WW4K (Will Work for Kibble)

"The Life of Riley" was a popular American radio situation comedy series from the 1940's. In 1949 it was adapted into a feature film and then it bcame a long runnin' television show in the 1950's. The first season, well-known Jackie Gleason starred in the role of Riley and then William Bendix took over the role for the next six seasons. Bendix's character was (get this!) Chester A. Riley, a blunderin' wing riveter at the fictional Cunningham Aircraft plant in California. His frequent exclamation of "What a revoltin' development this is!" became a very popular catch phrase of the era.

This brings me to my point: a revoltin' development also occurred here over the weekend. All was goin' down per our usual weekend ritual, my breakfast consistin' of 2 cups of kibble lightly seasoned with a fish oil tablet and a half a bucket of water, give or take a couple slurps. A trip outside to take care of bizness and check the perimeters for illegals, then back inside to await what sort of entertainment my PUs had in store for me.

I soon realized that I would not be accompanyin' Mom to see my GrandPUs - sumpthin' about them havin' a lot of important papers to be sorted and not needin' me there to help. I pride myself on my ability to sort and shred what I deem to be unnecessary, but - whatever! That meant that I would be with Dad who spends most of his time outside which is just fine by me. I only had to do one more thing before Mom left and that was to remind her that my kibble bag was near empty. I also informed her that if she didn't take care of the situation, I would not be held responsible for my actions.

The day unfolded and I supervised Dad as he took care of the outside chores. To lighten his load and to prevent dullness from settin' in, I took my ball to him occassionally so he was not all work and no play. Much was accomplished by the time that Mom finally rolled in. To my delight, she unloaded a brand spankin' new bag of kibble. Premature drool started to form on my jowls even though I knew I had a few hours before dinner would be served.

Finally the wait was over and Mom asked me if I wanted my supper. DUH! Like why would you even ask? Of course I am always ready to eat. My exterior portrait of patience belied the waves of tumult washin' through my innerds. You see, I have been brainwashed taught that I must wait for the "okay" before divin' in.

Chester's Mom: Okay!

(slurp, crunch, lick, crunch, inhale, lick, slurp..........head tilts with question)

Chester: Excuse me, I do believe you shorted me.

Chester's Mom: I did not short you - this is your portion from here on out.

Chester: Nope, I distinctly counted and I am 43 pieces of kibble short.

Chester's Mom: That was intentional and like I said, this is your portion for each meal starting today.

Chester: You've got some 'splainin' to do and you need to start NOW!!!

Apparently I was already startin' to feel faint from weakness because the words that I was hearin' come outta her mouth were beyond comprehension. She was sayin' that the 2 legger who sells my food told her that the diagram on the food bag that shows the rate of kibble to be dispensed per weight of dog is for workin' dawgs and generally not the rate for your average household pet. My mind cleared for just a second because I know for sure that my job title as head of Homeland Security is clearly that of a workin' dawg.

Chester: So tell me again Mom, why am I still bein' shorted 43 pieces of kibble?

Chester's Mom: You are correct in that you are head of Homeland Security around here and I feel much safer knowing that no groundhogs or squirrels will invade the comforts of our home but....your job is not the same as a dog who is on the go all day long. Your days in bed are gradually starting to soften your shape and I'd like to stop this progression before it becomes a problem.

Chester: Look here woman, I am comfortable in my own skin and am not tryin' to impress anybody with a rock hard body.

Chester's Mom: It's too late, your father and I have already discussed this and we both agree you're on the verge of becoming overweight. You do realize don't you, that if you are overweight, you are not going to be as fast and could affect your groundhog count.

Oh no!!! Dad's been brainwashed too. Now I really got my work cut out for me.

It's Monday and as you can see, I'm gonna do whatever it takes

to earn my kibble this week, as I'm sure you will too.

I hope your benefits are better'n mine.

Chester ;0=)

Propaganda

In this day and age it seems that anyone and everyone is allowed to produce fraudulent readin' material. The worst part is that much of it is bein' embraced by the general public.

Unfortunately I'm findin' out the hard way that none of us are

immune to the type of subculture that produced this next piece of hogwash.

The article I am speakin' of is a feature in the 

December issue of FIDO magazine. 

This doctrine of misinformation would have gone unnoticed by Dad had it not been thrust under his nose. I'm afraid he has succumbed to it's powerful, yet misguided message, 

for it was not long after readin' it that he said the words I 

thought I would never hear comin' out of his mouth: 

"Sorry Ches, that's all you're getting - I'm cutting back".

I don't know who Arden Moore and Vladislav Roytapel are

but obviously they've got a bone to pick with the dawg community.

Rather than bore you and waste your valuable time, I have chosen

to emphasize the more poignant parts of this full page article.

This would be a caricature of the female half of the battle.

(I think this captures the essence of Mom fairly well, don't you?)

This would be a caricature of the male half of the battle.

(This looks nuthin' at all like my dear, sweet dad.)

The followin' excerpt includes some of the most

agonizin' and pathetic advice you will ever read.

(click on article to biggify so as not to miss a single lie)

Now, with my literary license and my trustworthy red pen,

I have taken great pleasure in rectifyin' this madness so that

it reflects what I'm sure you dawgs were already thinkin'

as you read the above.

(again, biggifyin' this will help)

Well, it may not be perfect but at least it's much better than that other rubbish. I will insist that FIDO magazine print a retraction

in hopes of savin' future distress of my canine brothers and sisters.

It's too late for me, the damage here has been done as evidenced by the followin' picture. These buckets are for my Pappy's barn

kittehs and they are overflowin' with the abundance of table scraps

that used to be mine. They are eatin' mighty well for a bunch

of mangy felines who should be earnin' their keep

by managin' the mouse population in the barn.

But no, now they are loungin' in the hayloft with full bellies,

and lickin' their greasy paws with turkey breath.

I've even pulled out some of my best beggin' maneuvers

but they have generated very little in the way of personal payoff.

(Sigh), I am still quite disturbed not only because of the 

cutback of table scraps; but even more so it grieves my

Big Brown heart to know that there exists such a cruel

clique that would take aim against us dawgs who

feast offa table scraps like kings and queens 

take pride in our faithful association with our 2 leggers.

At least it's Friday which is always a great payoff after a long week.

I hope your weekend overflows with an abundance of good stuff.

Chester ;0=)

(meanwhile, down on the farm)

Spa Therapy

Hey Dawgs - how's it hangin' with you? Do you remember me tellin' you last Monday that the weekend had been hard on me and I ended up with a limber tail? Doggone! I was hurtin' and the only way I was goin' to get thru the week was to be in a drug induced haze. OK, so baby aspirin might not be the hottest drug on the street but still, I was in pain and I needed my fix every twelve hours to help me get by.

The followin' picture shows my broken wag:

My tail is usually my crownin' glory and some have even said it has a life of it's own, so this was embarassin' to say the least. I did manage

to struggle through the week but when Saturday came,

I decided it was time to pamper myself a bit and

take a good, long, hot soak in the bathtub.

Ahhhh, I could get used to this kinda treatment!!!

Between your prayers and a good hot soak,

my tail is back and it's flyin' high again.

I got to feelin' real good and I was so bustin' with energy that my PUs decided a day at the Canine Spa would help and we wouldn't have to worry about the water bein' too cold. So we loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverleee ~ Hills, that is; swimmin' pools, movie stars...

Ooops, got off on a whole 'nother tangent there. Anywhoooo, I had the whole place to my ownself and I jumped and splished and splashed like a wild dawg.

Then I met a new friend and I wouldn't let him outta my sight, or my grip.

Meet Louie, Louie Lobster. Louie just hangs out at the Spa

all the time waitin' for somedawgy like me to come along and

take  him swimmin'.

I obliged Louie's wishes time and time again.

Louie is a crusty old dude but I still wanted to take him home with me.

That's when Mom gave me a stern talkin' to and told me that

Louie had to stay there to welcome the other Spa guests.

I let her have her way. This time. 

Oh well, I guess Louie might like it better at the Spa anyway

and I can't say that I blame him. I'd stay there too if I could.

Monday has rolled back into the picture once again and

I'm sure we'd all rather be havin' fun in a cement pond.

Maybe some day soon I'll hit some bubblin' crude when huntin' and

when I do, you dawgs are gonna be the first ones invited

to my Beverly Hills mansion!

And yeah, Louie will greet you at the gate.

Until then, have a great week!

Chester ;0=)

Pee. Ess. - My GrandPU's knee is healin' up just fine but we are still helpin' him and GramPU out a lot. Not to sound like a broken record (whatever that is) but our blog visitations leave much to be desired. We hate not seein' what you're all up to and we plan on stoppin' by as soon as we can.

Ob·ses·sion

Pronounced: äb-ˈse-shən. Definition: a persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable thing, idea or feeling.

I had to look it up 'cause Mom says I have one. What with, you ask? Paper and tissues-particularly used tissues. It started when I was just a pup, riding in the car one day on Mom's lap. (She has her own little obsession with wearing hoodies. You know, the kind with the pockets in the front.) Anyhow, me having the nose of a dog (duh) and it ain't just for lookin' pretty-I smelled something wafting ever so gently from that pocket. My nose followed that smell to find the most delicous treat, a used tissue. Blissfully unaware of what was about to happen, she continued to flap her lips as I gently slid the tissue from it's nest. Gulp! I was hooked like Tatum O'Neal on crack. It's been a downhill slide ever since. It's even branched off into paper. Now I'm not as particular about paper-used, new-it's all good. Newspapers usually get Mom and Dad flying to my side. Oh but the other night I found what must have been a particularly valuable piece of paper. Mom had gotten the mail before we took our walk. She threw it on the kitchen counter and off we went to the woods. A fine time was had by all. So we come back and she proceeds to the living room for just a second, forgetting all about that valuable mail on the counter. I started sniffing and it smelled gooooood. It had a nice inky sauce drizzled over it. So I grabbed it and ran. When she saw what I had she turned a whiter shade of pale and immediately went for the BAD CAN!! (For those of you who don't know what the bad can is, trust me. You don't want to.) I'll tell ya anyways. It's a soda can with small, round objects in it and it's top is covered with duct tape. When shaken, it emits an obnoxiously loud noise and hurts my ears until I'm begging for mercy. I really didn't want to drop my prize but Mom's face scared me even more than the bad can. Once she had it back in her shaking hands, she calmed a bit and saw that I had not even torn what she was calling a "check". I guess that inky sauce on it is what makes it so valuable. I guess she'll be a little more careful where she places "checks" from now on. So all this to say, if anybody has any suggestions how I can break this addiction please let me or Mom know. We would be forever in your debt. Chester