Country life

Finally made it up to the country house this weekend. Great to be able to stretch my legs and inhale the fresh country air. You can't beat those smells — bear poop, cougar poop and my personal favourite, horse poop. But what is it with the wildlife up there? I got all excited when I saw a bunch of funny-looking animals with big ears munching on some grass. I ran over to join them and they took off like their white butts were on fire! How rude. And how stupid to run that fast when nobody has even thrown a ball ...

Is this a dog?

I mean, come on — how can someone with a mug like this be a member of my species? Even Botox couldn't help with those wrinkles. And how does he breathe through that nose, much less sniff out anything interesting in the garbage? Perhaps that's why Buddy here waddles around with his tongue sticking out most of the time — the only way he's going to find something good to eat when he's out and about is if it falls out of the sky and lands on his face. Come to think of it, that might be an improvement ...

Hail to the pooch

So what is all this fuss over the dog moving into the White House? I'm told Bo a Portuguese water dog, but he looks like a scruffy two-tone poodle with a goofy tail to me. And what's with bragging that he's a "water dog"? Get me within 100 yards of a fish pond or a wading pool and I'll jump right in, but I don't feel the need to show off by putting it in my name. Mine tells you that I have a skill — I retrieve things. What's this guy's special talent, watering the carpet in the Oval Office? And how important can the First Dog be if he doesn't even have a blog?

Dogs don't do dictionaries

The person who feeds me has been trying to teach me a new word, "counter-productive." It's a bit of an abstract concept for me, since it doesn't involve food. But she keeps using it — for example, when she's trying to get out of bed in the morning and I'm lying on top of her, and when she's trying to put her shoes on to take me for a walk and I'm shoving my head between her knees. I don't get it. I just know she wastes a lot of time trying to explain big words to me when she should be getting out of bed and putting her shoes on to take me for a walk...

Canine couture

It must be spring because the little dogs have traded in their fleece-lined winter jackets for jaunty little numbers like the one Olive is wearing here (with coordinated leash, no less). I say "little dogs" because no big dog with any self-respect would tolerate being dolled up like this. I suppose it's fine for the pint-sized mutts — they need to do everything they can to draw attention down to their level, which I imagine is why Olive has a bark that could shatter a plate-glass window. But stick me in one of these things and I'll roll over in the first mud puddle I can find. Of course, I'll do that without the silly coat too ..

Home Alone (not the movie)

I'm bored. The person who feeds me has left me alone — again — and there is absolutely nothing fun to do. She wonders why I do things I'm not supposed to when she's away, like eating everything I can find on the kitchen counters (kiwi fruit, by the way, looks furry on the outside but tastes nothing like meat). It's because I am B-O-R-E-D. She sometimes leaves the radio on when she goes out, but what good is that? If she really wants to keep me amused, she should leave the fridge open.

Retrievers rule

This is me with Piper and Rusty, who are my kind of dogs. I don't know why they make any breeds other than goldens — clearly, they got it right with us. Although I'm not completely sure about either of these two. Piper likes to rumble with every dog in the park and she does this silly little prancing thing when she runs, both of which I find quite juvenile. And Rusty, who seems like a fine fellow otherwise, is apparently afraid of the water! Both of them need a refresher course in the golden rules.