An Appology.

Hey folks. Man, did I mess up.

A while back I posted an invitation to my readers to email me with any questions they might have. I was disappointed to find that no one wrote me.

Then, I found out that I was checking my email wrong. What do you expect? I'm a dog.

Well, today I checked my mail, in earnest, and found several messages.

The first was from a reader who also happens to be an AMAZING artist. I thought I'd post a link to her site here. If you've a mind to get a portrait of your beloved pet, she'd be the one to contact.

Another email was a question from a reader:

Pancho,

As a member of the animal kingdom, and the only one I know who can talk, I'd like to get your opinion on a matter.

What would be more apt to attack a pair of humans: lions or hyenas?

I'll check your blog for your response.

Well, my friend, thankfully, I've never had a run-in with either.

I know that hyenas come from the mongoose family. So they're probably tenacious as shit. Meaning... they would be relentless and keep coming at you again and again.

Lions, on the other hand, are... well, they're LIONS. I consider myself to be quite a badass, but I don't even think I'd fuck with a lion.

But, if you're ever on the Serenghetti, walking naked across the plain, and a opossum or a squirrel comes at you... they better pray I'm not walking with you.

Don't Even Think About Taking This Away From Me.

Today is the greatest day of my life. Well, being a dog, I can only remember back about 15 minutes... so, I think this is the greatest.

For Thanksgiving, my human decided to go to the butcher shop and get me a bone. Not a rawhide "pretend" bone. And not a manufactured "dog treat" of any kind. This was a real, honest-to-goodness bone from the inside of a dead animal. It was huge and covered in raw, bloody meat.

Holy fucking mother of christ.

Okay, I have no balls, but I've got to think this is kinda what an orgasm must feel like.

He handed it to me and I immediately dropped my pussy plush toy and took the bone outside. Once I found a good spot, I planted my ass down and didn't move for what seemed like forever. It tasted great. It tasted like death. As I gnawed my way to sweet bliss, I imagined myself leading a pack of other mutt dogs in a hunt. Upon downing our prey, I quickly take my place tearing open the throat and getting all the good parts for myself.

After a while (over three hours), I snapped out of it and decided to go inside and tell all the humans how awesome my day was going.

I ran in with more excitement than I had ever displayed (again, short memory - so I could be wrong). I happily greeted everyone and told them what an incredible experience I was having... then quickly went back outside to gnaw some more.

I'm certainly not a religious dog, but if there is a god, he smiled on me today.

Damn, I'm Good Lookin'.

I'm not usually too vain. But I must say this recent picture of me is quite fetching. I think it shows me in all my 100% All-American mutt-dog glory. Almost regal, don't you think?

Take that you pure-breed pussies.

Eww. Eww. Eww.

Found this out there on the internet the other day. It is, apparently, an album for... not just dogs... but "gay" dogs.

Couple of questions.

1) Have you ever (truthfully) heard of a "gay" dog?

and 2) What the hell is this Paddy Roberts dude doing in that chair with the bulldog? Why is he hiding behind the chair back?

Okay, that's just creeping me out.

Got Something To Say To Me?

Well, dear readers, I suppose you've noticed a big slow down in the number of posts lately. There are a couple of reasons for that.

(1) As I've pointed out countless times, I'm a dog. So, while my wisdom may be vast, my existence is, none-the-less, pretty limited, giving me only so many things to write about.

And (2), it concerns me that I might not actually have as many readers as I once thought... leaving me less than motivated to go to the trouble of posting.

So, here's the deal... if you'd like me to answer a question, offer advice, or simply wish to make a suggestion for future posts, I'll place my email below for your convenience. If I get some feedback that's worth sharing, or if I can offer some advice worth posting, I will.

Reach me at:
panchothedog(at)comcast.net

Hail To The Mutt.

Recently, Comedy Central's Stephen Colbert attempted to run for President in his native state of South Carolina, but the Democrats wouldn't let him join their little party. Of course, if you don't know who Colbert is... what?! You don't? Wow, I didn't know they offered internet access to people who live under rocks.

Anyway, I'm frequently mistaken for the famed T.V. host and political pundit... after all, we both provide biting commentary on societal events; we both project a mastery of the English language; and we both have slightly disfigured right ears.

I've never considered running for public office. Being a dog, that would be kinda weird. But perhaps I should. I could run for President and be the candidate of the people. I'd hammer the other guy for being all upper-crust and snobby.

"He may have gone to Harvard, ladies and gentlemen, but I'm proud to be an all-American mutt dog... emphasis on the word 'American.' Why, I bet my opponent considers himself 'too good' to even lick his own ass!!"

If I did get elected, I'd have to add a couple of new cabinet positions. Secretary of Petting (man, that guy is going to get tired); Secretary of Dropping Scraps on the Floor; and Secretary of taking the President for a daily kickass walk.

Press conferences would be weird, too.

"NO, I DIDN'T HAVE SEX WITH HER... I HAVE NO BALLS!!"

Hello Again, Dear Readers.

It's been a long time since I've posted. I've been busy diggin holes and shit.

Anyway, today the humans took me to the park down by the river. There were lots of other dogs there. I'd see one and try to head towards him but they wouldn't have it. Sometimes I hate that goddamn leash.

In particular, there were two young pitbulls romping and playing together (I can't believe I just used the word "romping") and I wanted to get in their ass so bad. Two pure-breeds versus one all-American mutt dog. Sounds fair to me. But, alas, the humans dragged me away.

All-in-all, it was a nice afternoon, though. I pissed on everything. I'm pretty sure I covered up all those other dogs' markings. And also probably the markings of some homeless people too.

I Love Dirty Pictures.

I appreciate good art. And, as you may know, I've commented before on the famed "Dogs Playing Poker" painting we're all so familiar with.

Well, take a look at this. Someone has recreated it using - not oils, or acrylics... but dust on the back of a car.

That is, indeed, impressive.

Holy Mother Of Christ.

If you're a reader of this blog, you know that there's not much that scares me. Well, except for the vacuum cleaner.

But look at this guy.

I may be an all-American mutt dog with some "skills." But that monster looks like he could lay down some serious hurt. If I were a maltese or a shih tzu, I'd probably just look like an appetizer to him.

I found both these pictures on the web, but am unsure as to whether they're the same dog, or two different dogs of the same breed... the same mutant breed.

If it's the latter, God help us all.

I'll Admit It. I Cried.

Watch this and you will too.

Oooh, That's Gonna Hurt.

Hey buddy. I wouldn't recommend that.

But then again, what do I know? I don't have any balls. Maybe if I did, I too would reach around uncomfortably and put a big chomp on my nut sack.

Nah. I can't imagine any scenario where I'd want to do that.

But hey, to each his own. Have fun.

Dogs I Will Not Ever Attack.

By now, if you've read my posts, you know that I don't really like other dogs. It's not really my fault. Let's just say I have baggage. And since dog psychiatry is bullshit, I'll probably spend the rest of my days hating any canine that crosses my path.

But there are some dogs that I like. Cartoon dogs. Cartoon dogs will never steal my food, piss on my spots or become the objects of my humans' affections.

Yes, I like cartoon dogs. In fact, I have favorites. Here now is a list of my top five cartoon dogs.

Astro - I'm not sure what breed he's supposed to be. Probably some hybrid they come up with in the future... designed to be especially large and stupid. I mean, c'mon... running on a treadmill? What dog does that? Come to think of it, why is he on this list? He talks. I don't trust dogs who talk. (like Scooby Doo or that damn golden retriever from the Bush beans commercials)



Sparky - Leave it to South Park to give us a cartoon dog that is gay. That's right. Gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that... er... wait a minute. What am I saying? Of course there's something wrong with that! A gay dog? That gives a whole new meaning to phrase "a dog and his bone."


Muttley - A long time ago, before I was born, there was a show called "The Wacky Races." One of the human characters had a dog named Muttley. Muttley is one of my heroes. He caused problems for everyone, then laughed uncontrollably at others' misfortune. I wish I could do that. Laugh, I mean.




Wile E. Coyote - Okay, so he's not a dog... really. But a coyote is kinda like a dog, right? There might be a slight difference but I'm sure most people couldn't tell the difference in our DNA strands. Wile is great because, like most great dogs, he never gives up. I also think it's cool how he orders blueprints and shit from the ACME corporation and somehow uses tools to put it all together. One time, I actually saw him put a fan, a skateboard, and a sail together to create a flying machine. I'm a smart dog, but I could never, ever do that.

Santa's Little Helper - He's supposedly a greyhound that Homer adopted from the dog track. I like him because, rather than looking like a greyhound, he kinda looks like me. I like SLH particularly because of one episode. After running away, SLH becomes part of the group of guard dogs at Mr. Burns' mansion. I like how badass he proves himself to be against the Rottweilers and other stereotypically aggressive breeds. Yet at the end, when he's just about ready to attack, he recognizes Bart and embraces him with complete affection. That, my friends, is what being a dog is all about.

Now, I know that many of you probably think that I'm out of my mind to NOT include Scooby Doo on this list. But I must be honest. I hate that damn dog. First of all, I don't like Great Danes. Secondly, he always acts like a retard. Not good for the species. Makes us all look bad. And what the hell is a Scooby snack? They never tell us, do they?

I'll bet it's cat feces.

The Tale Of The Bloody Hoe.

On one of my earlier blogs I mentioned a story (that I promised tell in the future) about an experience me and my human had with possums in our back yard a little over a year ago.

It happened before we moved here. It was a typically hot night as I went outside to pee and give the yard a quick once over before going back inside to the air conditioning. I just finished when I looked up and saw something running along the top of the fence. It was a baby possum. I wanted to kill him SO bad.

I began barking wildly, then quickly ran inside to get the alpha male (my human).

Now, my human and I are close, but I haven't yet figured out how to communicate with him. I tried looking excited and running back and forth toward the door, hoping I'd get the message across in some Lassie-esque way. You know how they did it on the show... "What boy? Timmy's caught in the well?"

Eventually he figured it out and followed me outside.

Upon seeing the baby possum, he went back into the garage and brought out a BB gun in the hopes of convincing it to leave. He pointed the gun and fired. A small drop of blood appeared coming out of the possum's head, but he didn't move a millimeter.

Another shot. Nothing.

Finally, my human went to get a hoe. He tried poking the possum to make it leave but poking did nothing. Eventually, he pushed hard and the possum went over the fence, presumably to the driveway and off to safety.

I sensed that something was still awry. My all-American mutt-dog senses were on high alert... and I immediately looked further down the fence. In the darkness was another, larger possum.

I barked wildly. "Get down, you pussy! This is my yard and I'm gonna kick your ass!"

The alpha male took the hoe over to that possum. It was HUGE. I think it was the size of a pony, but we dogs, admittedly, aren't the most educated when it comes to making such estimates.

Anyway the alpha male prodded the possum, trying to get him to leave. The possum turned toward the yard, looking down at my human as if to indicate that he was going to jump. I had a good feeling that, soon, I'd have him by the throat.

The alpha male, once again, struck him with the hoe. This time, blood went everywhere. My human clearly did NOT want the possum in the yard. But the more he struck the possum, the closer it seemed to get.

Whack. A huge gash.

Whack. A bloody face.

Whack. It was beginning to look like Reservoir Dogs.

Whack. Holy shit! Let me at him!

Finally, the fence was covered in blood. My human took the hoe and swiftly jabbed it at the possum, using the broad side of the hoe blade to knock the creature off. The possum, covered in blood, went flying. You could hear that huge beast hit one of the cars, even.

I couldn't wait till the next day. With the sun now up and showing all the bloody evidence from the night before, my human went out to the driveway to see if the possums had, in fact, ran away.

The baby was just laying there, dead as a doornail.

But the big one? The one my human hacked up into a piece of shredded wheat? He was gone. I don't know how, but, apparently, he lived.

I'll tell you one thing. If that goddamn possum had come down into my yard where I could get at him, it would have been a whole other story.

Boy, That's One Ugly Cat.

There's some weird stuff here. I'm not sure where "here" is, but it's a lot different than where we were before.

For example, there's a cat that comes into my yard that is just odd. He looks strange. He doesn't meow. He sits up on his ass like me. And I think he has hands. Clearly, he's got to go.

I have tried to eat him, but, thus far, I have been unsuccessful.

I wonder if he's, like, a rare mutant cat... or if, perhaps, there is a large group of these striped freaks close by. Man, he's hard to catch.

You know, if I could climb trees, I'd own this neighborhood.

Hole #3 Has Begun

As regular readers of this blog will know, I began digging a hole in the backyard shortly after moving here (see image - hole #1).

Some time later, just about when the hole started looking respectable, the humans sprinkled cayenne pepper and covered it in boards, hoping that I would stop, I think.

So...

I began hole number two (again, see image). And it was starting to look pretty good. Until they covered that one with an entire jar of red pepper a couple of days ago.

Well, at that point, what would you do if you were any self-respecting, all-american mutt dog?

Damn right.

Say hello to hole number three. Small, perhaps. But not for long.

I think I will now refer to them as the triumvirate.

UPDATE: Just got a comment from a reader saying that if I have three holes they should be called Tom, Dick & Harry. How silly of me not to think of that. Of course, he's absolutely right. And I'm like Charles Bronson... if he were a dog.

Back Off, Foot.

Someone just emailed me this video. Take a look at it. It's footage of a dog gnawing on a bone.

As he gnaws, his rear foot reaches up towards his face. In reaction to the foot (remember, its his foot) the dog gets all pissed and starts growling at it. He then moves the bone over to the arm of the couch, seemingly, to get it away from the foot. The foot then begins reaching again. Finally the dog has enough and simply reaches down and bites it.

He bites his foot.

His own foot.



I may dig holes, lick my wiener, eat bugs, wipe my ass on the carpet, shed relentlessly, and kick the asses of those dogs across the street. But I have never, ever, ever gotten into an argument with my own foot and then, in frustration, bit it as though it belonged to someone else.

That's some crazy shit, right there.

Let's Talk About Asses and Shit, Shall We?

Okay humans. It's time for you to stop getting mad at me for my "behavior."

I'm terribly sorry that I'm a dog and occasionally I need to rub my ass on the carpet.

If I were a baby human, you all would have spent countless hours training me to defecate on a toilet and wipe myself when I was through. And after three years or so, I would have had it all figured out.

Hey guess what? I'm not a human. So instead, when you got me, I already knew that shitting was supposed to be done outside, in the grass. You've never had to train me for that. I just do it.

But you see, then there's the whole thing about wiping my butt. So let me ask you a question. If you pooped outside, and then after you pooped, there was still remnants of fecal matter on your butt, what would you do? Remember, you can't use toilet paper, because you're a dog and that would be impossible.

Well? I'll tell you what you would do. You would go back in the house and drag your rectum across the carpet to clean things up.

Would you prefer that I just leave it there, itching and burning? Or do you want me to come up with some secret code, so that I can tell you when I need it and you can get a wetnap and clean it for me?

Yeah, like that would ever happen.

So every now and then the carpet gets a stripe. Small price to pay for the enjoyment of my company, I think.

Besides... why get mad? You saw how much good that did you with my hole digging.

More Holes.

Some time ago I posted about the biggest hole in the world. Well, recently I found this site that features photographs of even more huge holes.

If my humans don't keep covering my holes up and putting pepper all over them, maybe I'll dig one of these one day.

Sweet.

Man, that's awesome.

Not much more I can say about it.

Goddamn cats. I hate em.

Learn From The Master.

When you love getting petted as much as I do, you learn to do it well.

You wouldn't think that getting petted requires effort on the recipient's part. But you'd be wrong.

The key is to place your head wherever the human's hand happens to be located. If he's sitting in his chair and his hand drops to the side, quickly run over there and put your head or back under it. If he's standing, go sit next to him and and rear up until your head is, again, right under his hand. (see the photo and my excellent form utilizing that particular method)

Another tip... be relentless. If they say no, just walk away for a moment. Get a drink of water. Go outside. Then come back and try again. Sometimes they forget that they just said no.

Of course, I must admit that the fondness I have for the alpha male in my house helps. I remain by his side constantly. He pets frequently... and he's damn good at it.

Humans also love loyalty. That's why the alpha male adores me. I kiss his ass.

But it pays off. I have free reign of the house... I sleep in the human's bed... and, thankfully, there are no other dogs here to get in my way.

Life is good.