Winston Wants Chicken!!!

I think I am finally getting the art of begging down- I mean, why eat dog food when you can eat human food, right? Plus the only way dad gets to make and eat meat is if he shares it with me! I have discovered that being ultra cute is not the way to go. When I started my begging career, I would try to be real sweet- I would put my head up on dad's lap, and look at him, I would go under the table and try to jump on his lap, I would nibble at his pants legs to show that I was hungry. Oddly enough, that just got me yelled at, and I was so badorable. (Badorable- adj. my dad works for a dictionary so he can make words up I guess- this is a verbal conjunction of bad and adorable, badorable).

Finally I started to just stand there and throw tantrums. My parents thought this was funny. I would whine and bark and then stamp my feet. It is really hard to stamp your feet when you are a dog, it takes a little bit of coordination. I had to stamp my left front foot, right back foot, left back foot to get that stomp stomp stomp sound without falling over.

If I sit on the hard, cold, wood floor, I usually get a treat- but my butt is all slidey, and I don't want to sit there.

Anyway, after they eat, I usually get food, but seriously, I deserve to be fed don't I? I mean, they are suppossed to take care of me, why don't they give me there food? I only get bits, not a whole meal like them! (A few days ago, mom found out that I was barely eating half of what I was supossed to be eating, so they have been focused on getting me to eat mounds of my dog food... but I don't like it)

Well, off to beg some more, it is almost breakfast time, and that means... TOAST!

Woof!

To Become a Wolf, or at least, To Get Toast

Hello, or should I say woof! My name is Winston Jacob Bengfort, otherwise known as Wraggles, Wrinkles, Winny, Win, bad dog!, Such a Puppy, Sit, Winston MacWraggles, Wrinkle MacWinston, Good Boy, or Come Here. why a dog needs so many names, I don't know- I suspect it has to do with my mom who seems to come up with a new one every day!

Today, after a long walk in the rain, I decided that I should start my own blog. For one, it keeps me out of the rain- and for two I am four months old! I feel like I should be doing something with my life other than just sitting around sleeping, and looking for food. And since I am an English dog with American parents, I figure that I am just as interesting if not more than those other dogs in the park. So here it is- the world from my perspective (or at least the world as viewed from behind my ears).

I suppose I should introduce myself a little bit first- since many of you who are reading this have yet to meet me. My two main ambitions in life are getting toast- the most wonderful substance in all the world! And to become a wolf. I have been trying to get my mom and dad to run with me like a pack, but every time I get about three feet away, I get yanked back by that dang leash.

Which brings me to an interesting subject- the leash. Do wolves have leashes? I think not! And yet, every time I see the leash I get so excited. I don't know why- I mean, I love walks as much as the next guy- a chance to see the worlds, meet other dogs, go to the park to eat cow poo, and jump on pedestrians! But when I see that leash, I go mad because I know that it will keep me from running into the road or jumping into mud or playing with bigger dogs and all those fun things.

I yearn for freedom. Every day that the kennel door opens when my dad wakes me up at 6 AM, I bolt out of it- not because I have to potty, or because I am going to get food, but because I am finally free! It is my den, however, so I do go back in and nap while dad makes coffee. I mean, have you tried to potty outside at 6 am in English weather? I don't think so. When mom closes the door to the office so she can work, I sit at the door waiting, watching, ready to get out. Just so I can sit at the top of the stairs and look down, because I can. (Then I run to tear something else up, or grab socks and hide under the bed!)

The point is, wolves are free- free to run, free to be in their den or not be, free to look out any window they want, and eat any socks they want... oh, speaking of looking out the window, what a nasty day it is outside! Rainy and dreary, and... English... maybe I'll just see if I can go beg for some toast!

Bark!