Tuesday, July 03, 2012

Call the RSPCA!

George here. I've sneaked on the computer while Mum is baking to send this urgent message to all my friends out there: call the RSPCA! Call Social services! I am a neglected dog. You don't believe me? Wait until I tell you what happened yesterday ...

Mum sends me out as usual for my late-night wee and check of the garden for monsters - I frighten off a few with my ferocious barking - and then I have a little wander around the place, sniffing the grass for signs of those doggone foxes. I notice the lights going out in the hall as I'm passing the front door and can just hear Mum saying, 'Night, George, see you in the morning, sleep tight,' and I'm thinking this is a bit odd but don't make too much of it.

I make my final sortie, and go and sit on the front door step and wait to be let in. And wait. And wait. I hear Bob in his garden round the back so I run back there to woof good night and finally, when I'm there, I hear Mum shouting, 'George, George, where are you?'

When I get back to the front door, Mum's standing there in her nightie, saying, 'Oh George, you twit! Why didn't you bark to remind me to let you in!'

So it's my fault now? She goes to bed and forgets about me and it's my fault? Same as it was my fault that I got left behind in Devon I suppose.

They forget about me, make me go for long walks in the rain, tell me I'm fat and on a diet and they expect me to be their faithful hound. Take me back to the kennels, please, someone! 


Furtheron said...

Poor George.

I think Mum is a bit preoccupied with stuff at the moment, you need to give her a bit of a break. I'm sure she'll be right as rain soon enough.

Rose said...

Oh George, I'm so sorry for what you've had to endure, but I hope you'll give your Mum another chance. I'm sure she had something very important on her mind and absent-mindedly thought she had let you back in. If it's any comfort at all, I've done the same thing with Sophie before, though her dad is usually the culprit. She's learned that we humans can be a bit scatterbrained and that she needs to bark very loud occasionally to clear our heads. I know your Mum loves you very much...she just needs a little more training.

BanksyBoy said...

Be careful, otherwise George might start calling you Aliss ;-)


Trubes said...

Hello George, I know exactly how you feel, I was shut in the garage by my Dad and I was soooh hungry too....I could hear the microwave ping, indicating that my nightly piece of cod was ready. Eventually the dozy pair heard my pitiful mewing, (which I extenuated for effect), herself rescued me, she said she thought I had sloped off upstairs for a snooze... As if, as my favourite dinner was being served....Humans eh George darlingth.... they havn't a clue.. I know you don't like cats much but I'm sure you'd like me...I'm not like your average cat as mummy calls me Princess, quite right too.
Yours ever,
HRH The Princess Chloe of Childwall.....purrrr zzzzzng xxx
Psst... I do hope you've recovered from your trauma...CW...xx

Gledwood said...

George, I thought at first you were saying you'd sneaked to the computer while Liz was BARKING...

well it makes sense whatever way you read it ;-)

Leslie: said...

Oh George, naughty George! After all you've put your mum through, you absolutey must forgive her this one time! I have to say, though, the image of you sitting there at the front door wondering what was going on is rather amusing!

jams o donnell said...

Tsk tsk George no sympathy given the hell you put your mum through!

Ole Phat Stu said...

Baha Men : Who let the dogs out ?


Suburbia said...

Well I guess if the Prime minister can forget his daughter is in the pub then....!

SmitoniusAndSonata said...

It's all going to the dogs , eh George ?

NitWit1 said...

Well George, relax a bit. This is Luckie, a rescue mutt from the pound. An old couple adopted me, after a vet begged them to save my life as I had heartworms. At first they were reluctant as heartworms to them was a death sentence, but the vet begged over 3 days and agreed to cover part of the costs, so they relented.

They took me to their modest home, known as a manufactured home or a trailor home in US and let me pick out my own liftchair. They never sit in it--it's mine. I sleep in their bed.

Yeah they say I'm fat, too, but feed me a tad regularly and keep me supplied in water, sometimes with ice in hot weather.

And once in awhile they have a little senility and forget to feed me. I have free reign of a fenced back yard and can survive on a chipmunk or two.

However, they expect me to be a mouser. too. Have they ever heard of a C-A-T?

Also lots of their friends love me and give me all manner of treats, both doggie and human under the table, much to their chagrin.

Of course, I suffered some disgrace when I eat loaves of Master's bread when he leaves it on the table where I can reach it. I wouldn't eat the pancake pattie wheat thins diet stuff the Mistress eats. She must be nutz nutz, nutz.

I have been here over 10 years and mellowed a bit, but I still have my moments, especially when they go to church and leave the bread in a tempting place.

So maybe you can absorb a little undeserved blame, cuz I think you have a pretty cushy home, too.

After all you and I don't seem to speak our owners' language. Luckie