Thursday, November 09, 2006

Public Notice to All Dogs in My House

It is unacceptable to wake the Master at 6 AM by snorting and chuffing in a vexatious manner.

When snorting and chuffing fail to wake the Master, it is equally unacceptable to attempt to raise the Master by licking the floor covering until gagging ensues. The Master knows that you are just being a devious little bastard and are not really choking on carpet fuzz.

When the Little Dog’s snorting, chuffing and gagging fail to wake the Master, it is unacceptable for the Big Dog to dance around the bed whimpering and pounding her tail on the box spring like a Taiko drummer on Bennies.

Upon raising the Master with your desperate snorting, chuffing, gagging and drumming, it is unnecessary to follow the Master into the bathroom and sit two inches away while wearing the hard stare of a prison warden. The Master has never forgotten to take you outside or feed you. The Master has no logical motivation to climb out a second-story window in effort to avoid taking you outside or feeding you. Furthermore, the Master is a little pee-shy.

Upon leading the Master outside into the freezing cold, it is unacceptable to ignore the business at hand in favor of staring intently down the street as if anticipating an Apache ambush. This is not a John Ford film. It is a time when you are robbing the Master of precious sleep with your Rin Tin Tin tomfoolery. To expedite matters, I suggest that dogs imagine themselves in a John Waters film. By performing bodily functions on cue, dogs will earn top billing and a breakfast befitting of such artistes.

After breakfast, it is unnecessary to express your appreciation by jumping up on the bed and sneezing kibble bits onto the Master’s face.

While preparing to settle in with the Master for another few hours’ sleep, frantic digging on the Master’s belly should be avoided. The Master’s abdomen is not made of such materials as can be burrowed into or shifted about.

Upon settling in with the Master, it is undesirable for dogs to compete to see who can get the largest square footage of dog-on-human body contact on either side of the Master. This makes it impossible for the Master to move or breathe. The Master is not a cocktail sausage and does not wish to be tied up in the bedclothes like a Pig in a Blanket.


cheated are the clouds said...

I hate to be the one to tell you but i think you have the roles reversed to who is actually master

extrastorchy said...

Ya think? ;)

Anonymous said...

[I]"This is not a John Ford film.",[/I]

Hee...Hee...Hee...(that was my favorite part.)


jeff hart said...

"The Master is not a cocktail sausage and does not wish to be tied up in the bedclothes like a Pig in a Blanket."

to which tom replies "please god, let this be in reference to the dogs!"

extrastorchy said...

You've stumbled onto something, Jeff. Truth is, I trapped him into marrying me by telling him that I was, in fact, a cocktail sausage. In my defense, I didn't really think he'd fall for it.

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Susan Graham