A dog’s life…..

This one’s for the ladies who so often labels man as a dog and it’s mostly the ladies who tries to keep their men away from the outside life who does this. I know some brothers who’s not even allowed to leave home by themselves, the only time he gets out is when missus needs him to take her somewhere.

A wee quote to start with:

In the eternal words of a certain Mr. DarkManX (DMX as some know him):

A dog is a dog

Leave a dog Alone

Give a dog a bone

Let a dog roam

And he will find his way home…..

Truer words have never been spoken….. that’s my opinion, anyway. Therefore it’s the right one, since this is my blog, innit?

A dog that’s being kept on a leash or behind closed gates… will, the moment he gets his chance be out the gate running at high speed down the street (ore plat teen die kop soos die wind hom dra), not even sparing a look back to see if you’re chasing after him and will only come to a standstill when he’s sure you’re not following him, or you’re too far back to catch him.

He’ll be happy as a mofo, runnin’ around like he’s on triple xtra strong RedBull or something……he’d be sniffin’ at everything in his way, trying to get a taste of what the outside world is like. He’ll piss on trees, walls or any thing he deems steadfastly enough that won’t be moved. He’ll get into fights, some he’ll win and some he’ll lose or he’ll run off if he’s not in the mood for a fight or the odds are stacked against him. He might nail a bitch or two, depending on the options and availability. The mofo would be havin a moer of a jol, rollin’ in the grass/sand/rubbish…… happy to be away from the confines of that gawd damn leash.

He might stay out all night or be back before you know it and be barkin’ up a storm at the gate for you to open it so he can get back to his domesticated lifestyle and that darn torture device called a leash.

As soon you open that gate, he’d be past you faster then a fat man who sat down too fast, heading straight for his food or water bowl. You’d be swearin’ and cussin’ and yellin’ at the poor bastard, but of cause he’d be tryin’ to jump on you and give you one of those special kisses that smell’s of all the shit he consumed on his whereabouts. He’d just be happy to be back home, it’s like he’d never leave home again. He’d just be sooooo happy to see you again and there’s no happiness that could ever equal a dog’s.

Of course you’d have to scrub the poor bastard before you allow him to get his dirty paws on you, a real hot bath with soap and shampoo, a scrubbing brush, some shit to take care of the possible lice infection or something. Once the mofo is cleaned up, he’d be happy as a chappy again and be runnin’ round the yard, up and down that line thing in the ground with the leash firmly around his neck. He’d guard you and your property and kin against the evils of society and be his old self, being happy to see you every time you wander into the backyard….. and as I mentioned earlier there’s no happiness that could ever equal a dog’s.. Until the next time he get’s a lucky break……..

The end.