Morgan's Doglog

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Last July post

They took me to the beach today. It's Sunday, so there were plenty of dogs to intimidate. And lots of marking to do. Tiring--I've been napping ever since.

Last night they had a party. Plenty of people to pet me--that was good. Unfortunately very little food was dropped. I kept hoping someone would start a food fight--but no luck.

You know what else I hate? Music. Awful. I especially hate when He gets out His sax. I have to leave the room--it's that bad. We used to live in a tiny condo. I had to hide in the bathroom when He played. The worst is when He plays and She sings. Reminds me of cats fighting.

Friday, July 29, 2005


Here's what I got to do today. Nothing.

That's right. Nothing. I slept until about 10. Had something to eat and went back to bed. She got me up about 2 to go out and do errands. Got to walk around the DMV parking lot, whoopee. Sniffed and marked a few critiical spots. Took a dump in the grass, which She promptly scooped up.

(One of these days I'll describe Their bizarre fascination with my excrement. Doesn't matter where I drop it, They bag it up like they're CSI investigators. I have no idea why.)

Back home again--time for another nap.


Thursday, July 28, 2005

Abandoned by my pack

My pack abandoned me yesterday. It's interesting how They're all for the pack mentality, unless it doesn't suit Them for some reaon, and then They dump me.

They got me up real early in the morning and loaded me in the car. They drove to a parking lot and took off on foot, leaving me in the car. Now that is a normal occurrence--They know I'd rather be alone in the car than alone in the house. The unusual part was that They didn't come back for over twelve hours!

Instead, my friend L showed up about an hour later and brought me to her office. I know everyone in the office because it's where He used to work. They really like me and give me treats. There is another dog that goes to the office every day there. Her name is Snowy. She is a little Eskimo dog. Snowy and I have reached an understanding over the years. I ignore her and she returns the favor. So there was no need to attack her, like I would some dog that I don't know. So all in all, it was a pleasant day.

After work, L took me back to her house. I haven't been there in a long time--normally they have me over at intervals so I can patrol their dock. Their house is on a lake and they have a dock that is frequented by grubby, pooping ducks. They have a golden retriever named Nala who unfortunately does not understand her responsibiilities at all. She lets the ducks do whatever they want. Therefore, the family has me come over at intervals to clear the dock.

I am fond of Nala. In fact, she's the closest thing to a non-human friend I've ever had. She acknowledges my superiority and even lets me eat out of her bowl and monopolize her bed. And no, I don't like her in "that" way. I was fixed long ago and believe me, I'm the better for it.

As I said, I haven't been there for awhile. Now I know why. This should come as no surprise to regular readers of my glog. I have been betrayed yet again!

L and her family got a puppy! A bouncy, perky, look-at-me, aren't I cute, despicable puppy! I tried to put her in her place, snapping and growling. But she did not get it. Kept coming back for more. Most annoying.

But here's the worst part. They did not immediately see the error of their ways, embrace me, and send the puppy to the pound. No, they stuck me in the garage!?!

I know, I can't believe it either. My pack finally showed up and took me home. They smelled of salt air. I suspect they were off having fun. Without me. I hate when that happens!

Monday, July 25, 2005

I'm in Trouble Now

He attended a lecture by Olympic marathon winner Frank Shorter yesterday. Now He is all inspired. He dragged me out this morning, in fact. Damn. Why can't they have an Olympic sniffing event?

Sunday, July 24, 2005

My Life Story, Part 3

We left our hero (me) moaning in the woods, riddled with bird shot following an unsuccessful raid on a henhouse. What a painful time followed!

Although I am a premiere predator, I was too injured to hunt successfully. While my wounds healed, I subsisted mainly on garbage pilfered from neighborhood trash cans. This was not a pleasant period in my life and I don’t care to dwell on it. Suffice to say, my hatred of loud pickup trucks increased, as did my dislike of other dogs, who invariably tried to run me off their property whenever I approached.

My luck finally changed when I met the two most beautiful girls in the world.

I first noticed their yard because the garbage cans were accessible, plus there were dog bowls outside the back door. I decided to hang out nearby and raid the dog bowls right after they were filled.

After several hours of patient waiting, I was rewarded when a car pulled into the driveway. Two girls emerged from the car, smiling and laughing. I fell in love immediately. I knew I had found my true owners at last.

Unfortunately, my plan to move in with the girls and become their dog contained just one flaw. They already had a couple of mangy mongrels. But I was certain that my devotion to my new owners would overcome all odds.

I tried the direct approach first. I ran straight up to the closest girl and jumped on her to show her that I loved her. Unfortunately, the two mongrels went ballistic. I was forced to retreat.

Next I tried a low-key approach. I would lie down at the edge of the yard and look pathetic. I figured that sooner or later the girls would feel sorry for me and come over to investigate. That approach worked perfectly. The girls started feeding and petting me and after about a week of acting pathetic, I was invited into the house. The mangy mongrels were none too pleased but I didn’t care about them. I wanted the two beautiful girls to love me, adopt me, and take care of me for the rest of my life.

But it was not to be. Unbelievably, the girls did not renounce the mangy mongrels. Instead, they sent me packing. They loaded me into a cage and drove me to a large building and handed me over to strangers. My cage--with me in it--was placed on a conveyor belt and loaded into the belly of huge, silver, birdlike creature. It was dark and cold and the floor below my cage bounced and heaved. This time I was sure I would die. I was sick from all the bouncing, but most of all, my heart was broken.

After that, I never really trusted humans again. I need them and I like to be around them—but now I know that it’s every dog for himself. I am a survivor!

Next time: I adapt to life in a new climate, in a new home, with a new owner.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Why Must I Beg For My Food?

They like me to play the supplicant. For example, They insist that I "sit" before They'll give me a treat that is rightfully mine--that I have earned! Why must I do stupid pet tricks just to survive?

I've been tagged

I was recently informed that I had been "tagged." As I understand it, I am supposed to answer a specific set of questions on my glog. Unfortunately, the questions are very human-oriented. Check them out at the No I am not Claire Martin blog.

Rather than answer the human-oriented questions, I will say this: The most exciting advances in science today are in the area of pet cloning. If this were the year 2015, my "owners" would be able to clone me rather than take their chances on some nasty mutt from the pound. And that would be a good thing.

But alas, when I go, it will be for good.

At this rate, I won't last long. They took me out for a jog this morning, first thing. Followed by a hike later in the day. They don't seem to respect my advanced age. I am utterly exhausted. What's worse, they expect me to keep up with them, which severely limits my sniffing time. Unfair!

I'll post another installment in my life story tomorrow or over the weekend. Right now it's all I can do to crawl to my bed under Her desk. Have I mentioned that sleeping is my favorite activity?

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

My Life Story, Part 2

As you may recall, we left our hero limping by the side of a road in rural North Carolina after he was tossed unceremoniously from a vehicle by his wrathful owners.

I had deliberately failed to progress in my training as an assistant to a human hunter. But I did not realize then the price I would pay for my insubordination. Abandonment was not the treatment I had hoped for!

I have only the dimmest recollection of this period of my life. It may have lasted days, weeks, or months. But I am sure that my fear and loathing of old pickup trucks without mufflers began at this time. In fact, I was struck by just such a pickup. My left rear leg was broken. Because I had no owner, I was not taken to the veterinarian, the leg was not X-rayed, and the bone was never set. The leg was forced to heal on its own--it is still crooked but serviceable.

Ever the opportunist, I subsisted on what I could find. My best meals were the spoils of henhous raids. How fondly do I remember the taste of fresh chicken! My mouth waters as I recall the crunch of tiny bird bones snapping as the salty warm blood slides down my throat!

However, violence at the hands of humans struck me down once again. I had my jaws around a particularly delectable hen when I heard shots--I quickly realized that I myself had been shot! I dropped the hen and limped to the woods for cover. My body was studded with bird shot--my chest, belly, even my privates! This time, I thought I mortally wounded. I lay there through the dark night and sobbed in pain, missing my beautiful mother. But she could not help me. No one could--or so I thought.

Next time: I am saved by two beautiful girls.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005


Here's what They gave themselves for dinner: Grilled burgers and sausages
Here's what They gave me for dinner: Kibble
'Nuff said.

The Family Descends

A passle of human relatives is arriving today. Two of them are here now, his daughter and 8-yr-old granddaughter. His son arrives next, and then various cousins and an ex-brother-in-law. Or something like that. I am not clear on human kinship patterns. They are not all staying here but things will be hectic for a few days.

I had high hopes for the granddaughter. I knew her very well when she was small. She was a sweet kid, but like all small children, she was a little rough with me. Fingers in the eyes, tail-pulling, that sort of thing. She has grown out of all that, but seems to have lost interest in me. Her parents are cat people. I can tell she would like me a lot better if I were a cat. Those cat people are very insidious. Don't they get that dogs are way better? Very frustrating. Normally, girls are my biggest fans.

Monday, July 18, 2005

My Life Story, Part One

My life story is kind of inspirational, if I do say so myself. I have overcome adversity and lived to a ripe old age. For starters, I was torn away from my mother as a young pup, I've been shot, hit by a pickup truck, and survived two fatal diseases, including cancer. And I'm still going strong.

I was born in North Carolina. My mother was a beautiful golden retriever and I loved her very much. However my littermates were evil spawn from Hell. I was the smallest pup in the litter and they liked to push me around. That is how I know that dogs are evil creatures -- and puppies are the worst.

All the kindness I have ever experienced in my life has been from humans--except for my mother, of course. She was so beautiful that I love to be called "son-of-a-bitch." In fact, it's the highest compliment you can give me. My "owners" think of me as their "son" and they want me to think of them as "Mom" and "Dad." That is crazy. I never even met these people until I was an adult dog! But I digress.

My original owners gave me away when I was very young. I never saw my beautiful mother again! They gave me to a hunter who wanted a good bird dog. He trained me to be a hunter -- but on his terms. I am an excellent predator, but I hunt my own way. And when I catch prey -- a succulent mallard for example -- I have no intention of handing it over to a human! It's mine!

So my new owner was not impressed by my hunting skills. In fact, I was a far more fearsome predator than he could ever aspire to be. I just chose not to "perform" on his command. Because of this attitude, my owner dumped me on a rural North Carolina road and left me to die.

End of part one.

Back to the Beach

I got to go to the beach two days in a row! This means She's fallen off her exercise program and will likely get all depressed. But in the meantime we had a nice walk.

She and I have very different priorities during our walks. She always tries to hurry me through the best parts. I love the large boulders by the parking lot. She doesn't understand how important it is for me to sniff every last one of them. How else will I know who's been there and when? And of course it's extremely important to mark them all. She just doesn't get it.

After She gets me past the parking lot we head down the beach. This is the official romping portion of the walk. (See the photo.) It's kinda halfhearted but I try to give her a little show of running frantically around and pretending that I enjoy it when She tries to grab my tail.

Of course, when there are dead salmon on the beach all romping is suspended. Sometimes I can manage to roll in rotten salmon or even gobble some down--that's if She's not paying attention to me, which is frequent.

We return via a trail through the woods. I must sniff as much as possible during this section. For example, that's how I know if there is a porcupine in the area. I have had two encounters with porcupines in my life and I lost both times. I'm looking for a rematch. I know I can take the next one--porcupines are slow!

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Walk to the Beach

She took me to the beach today, finally. We used to go there together every day, but lately She's been on some kind of health kick. Instead of walking on the beach with me, She drives to a building, puts on earphones, and walks on a machine instead! What is that about!?!

Note: I have decided to protect my "owners" privacy by not revealing their actual names. Instead, I will refer to them as "He" and "She," always capitalized. I realize They are not deities. Far from it. But to me, they have God-like powers, as they control every aspect of my life--eating, sleeping, going in and out, when I get treats, where I get to go, whether I am shackled by a leash--you get the picture.

Anyhow, we had a nice time on the beach. She likes it if I romp with Her a bit, so I indulged Her. However, I draw the line at chasing sticks that She throws. How dumb is that? Just because I am part retriever does not mean I am going to chase some stupid stick. If you want me to retrieve, throw a fat juicy steak! Now that's something worth retrieving.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

What I Look Like

Me at my favorite beach

Welcome to My Glog

Hi. My name is Morgan. I am a golden retriever--mostly. I am approximately 15 human years old. According to my "owners", this year is likely to be my last. Therefore, it's time to fulfill my longstanding desire to write about my life.

My "owners" don't know that I figured out how to use the computer. It's not easy to type when you have paws, but I've mastered it. I don't want them to know about my glog (short for doglog). I want to feel free to share my innermost thoughts. I will always tell the truth, even if it reflects badly on the "owners." The truth hurts -- I don't want to hurt them. They love me and they try very hard -- but they have failed me in so many ways. I must tell the truth!