identity for the sake of my sister’s euphoria.

But hey, if she’s happy, I’m happy.


Woof Humor

The Ninety-Ninth Success

I sent it this morning, at around nine o’clock. All I’ve done since is wait patiently in front of the computer, staring blindly at my inbox.

It gave me a lot of time to think. Mainly about how it is a wonder I haven’t been busted yet. I mean, this is my NINETY-NINTH post. I’ve been blogging for a little over a year now. I have more than two trillion subscribers [I wish] and a global fan following.

But my parents STILL haven’t figured out?? Weird.

I’ve thought about my career ambitions as well. About how I’ve evolved, both as a person and as a writer, during my blogging journey. About how much I’ve changed. And how much more food I am able to consume in two minutes flat [I think I’ve got a pretty good shot at the world record].

And it’s sad. I always thought that by the time I’ve lived three vast years on the earth, I’d have SOMETHING to be proud of besides my stomach capacity. Oh, and the number of consecutive times I can fake-burp [which is, I have to say, pretty impressive].

But there isn’t. That’s about my complete list of talents. Eating and fake-belching. Oh, and giving advice [which any old grandma can do just fine].