Brutus here. I'm back in control after my diva little sister snatched the laptop and monopolized it for hours to make her entry last week. You'd think mom might have intervened, but noooooooo, she got all wrapped up in making collages. Sheesh. This is MY blog after all. I was here first, darnit...
It seems that mom has decided that the best category for me to enter is "Bad Sport". Hmpf. Don't you think I'm an awfully good sport to put up with all the things she does to me? No, wait - I take that back. In fact I'm a great sport, it's just that I happen to be a bad looser.
Case in point: I spent the last few days trying to convince mom to enter me in another category. I want to do this MY way. I did a lot of yapping, even resorted to the dreaded Frenchie death yodel:
I wanted to enter "Shameless Dogs", but mom didn't want me competing against Carmen (I would have put her to shame, might have crushed her fragile little ego, heheehe). The Shameless Doggie in me tried throwing a temper tantrum to get my way, but to no avail.
Even threw in a little pouting for good measure. I ALWAYS get my way, after all.
What the heck??? Why aren't my usual tactics working? Hmmm... Maybe mom is trying to prove a point here? Does being a bad looser (and maybe a bit spoiled overall) make one a bad sport??
But since there's not "bad looser" category, I guess Bad Sport is what I'll have to settle for. Then I heard that Fiona is the judge, that kinda changes things. It just so happens that Fiona & I have a lot in common, maybe this is the category for me after all. Not that I'm asking for anything other than her impartiality. It's just that great minds (and older siblings of attention-hogging, deceptively cute sisters) think alike. Plus Fi's sister Abby also entered the bad sport category, and she would NEVER pick her own sister, so that's one less dog to beat. I'm just sayin....
|The most Honorable, beautiful, intelligent, athletic Judge Fiona (not trying to butter you up or anything...).|
Anyways, I'd better get on with this before I further incriminate myself. Here's the description of a Bad Sport according to Mango:
- Is every toy, bone, or bed on your estate YOURS whether you are using it or not?
- Do you bully the other fur kids in your pack?
- Do you hide foodables in your mouth even if you don't like them just so nobody else can have them?
- Are all your stuffies beheaded or disemboweled?
- Do you already have a plan in place to bribe the bad sport judge or to stuff the reader's choice ballet box?
- In the absence of medical issues, are your potty habits still, ahem, relaxed?
- When your humans say, "come" do you just stare at them waiting for them to prove they have noms?
Is every toy, bone, bed in the estate YOURS whether you are using them or not?
Don't be silly. Of COURSE they are. As you may have seen in the past, we have lots of stuffies here, but that doesn't mean that there's enough to share. If I can see it, its mine. If I can't have it, plentiful yapping ensues.
|Don't even think about touching my stuffies.|
And as far as the beds... Mason & Carmen have all the dog beds, doesn't bother me one bit. You see, I don't need them! I've got this nice, big cushy one. Its so big that I'll even share it with mom & dad occasionally.
|Hey, nap in progress. You mind??|
Do you bully the other furkids in your pack?
I'm a BULLdog after all. Duh. In my nature, you know?
I'm a BULLdog after all. Duh. In my nature, you know?
Besides, someone has to keep Carmen & Mason in line, right?? Or anyone else who could conceivably compete for the attention/toys/treats I rightfully deserve. I do all the special things with mom (agility & obedience), I deserve special privileges in return. That means it's all about ME (no matter what you said in your post, Carmen). When I don't get the respect I deserve the bully in me takes over.
Do you hide foodables in your mouth even if you don't like them just so no one else can have them?
This is a tough one... Mom is pretty careful with this. We get our dinner, we get treats for working. OK, I get LOTS of treats for working, that's what it's all about after all, right?? The finest meats & cheese my friends. I get beef fillet sometimes - really. I mean who would work for just praise anyways (ahem, Carmen)?
|Step away from the fridge. It's mine. All mine.|
|Heeeere nice cookie. Come to Brutus!|
Are all your stuffies beheaded or disemboweled?
So what if they are? But this answer is technically a "no," but that's only because mom takes them away when they just start to get good & broken in. The stuffie infirmary has had a "no vacancy" sign up for months. I'm not a ripper, I'm a chewer. Is it my fault that the craftsmanship of stuffies just isn't what it used to be????
|Quite a backup forming here at the operating table, mom....|
|Better hire an extra surgeon.|
Do you already have a plan in place to bribe the bad sport judge or to stuff the reader's choice ballet box?
Perhaps. I refuse to answer this on grounds that I might incriminate myself. A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do, ya know what I mean?? Now leave the gun and take the cannoli....
In the absence of medical issues, are your potty habits still, ahem, relaxed?
Depends how you define "relaxed". I haven't had an "accident" since I was 18 months old (mom says this isn't such a great claim, whatever). But there are times that certain things need to be watered - christmas tree skirts, the corners of interesting houseplants, certain crucial locations at mom's friend Courtney's house (someone else marked it first, I swear). There is talk of using a "bellyband" the next time we get invited over to someone else's house - not sure I like that idea. After all, mom has a horrible sense of direction. Maybe I'm just marking our path in case we need to retrace our steps.... Plus if one gets really, really mad (like if they get - gasp - left in another room or a crate!) - their bladder just might not be under conscious control anymore - I take no responsibility for any clean-ups under those circumstances!
When your humans say, "come" do you just stare at them waiting for them to prove they have noms?
Well, that depends on the circumstances. Granted, I did have some "zoomie" issues last winter in the agility ring - but I chalk that up to immaturity and stress. Otherwise, as long as I'm on the clock, for the most part, I come when mom calls me (if not, smoke comes out of her ears, and that's not pretty). Now if anyone else on the planet (like dad, for instance) calls me, that's completely another story! I mean, what if mom needs me all of the sudden & I've gone off in another direction just to listen to dad???
So I do what mom tells to most of the time, even if she has to fake the "air cookie" to convince me. But look where it's gotten me after all. I've got mom under my paw - literally:
Let me also point out that bulldogs deserve lots of extra leeway. We're special after all. If you want a bulldog to do something for you, it is necessary to convince my kind that there's something in it for us. We bullies might have a reputation for being "difficult," but in reality we just march to the beat of a different (and more demanding) drummer.
|Rules you say? Sorry, they don't apply to me!|
Alright, that's the end of the official description for "bad sport". One more thing though - I contend that you can't be a BAD sport unless you there is SPORT in you. In my own defense, I'd like to offer that I'm entitled to a little "bad" in compensation for all the good sporting activities I happily engage in on a regular basis. One word: AGILITY.
All that jumping, tunneling, climbing, and other general biddable-ness... Don't you think I deserve the chance to be a little bit of a bad ass in my downtime?? Pardon my French (my breeding, sorry...), but I am a bulldog for pete's sake. Cut me a little slack y'all! We've all got skeletons in our closets, so what if I'm a little over-the-top from time to time? I MORE than make up for it as far as I'm concerned. Thank goodness I've also got my overall good looks to rely on; as mom says, some days it's my only asset....
So there you have it. I've let this go on more than long enough. Aired my dirty laundry, shown my Achilles' heel, the chink in my armor, call it what you want. Hope that Mango & Fiona (and everyone who votes in people's choice category) can appreciate what I'm willing to do for your vote! Gotta go now, I think I hear a cheese wrapper rustling in the next room!