Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Speaking Dog, Lesson One.

I hate to come back from my break and write another "sign" blog. But this is bugging me.

So, does the Humane Society for Seattle/King County have some sort of dog-to-human translation device? If they actually knew what "Grrr, bark, woof, Good dog" meant, they probably wouldn't have put it on a sign. It makes no sense. If you're going to say "Attention Dogs" then, by god, know what it means before you tell me to read it.

They obviously think it means "do something to remind your human to pick up your shit after you take a dump"

But then take a look at THIS sign. Whoever put this one together thinks it means "stay off the nature trails."

They're both wrong. Just in case you choose to speak to dogs on a sign, here's what those "words" actually mean.

Grrr means: "Back off or I'll put my teeth into you."

Bark means: "Wait! I think I heard something unimportant that is going to consume my thoughts and hunting instincts for the next 20 minutes."

Woof means: "Hey you dogs across the street... do you hear me? I'm in my back yard. I've just finished peeing on everything. I hope you smell it and remember that this spot over here is mine. Just saying 'woof' to remind you of my All-American mutt-dog presence. Haha. Shut up. I'm going in the house now."

Good Dog means: "My human must be happy with whatever I just did... wait, what did I just do? Crap. I can't remember. Goddamn it I wish I wasn't a dog!"

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

I'm A Dog And I Write Better Than You.

I found this photo of a sign today. I feel compelled to send a note to the person who put it up.

To sign writer (s) who don't know how to punctuate or spell. Are you speaking to dog owners who urinate this walls? Or, do you actually mean dogs who urinate this walls?

Secondly, how presumptuous of you to assume "no one want" to smell my urine. My urine rocks. It's the best all-american mutt dog piss that money can buy. I'll bet you other dogs would love to smell it. So don't be so hasty with the broad statements, Shakespeare.

Finally, since you, yourself have admitted that the hallway is "common", perhaps you should be grateful that some dogs have chosen to "spruce it up" a bit. Maybe if you painted the hallway something other than fluorescent hospital green, it wouldn't be so fucking common, would it?

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Can Dogs Go On Vacation?

Looks like I'm gonna be just layin around for a while. My human is going out of town for a week or so. He'll probably shut down the computer... which means I won't have access.

I know it will be "ruff", but ya'll will just have to do without my canine wisdom for a few days.

Get it? I said "ruff."


Monday, August 20, 2007

Snap. Over.

I might be more cynical than most other dogs.

I think some would look at this picture and say "Awww, how cute... the monkey is hugging the puppy!"

Not me. Clearly the monkey is some sort of canine assassin about to put a ninja neck move on that helpless young victim.

"Before I snap your neck, Mr. Bond, let me tell you about my evil plan." (Assuming, of course, the puppy's name is Mr. Bond)

Man, my mind works pretty weird for a dog.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

3 to 1. Sounds fair to me.

If you'll forgive me for sounding too self-centered, I'd like to talk about myself for a moment. Sorry if this runs a bit long, but it's a pretty cool story.

First, a little history. A few years back, I was living in a yard with around 25 other dogs. It wasn't a big yard, and there was a very limited amount of food. I think the dude that kept us was kinda crazy, too. We dogs fought constantly for food and for territory. I can't exactly remember when, but I even got a couple of broken ribs at one point.

Well, anyway, one day, along come the cops. They put us all in the back of these trucks and hauled us off to the pound. We were all underweight. I was about 40 pounds (compared to 70 now). Yet I was in better shape than any of the rest. In fact, all the other dogs were in such bad shape, they had to be executed.

Fortunately, the next-door neighbor of the crazy guy had met me and was very concerned when the cops took us all away. He immediately went to the pound and bailed me out. He couldn't keep me, but he wanted to save my life. A couple of days later he brought over this guy he worked with, ostensibly, to become my new human.

I put on my best "Please take me home aren't I so cute" look, and hoped for the best. Well, long story short, he took me home. And, it's kinda like I won the dog lottery. My humans treat me good. I get full access to the whole house. I sleep with them, sit at their feet constantly, and have a doggie door so I never have to "hold it."

At first, my new humans would take me walking, and we'd run into another dog, and my humans would think I was scared because the hair on my back would go up.

"Oh no. Look at how scared he is! Poor baby."

They didn't realize that I do that when I'm pissed. I wasn't getting frightened. I was getting ready for some shit.

Anyway, on to the point of the story.

What you should know is that, with humans, I'm the most loving, obedient, sweet dog you'll ever meet. I have perfected cuteness. When I'm with you people, I want nothing more than to be petted, or to snuggle, or to patiently wait for any treats you're willing to offer. I will sit in the middle of the floor and let human babies pull my ears and poke my eyes. I LIVE for human affection. And I hate other dogs. (Exceptions to all you wonderful dog readers of my blog)

So the neighbor human across the street, having experienced my adorable cuteness, frequently tries to get MY human to let her take me on a walk with her dogs.

My human always says "He doesn't get along well with other dogs."

Well, today, she asked again. "It'll be good for Pancho... let's give it a try." she said.

So my human, somewhat reluctantly hooked me up to the leash and brought me outside.

We head out toward the street where those three scumbag shepherds are waiting, crouched. These are the same dogs who mock me and bark whenever they sense my presence.

I get about halfway down the driveway and we all start growling.

The neighbor lady takes my leash and, not knowing what is about to happen, moves me closer to the other dogs.

These sheperds are big, mind you. Bigger than me. But they have no idea who they're dealing with. These pure-bred bitches never had to fight for food just so they wouldn't starve to death.

I have.

And I was about to give them a big, yummy serving of whoopass.

We got about a foot and a half away from each other and I went OFF. I showed those three pussies my teeth and snapped twice. Caught a piece of the female. I wanted to hurt them, sooooo bad. But the neighbor lady pulled me back.

I think I communicated quite clearly to those dogs. Here's what they now know:

1. I don't like dogs. Especially you bitches.

2. Don't witness my affection for humans from afar - and start thinking that I won't put my teeth in your ass. I will.

3. Clearly I have far more fighting experience than even the largest of dogs in this neighborhood. Especially you, tough guy.

4. One dog... or twenty-four dogs... that's still less than I used to fight every day. You think because there are three of you, I'm gonna get scared? Oh please.

5. If, even for a second, I think you're a threat... you better pray I'm on a leash, or you are going to have a very, very bad day.

Just What You'd Expect.

Did you know that the catholics have a patron saint of dogs? His name was Saint Roch. Supposedly, he caught the black plague back in the 1300s, then ran into a forest to hide. While there, a dog stole food for him and licked his wounds till he got better.

There are churches, schools, even towns named after him. And in Prague, there's even a statue of him (see photo).

So what's up with that? The dog gathers him food... the dog heals his wounds... but he gets canonized?

Typical catholic bullshit.

Dude, That's Just Nasty.

Well, Animal Planet, it seems, has a contest for the World's Ugliest Dog.

I'm happy to see it when a dog isn't homeless... but holy shit, these are truly horrible looking animals.

Click this link if you want to see the finalists.

(And, for the record, I'm really glad I'm so good looking)

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

We Have Our Heros.

Someone sent me this pic... and man, that dog is awesome!
Looks a bit like me, too.
All-American mutt dog, perhaps?

In any case... hat's off, brother.
Nice to see you smilin.

UPDATE: Well, it seems that he is, in fact, a she. Her name is "Faith" and she has her own website. She has also, apparently, been on every TV show known to man.

Pancho. Hole Digger. Bug Eater. Art Critic.

I've seen pictures of the Mona Lisa. I think most would agree that Leonardo's mastery of his own sfumato technique helps bring the enigmatic lady to life.

And Dali's "The Persistance of Memory" does a wonderful job of redefining traditional forms of portraiture.

But few would argue that "Dogs Playing Poker" has had the most significant effect on the world of fine art in the last century.

In spite of it's importance and popularity, let me take a moment to offer my obiter dictum, if you will, regarding some problems with the modern day masterpiece.

1. It's no secret that bulldogs are lying, cheating asswipes - so I've got no problem showing them passing the ace of clubs under the table. But c'mon! They can't smoke! That's bullshit.

2. Then there's the triplets. What are they, anyway? Boxers with unclipped ears? Clearly the artist, upon finishing one, decided to just do it again twice... he must have been in a hurry.

3. Is the collie high?

4. How did they open those beer bottles?

5. That grey thing... what is that? A raptor? A kangaroo? What?

6. And finally, while I have no problem applying a moderate suspension of disbelief, I think it's going too far to expect that in a room with seven dogs in it... NOT ONE has his nose up another one's ass.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Jam A Lightsaber In My Forehead... Please.

Dear George Lucas,


Thanks so much for creating a film franchise that's more popular than Christ.

It's no secret that you've made billions from Star Wars product licensing and merchandising. Well, it seems that your gain is my loss. Thanks to you, a perfectly dignified all-American mutt dog gets to spend an afternoon in utter humiliation.

How much is too much, George? Don't you earn more than the GNP of most third world countries? So, I'm curious... when the idea for the Darth Vader dog costume crossed your desk, were you worried you might not have enough to cover your Bentley payment? Or do you just hate self-respecting canines?

Thanks George. I only wish I really WAS Darth Vader. Then I could choke you to death using only the P-O-W-E-R O-F M-Y M-I-N-D.

Ridin' Shotgun

Riding in the front.

Damn straight.

When you're up front it tells the whole world that you are MORE than just a bad-ass mutt dog. It says that you are important to your humans... like, maybe they might want you to help them navigate or something.

I wonder what that would be like?

"Which way do we turn, Pancho?"

"Uh, well, I don't really know understand this right-left thing... and I'm not really a pointer... so maybe you could... OH LOOK! A BIRD!

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Your Luxury Is Not My Luxury.

If you go to the Google and type in "Spoil Your Dog," you'll get all kinds of links. I didn't look at them all, but some of them are complete bullshit.

"How to make gourmet treats for your dog." - Get real. We're dogs. No preparation necessary. Any sort of meat or cheese item will do nicely. If there's a bone or fat involved... even better.

"Why not give your dog a spa treatment at home?" - Oh sure. Like that's what I want. A fucking bath and a pedicure. That's not spoiling me. That's torture!

I'm not kidding, some of these sites offer up recipes for "aromatic dry shampoos." HEY - WE ARE DOGS. WE WOULDN'T KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BATHING IN HERBS OR BATHING IN PISS.

I'm going to make this very clear. You want to spoil your dog? Pay attention to him. Pet him. Play with him. And when your done, give him a big ol' chunk of Velveeta.

That's it.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Man, That's Amazing.

Look, I think I know a thing or two about digging holes. But how the hell did they do that?

Impressive, to say the least.

Click here to see more.

Little Bastard

Normally I don't pay any attention to squirrels. They're simply not worth the effort.

You can't catch them and eat them. They're too fast. And they don't really pose any threat. So normally, I just ignore them.

But there's this one squirrel... man, he's got to go.

He climbs just out of reach and proceeds to chirp like a little bitch, taunting me. Seriously... he looks down at me and acts like he doesn't realize I'm a dog. Doesn't he know I'd happily crush his skull in my mouth, given the chance?

Where's the fear?

That's it. I'm starting an enemies list.

Monday, August 6, 2007

Almost Free

The new, long leash is fantastic. We (the humans and I) went for a walk this evening and it was almost like being free. Both sides of the street - back and forth.

There were amazing smells everywhere. I pissed on 15 or 20 different dog marks. I pissed ALL over 'em.

But the best part? Those dogs across the street saw me and barked their asses off. They were so jealous.

I walked down the middle of the street so they all saw me. And I was, like, "Whatever. You're in. I'm out. Deal with it, losers"

Thursday, August 2, 2007


I think I've mentioned before that I LOVE leaving the house. When the humans grab that leash, I can hardly contain myself.

So today we went to the pet store. Wow.

Let me explain something to you. For a dog, the pet store is sensory overload. First of all, everything for sale in there is shit that I like. Rawhide bones, stuffed toys, treats... or even smaller animals that would be a real blast to decapitate.

Secondly, there are millions of odors in there that are new to me. I know other dogs have been there. I'm good like that. I can tell. Their scent mocks me. And, frankly, it requires all the self-control I can muster to keep from pissing all over everything.

But I held it. The humans would probably get pissed (pardon the pun) if I hadn't.

So as we left the store, there was a trash can right by the front door. I hiked up my leg and gave it a quick shot.

That's like saying to every dog that approaches:

"Hey prick. Everything beyond this point belongs to me. I'm Pancho. I'm a badass mutt dog. And you can consider this territory marked."

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

With Dogged Determination, I Try To Engage My Readers

Okay people. It's not often you find a dog with the capacity to communicate. So, I think it's reasonable to expect that you might have some questions for me. I welcome them.