Hey everybody, my name is Tedford. I am Pete's golden retriever. The Arden Park homeowners’ association wouldn’t allow Pete to get an actual golden bear, so he’s stuck with me.
What a fun keyboard! Pete left me in the house today. He was rushing out, mumbling something about needing to close a deal, little league practice and a raging hangover. I couldn’t hear it all. I was hiding in the laundry room hoping he wouldn’t notice me. I’ve gotten tired of chewing up most of the good stuff around here. I didn’t know this keyboard was for communicating. I found the “tab”, “Q” and “F12” keys in the stool sample I left on the area rug. So I won’t be using those keys. If only I had thumbs I could try to fish them out and snap them back on.
Which leads me to my plea; I don’t have thumbs, yet Pete constantly ties a piece of leather to my paw and hits balls at me. The kids will be all tired out but Pete keeps going. I don’t even know what he is talking about. He says “alright Tedford, let’s get two” then he only hits one ball and I need to chase it down, the big leather thing flopping as I run. I look all around for the second ball then finally drop a slobbery mound of leather at his feet and pray he doesn’t hit it again. Ever since his big black lab, Marshawn, ran away for green pastures, he’s been running me ragged.
Then once a year, he makes me sit and answer questions. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I usually try to lick my balls to give him the hint I’m not listening anymore, but he just keeps going. So then I lick his face. “Tedford, if you are on second base and no one is on first, do you have to run?” Listen, Pete last time I got to second base was with that labradoodle bitch next door and you yanked my choke chain so hard I nearly swallowed my tongue.
Anyway, could you fellas help a dog out? I know Pete needs to get his baseball fix in. And I know you are all about to start up the Bad Gnus season cuz Pete’s been wearing his tie-dyed shirt all around that Kathy keeps hiding in the garage. How about you guys get together Sunday, April 1 around 4:00 and hit some balls for Pete, drink some beers and just tire him out before he comes home and he tries to strap the catcher's equipment on me.
I gotta go. I see a drape in the other room that I forget to take a piss on. Thanks for your help!
What a fun keyboard! Pete left me in the house today. He was rushing out, mumbling something about needing to close a deal, little league practice and a raging hangover. I couldn’t hear it all. I was hiding in the laundry room hoping he wouldn’t notice me. I’ve gotten tired of chewing up most of the good stuff around here. I didn’t know this keyboard was for communicating. I found the “tab”, “Q” and “F12” keys in the stool sample I left on the area rug. So I won’t be using those keys. If only I had thumbs I could try to fish them out and snap them back on.
Which leads me to my plea; I don’t have thumbs, yet Pete constantly ties a piece of leather to my paw and hits balls at me. The kids will be all tired out but Pete keeps going. I don’t even know what he is talking about. He says “alright Tedford, let’s get two” then he only hits one ball and I need to chase it down, the big leather thing flopping as I run. I look all around for the second ball then finally drop a slobbery mound of leather at his feet and pray he doesn’t hit it again. Ever since his big black lab, Marshawn, ran away for green pastures, he’s been running me ragged.
Then once a year, he makes me sit and answer questions. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I usually try to lick my balls to give him the hint I’m not listening anymore, but he just keeps going. So then I lick his face. “Tedford, if you are on second base and no one is on first, do you have to run?” Listen, Pete last time I got to second base was with that labradoodle bitch next door and you yanked my choke chain so hard I nearly swallowed my tongue.
Anyway, could you fellas help a dog out? I know Pete needs to get his baseball fix in. And I know you are all about to start up the Bad Gnus season cuz Pete’s been wearing his tie-dyed shirt all around that Kathy keeps hiding in the garage. How about you guys get together Sunday, April 1 around 4:00 and hit some balls for Pete, drink some beers and just tire him out before he comes home and he tries to strap the catcher's equipment on me.
I gotta go. I see a drape in the other room that I forget to take a piss on. Thanks for your help!
1 comment:
Thank you, Tedford. You write very well for a dog with a compromised keyboard - hell, for a dog with a perfect keyboard! Also, thanks for the "lick-your-balls-to-show-you've-stopped-listening" trick. I'm going to try it the next time my secretary starts to tell me about her weekend. I'll keep you posted.
Kirk
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