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Rooster tripawed
28 Jan 2012


Author: rooster | Filed under: Uncategorized

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Today was and therefore I am.

Twas a slow day that started slow and just slowed down from there, I kinda like days like that and would let you know how it ended but spiritually it’s not quite over yet, though it has already ran into tomorrow. I didn’t do much today but sleep, which in itself is quite the grand thing to do at any given time and remains as well as eating and chasing things to be one of my top three things to do in life. And so given the lack of excitement bestowing a canine in my esteemed class of breed and lacking the potatoes thumbs and other much needed implements to make mashed taters I recon I have time to clear up this whole clandestine, easy as pie, understandably simple means of what I have come to term Dogblogging. So in the usual method of starting with a slow taunting turn the page ritual , building to the oh so wanted to know but oh so slow to bestow guessing game I’ll just cut to the meat so to speak and admit that Elvis is NOT dead and is living in the Illinois valley in southern Oregon. He is a bit old now and what hair left upon his wrinkled big head is quite white, and he wears this overstuffed red white and blue one piece zip up the front 70s I could vomit in your shoe but no thanks jumpsuit that from over the years hiding out in the Oregon hills has taken on the loveliest shade of babyshit green. The man really doesn’t say much and never ever sings just sits and stares off into space and every now and again would show up on my pet humans doorstep reeking of something so foul and rancid that it resembled and hinted less upon road kill or even road side canned for the dump garbage and rendered more an odor alongside the likes of a used human man sock stuffed full of Vicky’s homemade cinnamon rolls, strange as that may seem the fact that the  aroma is wafting from non-other than the KING himself leaves one to really miss the, malodorousness of the whole being. Well the king never made it a habit of showing up at any given time nor day and all in all kept towards the inklings that he just didn’t care for the human race as a whole and would rather share his time with the creatures of the woods and streams and just wash his hands in dirt of mankind, except that is when he ran out of cookies. You see the King as the saying goes had a bit of a sweet tooth and I aint talking no peanut butter banana fried home built mouth stuffer of old days but something oh so simple  comprised of not much more then oats and sugar and flour and chips of chocolate and butter of which had the odd resemblance of the King himself and hinted towards that sweet vulgar stench of dreams of none but the King. I guess by now you’re saying to yourself “what kinda bull is this the King alive and moldering and making cookies?” Yes indeed that was his intention. Every few months in the evening as it was that very second to beautifully mumble something towards the lines of “may i use your Oven?” In a mumbling I haven’t talked with human voiced critters in so long i don’t remember what it sounds like Elvis smooth as a baby’s ass ,rich as fort Knox once was at one time and suave as all get out. So my pet said sure why not being able to use the mumbling small talk that bestows one locked away yet  chain-less for so many years that a conversation without the wondering questions of a normal what in the heck has the world been up to since I been gone person would be able to take himself and sat back waited for the king to render forth the concoction of ingredients put together with but a bowl a spoon and the very spring water we drank ,ingredient’s that the king himself pulled out of his reeking one piece green tinted jumpsuit from the nether regions  that I would not care to explain nor even for that matter think of for any length of time. After baking this strange begotten and stranger smelling concoction and going through the whole Suzy homemaker ritual of removing the pans and readjusting the cookies on plates to cool he would take one cooled from the batch and with what I would swear were tears in his eyes would proceed before even indulging himself in one and offer with that Elvis gleaming look a cookie for the pleasure of my pet human. And as for me nothing not even a  crumble and knowing what I know now I am surely glad that the selfish bastard ,pardon the Hungarian, was as such, selfish  not Hungarian . But being the selfish bastard he was that was it one cookie, one cookie? What the heck was that all about? Then as silently and as stealth as a large balding man dressed in a green tinted red ,white and blue leather jump suit reeking of whatever sweet and sour cookie smelling used sock aroma he held he disappeared not to be seen for whoever knows how long until again he appears.   Well the first time i seen that kinda had me wondering and over a few years I would see the same thing repeated over and over time and time again. But the first was when I noticed the change in my pet human  he would sit and stare at the wall and remain quiet as though deep in thought and as I said to myself beings dog can’t talk “oh bother” my pet human said   “oh bother” ,kinda freaked me out, was he reading my mind ? Was I implanting the thoughts? What the heck just happened passed through this small dog brain of mine and I quickly decided to find out ,so I said “holy button holes” and sure enough my pet said the same thing onward i went making my pet human say  stupid things like ” I love dog food” and ” I will buy you the best most expensive dog food I can find” and after what seemed like hours of playing with this (make the pet human talk ) I got quite bored and on the sly just thought scratch human and low and behold he scratched, so to make a longer then long not small story short the next thing I had him doing was sitting in front of the keyboard typing words. Can you believe that a dog thinking up lines from movies I’ve seen and making the pet type them ,ha what a croak ,just think of the things I can do and thinking so I realized twernt nothing to benefit me . Well after time that got old the whole canine thought projection CTP and making the pet type though making him give me treats when he didn’t intend on it was cool got boring. Then along came this cancer thing which scared and still does the hell out of me even though I’m a dog and don’t believe any of it ,the God ,Devil ,heaven and hell  thing and so got the cool idea to start myself a Facebook page and tell this tale of mine in my thoughts with the aid of human technology and keep everyone up to date (as much as I cannot knowing some of the computer as well as medical lingo) but doing the best i can. So I wait until the right time (early morning hours) when the pet is writing his songs and slip one of the Elvis cookies, I long ago acquired making a deal with the King himself which will make another whole story in itself into my pets tea and wait. Seems to take a few hours and then low and behold i think (i love dog biscuit’s) and that’s just what the pet repeats tho almost at the same time i think them .So there you have it ,watching over his shoulder with spell check and all the other unknown to dogs and sometimes even humans I orchestrate my dog blog . So now at least you’ll know you’re really getting the skinny on all the facts of the days as they stack, of a three legged dog named Rooster.

So remember, keep chewing on that shoe.

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