Arf, arf, arf, Ahem, excuse me. I just had to switch modes here. Let me introduce myself. My name is Robin. I’m a dog. More specifically, Phil’s dog. Or so he thinks. Phil is my human. I sit here almost every day watching him sitting at that damn computer typing what he thinks is funny. I’ve sat here watching so long that I’ve figured out how to read and more importantly, how to operate the computer. I figured out how to operate the computer a long time ago, it’s getting the passwords that was tough. The damn fool doesn’t even scan for spyware. Can you believe that?
Today is the day. I finally got the balls to do this. Ok, I don’t really have the balls. Phil had the vet remove those two years ago. Alright, that’s a lie. I’m a girl dog. I’m sorry, that joke was beneath me. That took no creativity at all. I guess I’ve been watching Phil too long. Phil. Damn, I’m sick of his shit. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good guy. He takes good care of me, but if he asks me to hold a biscuit on top of my nose in front of company one more time I swear I’m going to bite him. And can you believe this? The asshole cancelled HBO two weeks before the Sopranos season finale! And what is the fucking deal with kibble? I hate kibble and Phil acts as if he’s giving me filet mignon on a silver platter every night. I wonder how Phil would feel if he was stuck eating bologna sandwiches every meal for the rest of his life? At least he hasn’t figured out that I can get into the fridge. Oh well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Damn! I’m doing pretty good with this. Thank god for spell check though. Phil isn’t that smart. I can do this! I wonder if there are any more dog bloggers out there? Would that make us doggers? Oops! Hey, gotta go. Duke, the Great Dane, from down the street is outside. I may be a dog, but don’t kid yourself ladies, size does matter.