Mystery Dog

Have you ever been to the Winchester Mystery House? I haven't, but I really want to go. From what I've read, it would be perfect for a little doggie like me. It's spacious and has plenty of carpeting. Plus, there are lots of nooks where I can relax without being bothered. I guess a lot of people are fascinated with the place.

Since my relationship with the governor of California is tenuous at best, I won't be travelling there soon. I'm thinking about installing a few hidden passageways in my own house. I'll put one in the bathroom and I'll also install one in my kennel leading to the backyard. Using a candlestick as the switch seems dumb, though. I think I'll use a Nylabone.

Minor Celebrity

I think the Internet is great. It can make minor celebrities out of anyone, including Ms. Heffala. Sometimes, though, it can be creepy.

Oscar Oversight

The Oscars ceremony is a week away. Perhaps by using some of my political clout I can submit a late entry for the category of best actor. As usual, the Academy has neglected one of the finest performances of the year.

Just because a performer does not have a speaking part shouldn't eliminate them from consideration. Samantha Morton, for example, earned a nomination for Best Supporting Actress for her role in Sweet and Lowdown. She didn't speak a single line during the movie.

Who is the glaring oversight this year? Gromit in The Curse of the Wererabbit. Gromit proves that often the most challenging role in a film has the least speaking lines. He communicates without words, so I must speak for him. Members of the Academy, please reconsider your egregious negligence and give a dog his day.

Year of the Dog

2006 is the Year of the Dog. Just one more reason to vote for me this fall.

It's in the Cards

I had the cards read for me tonight. My medium told me to think of myself as mayor of Anoka while I shuffled. When I was ready, I was to hand the cards back to him. My attempt at shuffling was unsurprisingly unsuccessful. It ended with the cards spread haphazardly on the floor, some face down, some face up.

My medium insisted this was a good thing, that the cards were meant to fall as they did. He began reading the meaning from them. He told me about struggle and financial difficulties, challenges and pain, but at the heart of it all was the Bulldog card, the symbol of success, power, and fortune.

Things are looking good for me in 2006.

Volunteerism

Do you have a few hours of free time each week? Are you looking for something to do that will benefit the community and yourself? How about becoming a TPFM campaign volunteer? It's easy and it's free! In the coming months my campaign will need many dedicated individuals, canine and otherwise, who can devote themselves to promoting my cause. You will be handing out buttons, bribing officials, and lifting me into and out of my official campaign vehicle. If you are interested, please respond in the comments of this entry.

Naked Chocolate?

On behalf of Thomases everywhere I want to vocalize an objection to the negative stigma attached to the phrase "Peeping Tom." The original Peeping Tom appears in the story of Lady Godiva. He was the dude who looked out his window at the naked chick on horseback. I don't claim to be a professional psychologist, but I do know a little about human nature. If there was a naked lady riding a horse down your street, raise your paw if you wouldn't take a peek out the window. That's what I thought. I may be a dog, but I'm not dumb.

I respect Godiva's creativity and her method of civil disobedience. In fact, if other people think they are paying too much in taxes, I'd encourage them to try the same technique. On second thought, maybe not. If more taxpaying citizens were to strip off their clothes in protest, I know a few politicians who would consider that incentive for raising tax rates even higher.

Not me, though. I couldn't care less whether you humans rode through the streets on horseback naked, and that's why I'd make an excellent mayor of Anoka.

Potable

Since English is my second language, I spend a few minutes every day learning new vocabulary. I've signed up for word-a-day emails. Today's word is potatory, as in "after a long walk, I am in a potatory mood." Actually, I feel like drinking right now.

Drink break.

That's better. My jowls tend to hold water, which means I can drink some now and save some for later. I'm no camel, but I can go for at least eight or nine hours without drinking.

Tasty Fruit

This is for the eggman.

Honestly

I found this picture on my computer this afternoon. I think my parents may have gone dog sledding last weekend, but I can't know for sure. No one told me.

It's concerning that their guilt is so great to prevent them from sharing with me. I don't think there's anything wrong with seeing other dogs as long as we are all open about it. I lick the hands of almost everyone I meet, but at least they know about it.

All I'm asking for is honesty. I promise to be honest in return. For example, while my folks were at work today, I rummaged through their personal things, trying to find out what they did last weekend. I was also hoping to find a few stray treats. If I'm elected mayor, I will offer the same openness during discussions of public policy.

I'm Back

What I should have written in my last post is something like...

As Arnold Schwartzenegger once said, "I'll be back."

Then when I posted today, I could show you how well I keep promises. Also, I could associate myself with a known politician, thus increasing the legitimacy of my campaign bid. I don't want to suggest that I actually know Arnold what-his-face or anything about his politics. Rather, when you think of me, you should think also of other successful celebrity politicians, such as Ronald Reagan and Jesse "The Body" Ventura.

Hardwood Hard Knocks

I'm going on a short vacation this weekend, so I won't be able to post anything for the next few days. I'm staying with my adoptive grandparents. I love visiting them. They shower me with attention, respect my political clout, and give me lots of treats.

Above all else, one thing about my visits with them brings a big grin to my jowly face: carpet. My home is all hardwood floor and tile. It may be easy to clean and maintain, but try running around a hardwood floor on all fours. I feel like an octopus on roller skates. Some days I just need to run circles around a dining room table, but at home I usually end up skittering into the wall. Not only is this embarrassing, it's also dangerous. If I maintain my current residence when I become mayor, I may need to hire an stand-by emergency airlift service. At my grandparents' home, however, I can run with reckless abandon and still safely avoid head-on collisions.

I won't spend my entire vacation running circles around a table, though. That would be neurotic. I also plan to sniff their furniture and eat specks of food off their kitchen floor.

Winter Apparel

I hate the bitter cold. When the temperature drops below zero, I shiver like the muscles on the losing team of a tug-of-war. The snot on my nose freezes, and my parents make me wear ludicrous outfits.

I think I look stupid, but everyone compliments me. I bet they laugh behind my back. That's okay, though, I need to get used to ridicule. It's part of being a public figure.

Once a Year

The Westinster Dog Show was on last night. This is the one show I actually care about watching. It only happens once a year, but I couldn't see it. My parents are too cheap to pay for cable.

I'm happy to see that a Bull Terrier won Best in Show. Rufus wasn't my first choice, though. I was cheering for Bandogs Jump for Joy. She's cute. I have one of her pinups hanging in my kennel. I tried contacting her a few weeks ago, but her agent brushed me off. Apparently "potential mayor" isn't good enough for a prima donna like Jump for Joy. Bitch.

If a French Bulldog doesn't win, at least a dog breed with "bull" in its name won. Don't get me wrong, I love all dogs. I just have a special fondness for bulldogs and all dogs of the "bull" variety. Bull Terriers are a cross between the Bulldog and the White English Terrier, so they qualify for that reserved parking spot in my heart.

I'm mad about missing the show. Watching the video clips on the Westminster website isn't the same. I wish my parents weren't so stingy. I may be a persuasive orator and a powerful politician, but I still can't convince them that cable t.v. is worth the cost. Maybe I'll go pee on their bed sheets.

Burning Candles

On my evening walk today, I noticed a new smell. It wasn't something I recognized immediately, but nonetheless seemed familiar. It was the smell of candle wax. House by house it changed, sometimes strawberry, sometimes lemon, honeysuckle, beeswax, soy. I'm told that the candles are part of an annual ritual called Valentine's Day. You humans are weird to make so much fuss about relationships.

Canine courtship is much simpler and cheaper, which is fortunate considering how little time I have for romance. I wouldn't recommend the dog dating method for humans, though. It's not a good idea. I don't think our techniques are meant to cross the species boundary. You stick to your chocolates and flowers, and I'll keep sniffing and biting.

A Few Biting Comments about the Vice President

Because of my political campaign, I feel compelled to make a brief statement about Dick Cheney's recent incident. I think he deserves some slack. Anyone can accidentally shoot another person, especially a lawyer. (Sorry, bad joke. Don't blame me. Blame my speech writer.) He must feel awful about it, too. Dick, if it makes you feel any better, I sometimes accidentally bite too hard on my dad's hand when I'm playing with him.

The Scent of a Pant Leg

A traveling salesman visited my home today. Actually, he was a traveling sales boy accompanied by a traveling sales mom. I don't know what they were selling. The smell of their pants distracted me from the sales pitch. The best part about meeting new people is smelling their pants. Have you ever smelled your pants?

The scent tells a story. For example, the traveling sales boy today had been walking outside for at least half an hour. He ate Kraft Microwavable Mac and Cheese for lunch, and he's a messy eater.

Surprising as it is, many people clean their pants regularly. Meeting one of these people usually leaves me with an empty, disappointed feeling. Why aren't there more dirty hippies in the world? I don't know. As mayor of Anoka, would I have power to enforce clothes cleaning restrictions? I don't know.

I know one thing; in my house I don't need to worry about encountering clean pants that often.

A Few Good Olympic Sports

The Winter Olympics 2006 began yesterday, but I missed the opening cermony because of Girl's Night. It's exciting to see the myriad countries competing for gold medals and glory. It's much like my entry into the Anokan mayoral race, only I want to wear the mayor's ribbon and keep an office on Main Street.

The list of recognized winter sports is sadly small. Only seven events? Come on! Curling is a sport, but dog sledding isn't? I don't have anything against curlers. I don't think I could ever push a 44 pound rock across the ice, and I certainly can't sweep (I've tried). Still, I think the Olympics could consider recognizing a few more winter sports.

• Snow Eating. This sport is even more challenging than competitive eating because of the danger of ice cream headaches. Not many countries recognize this as a sport, but they should.
• The Long Slide. The Winter Olympics equivalent of the long jump.
• The Tongue Pole Lick. Insurance for this one may be difficult to find, but it would be worth it.
• The Backyard Snow Dash. The tension, the speed, the spray of snow! It's athletic drama at its best.

I don't expect a miracle. I know that the Olympic committee traditionally frowns at suggestions for new events. While I wait for them to return my calls, I may try curling - in the warm spot in front of our fireplace.

Girl's Night

It was Girl's Night tonight. I don't mind. I always enjoy company. At one point in the evening, however, I was sitting on my pillow and looking around at all of the guests and I thought, "Am I the only one here who lifts up his leg to pee?"

Autogyro

An Anokan citizen passed along a request that merits repeating. This person, like many in Anoka, works in Minneapolis and has to contend with a forty-five minute commute every day. He asked what I could do about it.

I'm not a genius or an inventor, but I feel obligated to help a potential constituent, so I researched this question while my adoptive parents were at work. (That's what they get for leaving their computer on and my kennel door unlocked.) The autogyro seems to be the perfect solution. As one website contests, the idea is "Damn interesting."

Personally, I'd prefer to stick my head out the window of an old-fashioned car. In an autogyro, I'd worry I might lose my tongue or the tips of my ears (they are embarassingly big), but that's what makes America great. Personal freedom. That, and Greenies.

New Look

I hope you like the redesigned website. I've been hard at work with my team of dedicated designers for the past two weeks. I think orange and black are appropriate colors, considering that Anoka is the Halloween capital of the world. What do you think?

A Noticable Lack of Recognition

I'm feeling sad. I noticed that Wikipedia's article about Anoka, Minnesota lacks any mention of me. The "Notable Anokans" section, however, notes that Bjorn Skogquist, the current mayor of Anoka, was the youngest Anokan to be elected mayor. He was 22 years old at the time.

Bjorn is a good guy. I met him last year at the Mayor's Ice Cream Social. He has a firm grip and he knows right where to scratch behind my ear. Despite this, I intend to oust him and assume his title. At two years old, I'll probably be the youngest mayor ever elected in the United States.

Though I am technically twenty years younger than Bjorn and sixteen years under the legal voting age, a lucky loophole in Anoka's statutes still allow me to run for office. The secret: in human years, I'm twenty-one years old.

Doggie Door

In the spirit of equality, my adoptive dad installed a doggie door for the household bathroom. I argued that if he gets to see me poop all the time, I should have an equal opportunity. After a heated discussion, he came to see my side of things and cut a hole in the bathroom door for me.

At first the door-within-a-door spooked me. It was like something from Alice in Wonderland. Was it a trap? I think this upset the Man (adoptive dad) because of the time he spent making it. He strongly encouraged me to start using the door. This isn't as bad as it sounds. Encouragement means treats!

After a lot of encouragement (treats), I have started using the door occasionally. I figure that I've wrung all I can from the nervous dog routine, so I better start using it. My favorite part about the door, an unexpected bonus, is surprising guests by peeking into the bathroom when they least expect it. I'm up to two screams and one yalp!

Don't worry, though, I don't have any plans to install doggie doors in Anoka's public restrooms.

A Dog's Perspective on Football

I watched the Superbowl today and tried to understand the rules of this weird game. I think I get it. It's like a complicated game of fetch, right? The "quarterback" throws the ball, and the other team tries to catch it and bring it back to the quarterback. Most of the time, the other team doesn't catch it, though. When they do catch it, they never seem to bring it back to the quarterback.

It looks fun, but I have a suggestion. Why not try replacing the football with something squeaky? That always livens up a game of fetch for me. A boring tennis ball is no match for the high-pitched whine of a stuffed squirrel or octopus. I think swapping the football with a squeaky toy would greatly improve the game's entertainment value.

Without the squeaking, I lost interest in the Bowl after about fifteen minutes. But I continued to enjoy the commercials. My favorite was the streaking sheep. It actually had me rethinking my career in politics. Instead of a wolf head blocking our view of the sheep's privates, imagine my own melon silhouetted on the screen. I don't mean to brag, but I have a handsome profile.

Update:
A non-dog friend sent me a link to a place where you can watch all of the Superbowl commercials.

Napping

Is there anything better than a nap? I don't think so. Although I don't work for a living, I still think that the siesta was one of the greatest human inventions. Another good one is Nylabone Big Chews. My ideal day would definitely involve a lot of napping and a big bone to gnaw. Oh, I would also be mayor of Anoka.

Dating Service

Life on the campaign trail doesn't allow me much time for dating. I find the Internet to be a great help when I want to meet someone who shares my interests. Onyx, an Australian Shepherd, for example, happens to be mayor of Windsor Terrace. Imagine that! A fellow canine mayor. Maybe I will contact her for some advice. Lucky, on the other paw, must have delusions of grandeur, and I don't mean to be rude, but his mother dresses him funny.

French Bulldog Day

Maybe it's because I'm a dog, but I just don't understand Groundhog's Day. People travel from all around to witness this event. I don't get it. Where's the fun in seeing a little rodent poke his head out of a hole? What does the little bugger's shadow have to do with winter?

I'd like to propose an alternative.

How about French Bulldog's Day? Since some traditionalists may object to the drastic change in species, we could still involve a groundhog. On February 2nd, set a Frenchie in the enclosure with the groundhog. Watch what happens when the little weasel sticks his head out of his home with a French Bulldog in his pen! If the groundhog escapes, then we'll be facing six more weeks of winter. If the dog prevails, it'll be an early spring.

This idea will require a grassroots effort. It may take several years of petitions and lobbying, but if there's enough support for this improved version of Groundhog's Day, I will charitably volunteer my services as the first French Bulldog.

A Mayoral Delegation

It snowed last night. I love a fresh snow. It's like an outdoor carpet made of candy! Everywhere I turn, there's something to eat. My adoptive parents aren't as happy about three wet inches of snow, though, especially when it arrives overnight. When it's time for them to take me on a car ride, I don't want any delays, so I make them shovel the driveway while I supervise from the steps.

Knowing how to delegate authority is one of the keys to being a good leader. When I'm mayor, I promise to delegate a lot of responsibility - practically all of it.