Sammy Says . . .

While I'm not quite a Two-Toed Sloth, I do lay around a lot. I sigh a lot too. With D caring for Bean and Pau at work, I have the whole day to fill. My time is split between laying around and pestering our cat, Lacy. She was rescued from jail, just like me. Don't get me wrong, neither of us did hard time. It, other than my little cage, was quite nice actually. Three squares a day, and all that, hell; they even had a volunteer who walked me. Not as good as a walk with Paul, but a walk is still a walk, right? A lot of my fellow jailed runaways wouldn't shut up, however, and that sucked. But, again, I digress.

Anyway, back to pestering Lacy. I love it. She (the poor thing) is declawed. Apparently her last owners were sadists, because that kind of thing is bad news. Bad News Bears, you know what I mean? She's got it good here though. Plenty of corners for her to hide in, they even got here one of those scratch post things (which I would knock the hell over if I could). But, sometimes, I get bored and go on the prowl, and that's when Happy Hour starts in mi casa, amigo. I like to sniff her out, and then the chase is on. She swipes at me, but I know she can't hurt me. I don't think she realized that I know the claws are gone. I'm not afraid. There is no reason to be. Now, if she had claws? Well I ain't stupid. I like my nose the way it is, in one piece.

About Pau, he doesn't seem to really like his job. I think he'd rather have my life. You know, all footloose and fancy free. But someone has to make the scratch to buy my food! And I ain't no Hollywood dog, I mean why work when the puppy dog eyes and a sigh technique has worked so well?. I saw Turner and Hooch, and I, as a dog, didn't appreciate the way they made fun of Hooch's drooling problem. All this saliva, coupled with such a long tongue can really blow sometimes. You try to keep it under control when someone is dangling a biscuit in your face. Pavlov while obviously a good scientist, really, in my opinion, sold us out. Collectively. If I could talk, do you know what I would say? I'd say, "Hey, stop messing around and just give me the damn biscuit. We both know that I can roll the fuck over; I showed you that shit yesterday. Right now I want my biscuit, and I ain't doing any song and dance routine to get it." I, by the way, prefer the green milk bones. I do. You can take the "beef liver" brown colored milk bone and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. Who likes liver anyways? I know who doesn't. Me. Sammy. Sammy the F'N Bull. That's who.

Now if only I could get in on the cat nip. I've sniffed it, and you know what? It doesn't do it for me. I asked Lacy once what it was about the nip that did it for her. She just looked at me with those crazy Cats' eyes and yelled out, "WHOOOOHOOOO!", and then freaked the hell out. Lacy is crazy, man. I'm telling you. She's cuckoo for the nip. Me? Hell, I'm cool with a squeaky toy. That's hours of fun right there. A lot of people probably think that chasing a squeaky toy around is boring. Hell, after 3-4 throws I can even tell that Pau ain't into it anymore. But, I mean, what's a dog to do? I mean, for shit sake, I got to stay spry, man. If you were fast like me then you'd realize that sometimes you gotta stretch your shit out to keep what the good moon gave ya!