I love featuring other pets' interesting lives on my blog. Here is the first guest blog post from Bocci, a terrier buddy of mine who's perspective has been featured in Dog Fancy magazine and has his own website, Bocci's Beefs.
I’ve been pretty happy with the people I’ve been living with the last year, but you know, there’s always room for improvement. Take the cat for example. She’s really driving me crazy-always cuddling up with me (in my bed), doing those silly tumbles at my feet, and jumping over me at every opportunity. It seems that all I have to do is look up, and there she is, soaring over me from the kitchen table, chairs, bookshelves, you name it. Needless to say, my owners love this nonsense and roar with laughter at all her “endearing” antics-at my expense. I’ve been outwardly patient since I got here, but inside I’m just plain angry. After all, she was here first, and I badly needed a home, so I had to pretend I liked her just to get my paws in the door. But now I know that hiding how I really feel, probably isn’t doing my health any good. Lately, I feel exhausted even after my usual 15 hour nap.
Because I’m a pretty patient guy, I figured I’d wait till she got fat and lazy (as all cats will), and then she’d stop bugging me. But I’ll admit it, I got carried away and started to fantasize about arranging her “accidental demise”. So I did some research on the internet, (I Googled “dead cats” just for fun) and was shocked to find so many, uh, reference manuals. I must have looked through a dozen or more, with titles like: 101 Ways to kill Your Owner’s Cat, by Tom Cartwright, Hanging a Helpless Kitty, by Henry O’Neil, How Accidental Death Can Befall the Cat in Your Home, by Jamie Thompson, and Killing Felines For Dummies, by John McPherson. Boy, was I impressed! The schemes these guys hatched were sophisticated enough to leave the whole planet cat-less, no matter how many lives they’re supposed to have.
And it made me feel better just to know that I wasn’t the only dog in this predicament. In fact, I found blog after blog written by dogs just like me-dogs that had a happy home-except for the cat. But the difference was, they did something about it. I guess it must be pretty easy to get away with, or they wouldn’t be bragging to the whole world. Hey, I wonder what “posthumously” means?
Anyhow, now that you’ve got me started, there are more problems around here than just the cat. For example, what’s the deal with the food, and why can’t I eat it under the bed? I figure that food on the countertop is fair game-don’t you in your own house? One night, I’m laying there on my blanket happily munching on a salami, and I hear screaming and something like, “blah, blah, blah... that’s stuff’s $30 a pound!” The next thing I know I’m being dragged by my collar from my private spot under the bed (where I hide all the stuff I’ve stolen) to the cold, dark backyard. Ditto for the loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread, and the bag of dog biscuits that my vet gave to me. That food was in plain sight (once I jumped onto the chair and then the counter), so what’s the big deal?
And then there are my walks. Notice I stressed the word “my”. Who else are they for? But every darn day, the guy walks me with one set of rules, the gal does just the opposite, and I get caught in the middle, not knowing how I’m supposed to act. (Get this-they call themselves my “Mom” and “Dad”. So do you think they’re crazy about me, or what?) Here’s the problem: Dad clearly has no interest in being my pack leader, so I know that I can drag him anywhere I want-through the park at breakneck speed, and even straight up a tree for a squirrel. But with Mom, I’m on a tight leash, walking right beside her, like she’s the Dog Whisperer or something. How am I supposed to remember which is which? So one day, I see two squirrels race by, not a foot in front of me, and I go for ‘em. It wasn’t till I heard the sirens and saw the ambulance pull up that I realized that it was Mom who I’d dragged into a tree. Boy, she’s a real trooper. I hear she’ll be off her crutches in time for our spring walks.About the author Bocci (via Joan DeMartin)
Joan DeMartin is an adjunct writing instructor at the Columbus College of Art and Design, a widely published freelance writer (Dog Fancy, FIDO Friendly, Cesar's Way, among others), and a recovering attorney who practiced environmental law for 15 years before switching to the more genteel professions of teaching and writing.
Photo Credit: Clark Creative
I love featuring other pets' interesting lives on my blog. Here is the first guest blog post from Bocci, a terrier buddy of mine who's perspective has been featured in Dog Fancy magazine and has his own website, Bocci's Beefs.
I’ve been pretty happy with the people I’ve been living with the last year, but you know, there’s always room for improvement. Take the cat for example. She’s really driving me crazy-always cuddling up with me (in my bed), doing those silly tumbles at my feet, and jumping over me at every opportunity. It seems that all I have to do is look up, and there she is, soaring over me from the kitchen table, chairs, bookshelves, you name it. Needless to say, my owners love this nonsense and roar with laughter at all her “endearing” antics-at my expense. I’ve been outwardly patient since I got here, but inside I’m just plain angry. After all, she was here first, and I badly needed a home, so I had to pretend I liked her just to get my paws in the door. But now I know that hiding how I really feel, probably isn’t doing my health any good. Lately, I feel exhausted even after my usual 15 hour nap.
Because I’m a pretty patient guy, I figured I’d wait till she got fat and lazy (as all cats will), and then she’d stop bugging me. But I’ll admit it, I got carried away and started to fantasize about arranging her “accidental demise”. So I did some research on the internet, (I Googled “dead cats” just for fun) and was shocked to find so many, uh, reference manuals. I must have looked through a dozen or more, with titles like: 101 Ways to kill Your Owner’s Cat, by Tom Cartwright, Hanging a Helpless Kitty, by Henry O’Neil, How Accidental Death Can Befall the Cat in Your Home, by Jamie Thompson, and Killing Felines For Dummies, by John McPherson. Boy, was I impressed! The schemes these guys hatched were sophisticated enough to leave the whole planet cat-less, no matter how many lives they’re supposed to have.
And it made me feel better just to know that I wasn’t the only dog in this predicament. In fact, I found blog after blog written by dogs just like me-dogs that had a happy home-except for the cat. But the difference was, they did something about it. I guess it must be pretty easy to get away with, or they wouldn’t be bragging to the whole world. Hey, I wonder what “posthumously” means?
Anyhow, now that you’ve got me started, there are more problems around here than just the cat. For example, what’s the deal with the food, and why can’t I eat it under the bed? I figure that food on the countertop is fair game-don’t you in your own house? One night, I’m laying there on my blanket happily munching on a salami, and I hear screaming and something like, “blah, blah, blah... that’s stuff’s $30 a pound!” The next thing I know I’m being dragged by my collar from my private spot under the bed (where I hide all the stuff I’ve stolen) to the cold, dark backyard. Ditto for the loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread, and the bag of dog biscuits that my vet gave to me. That food was in plain sight (once I jumped onto the chair and then the counter), so what’s the big deal?
And then there are my walks. Notice I stressed the word “my”. Who else are they for? But every darn day, the guy walks me with one set of rules, the gal does just the opposite, and I get caught in the middle, not knowing how I’m supposed to act. (Get this-they call themselves my “Mom” and “Dad”. So do you think they’re crazy about me, or what?) Here’s the problem: Dad clearly has no interest in being my pack leader, so I know that I can drag him anywhere I want-through the park at breakneck speed, and even straight up a tree for a squirrel. But with Mom, I’m on a tight leash, walking right beside her, like she’s the Dog Whisperer or something. How am I supposed to remember which is which? So one day, I see two squirrels race by, not a foot in front of me, and I go for ‘em. It wasn’t till I heard the sirens and saw the ambulance pull up that I realized that it was Mom who I’d dragged into a tree. Boy, she’s a real trooper. I hear she’ll be off her crutches in time for our spring walks.
About the author Bocci (via Joan DeMartin)
Joan DeMartin is an adjunct writing instructor at the Columbus College of Art and Design, a widely published freelance writer (Dog Fancy, FIDO Friendly, Cesar's Way, among others), and a recovering attorney who practiced environmental law for 15 years before switching to the more genteel professions of teaching and writing.
Photo Credit: Clark Creative