The Cute Pup Award

The Cute Pup Award goes to this fella. Congratulations!

Memorial Day and Rabbit Revenge

Well, I'm back. It was a busy few days away, and I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to blog while I was on the campaign trail. I spent most of Memorial Weekend visiting old war heroes and making appearances at Unknown Soldiers' graves. My saluting paw is tired. It surprised me how many dead people there are to visit. I don't think I saw them all, but I did my best to show up for the ceremonies where the press was also most likely to show up.

While I was gone, the rabbits formed a coup and attempted to annex my backyard for their own private nation. Fortunately, I returned in time to prevent the revolution, but their leader escaped. I'm sure he will come again with renewed forces.

Ever since the snow melted, I have been waging a war of diplomacy with these sneaky lagomorphs. I'm beginning to think that more drastic measures are required. Sometimes negotiations can bear no fruit, and it takes a wise dog to recognize that a more forceful means of conversation may become necessary.

Daisy here has a similar problem with squirrels, and she has the right idea. I don't necessarily agree with her war-time slogan: "All Squirrels Must Die." That's a little harsh for the politician in me. I think my motto will be "Rabbits, Go Home!" Or maybe just a sign in my yard that says, "No Hop for Rabbits."

Softball

I made the rounds at an Anoka softball game this evening, suffering through the awful heat and humidity for a good cause - my election campaign.

The sport of softball is mysterious to me. I understand the desire to chase down a ball, but other than that, what's the deal? Sure, you can run in circles, but where's the fun in that if nobody is chasing you? And the mask that the umpire wears creeps me out.

Softball games are great for public relations, though. The fans are usually in a good mood (mostly because of the beer, I imagine), and there are usually a few babies around, which make for great photo opportunities. The best part is that people at softball games like to eat, and they're messy!

Coastal Dog

FAVORITE SPOT

Despite Anoka's many positive attributes, sometimes I wish I lived near the coast. I could learn to surf! Besides, I love seafood, especially salmon and, well, anything I can find dead on the shoreline.

Hot Hot Hot!

It's too darn hot out. If I'm elected mayor, I'm going to propose that Anoka move north for the summer. The dog days of summer are definitely not for the dogs, and whoever named them thus should be sued for libel. You'd get tired of the hot, too, if you had to stick your tongue out to cool off. Try it sometime, and then come complaining to me about the yellow sweat stains under your pits. Boo hoo.

Baby Stroller Surprise

My campaign manager took me for my first bicycle ride of the year today. The weather was perfect for a long journey through Anoka. Obviously, my legs are too short to reach the pedals, and your human bikes don't work very well for quadruped, so I got to ride in the tow-behind baby stroller.

I love to surprise my fellow Anokans who are also out to enjoy the weather. They walk up, cooing, and looking for the baby, and "Mwwah!" It's a dog! Hee hee. It's a cheap thrill, I know, but I take 'em when I can get 'em.

Toe Licker

Good news! Brody the Bulldog has accepted my offer to become my bodyguard. I'm excited to have reliable help for the dangerous days ahead, as I forge my political agenda and start touring the city.

I got my start yesterday, with a small social gathering. I tried serving some of my dog food and water, but most people seemed to prefer the barbecue ribs my campaign aides prepared. I guess there's no accounting for taste.

The gathering was generally a success, and I have several new volunteers for my campaign. There was one awkward moment during the evening when I started licking a guest's toes. I couldn't help it, they tasted good. Apparently, this isn't acceptable party etiquette. Who knew? I lick my own paws all the time, and no one tells me that it's considered rude. I guess I still have a lot to learn.

Wild

Wild party tonight. Will blog tomorrow....

Armed Revolutionary Forces

I recently fired my bodyguard and have decided to offer the position to Brody, of the Armed Revolutionary Forces. It's not that I prefer one species over another. It's just that Brody is better qualified to protect me.

First of all, Brody has a black-collar in toy assault. My former bodyguard was a yellow belt in karate, and he couldn't even make fruit punch. Secondly, Brody the "Kong Killa" plays Texas Hold 'Em. I love poker (don't all dogs?) , but my former bodyguard only knew how to play Go Fish. Boring. Lastly and most importantly, Brody is not afraid of thunder. Sadly, my former bodyguard shrieked like a school girl every time the clouds rolled in. This didn't affect his job so much as embarrass me. I have a reputation to live up to.

Unfortunately, Brody lives in Los Angeles, and the commute to Anoka, Minnesota is terrible. Traffic all the way. So I've decided to have a telecommuting bodyguard. He's familiar with the Internet already. He can just dial in to protect me. I haven't actually officially offered "PupDaddy" the position, but it looks like he's still available for hire. I hope for a response soon.

Minnesota Through Video

I love movies. They give me an excellent opportunity to catch up on my sleep. I've always thought I would make a superb film-maker, but as it turns out, I'm more of a politician and a blogger. Minnesota Stories is a place I like to visit on occasion to whet my movie-watching appetite. Most of the vlogs are so short, I don't even fall asleep!

Guests

Oh, My Eye!

Some house guests can be so rude. Still, I try to be polite, as is befitting my status as an Anokan mayoral candidate. I must say, however, that it is difficult to mind my manners when I have a pawful of fur in my eyeball.

Wish Fulfillment

I hate mornings. I suppose because I love sleep so much, I dread the morning so greatly. It is the cyclical death of sleeping and dreaming, and the beginning of my campaign day. Don't get me wrong, I love politics and all of the mundane details of a political life, but my true passion is the almighty nap.

People often ask if dogs dream. Of course we do! I dream about winning the Anoka election and making all of the humans wear leashes and eat their meals without their hands. Don't worry, my potential constituents. My psychiatrist tells me that my dreams are "wish fulfillment," whatever that means. The bottom line is that if I'm elected, I would keep my human constituents best interests in mind, at least when I'm not sleeping.

Big Dummy

"I hope if dogs ever take over the world and they choose a king, they don't just go by size, because I bet there are little dogs with some good
ideas."

Marc-Christophe

This Marc-Christophe fellow knew what he was talking about. Not that I want to be king. Anoka mayor is just fine with me, for now. As I've stated before, size doesn't matter, especially when it comes to ideas. Some of the dumbest dogs I know are huge. The same applies for humans, now that I think of it.

In Repose

Every politician seems to have at least one photograph of them in repose, a down-home image, usually candid or at least casual. I guess it's an attempt to make them seem more "human." Needless to say, this is a difficult task for me. Instead, I think I'll use this photo, which can serve two purposes.

Firstly, it shows that I know how to relax. Secondly, it's a great photo for the female canine demographic I need to reach. I may be a manly brute on the campaign soapbox, but I have a sensitive side too.

I like flowers and long walks in the park. I don't drink alcohol or smoke, and I love children, pets, and the elderly.

Ignorance

My campaign manager ignored me all day while he cleaned and reorganized his living quarters. I don't like being ignored. Ignorance may be bliss, but being ignored just makes me sad. I think tomorrow I will ignore him. Whenever he calls my name, I'll pretend I don't hear him, or maybe I'll pee on his shoes. That's how politics works. If you ignore me or disagree with me, I pee on your shoes. On the other paw, if you listen to me and support my ideas, then I might let you scratch my ears once in a while.

Happy Happy Trees

Why would I make a good mayor? Even the trees are happy when they see me rounding the corner.

Piddling Tom

A French Bulldog came to town,
His Christian name was Tom.
A noble pedigree he had,
To know him was a charm.
As he trotted down the street
'Twas beautiful to see
He pissed on every corner,
He pissed on every tree.

He watered every gateway, too,
And never missed a post,
For pissling was his specialty
And piddling was his boast.
The Anoka curs looked on, amazed,
With deep and jealous rage
To see a simple French Bulldog
The piddler of the age!

Then all the dogs from everywhere
Were summoned with a yell
To sniff the stocky stranger
And judge him by the smell.
Some thought that he a king might be,
Beneath his tail, a rose.
So every dog drew near to him
And sniffed him by the nose.

They smelled him over one by one,
They sniffed him two by two;
But noble Tom, in high disdain,
Stood still till they were through.
Then, just to show the whole shebang
He didn't give a damn
He trotted in a grocer's shop
And pissed upon a ham.

He piddled in a mackerel keg.
He pissed upon the floor,
And when the grocer kicked him out
He piddled through the door.
Behind him all the Anoka dogs
Lined up with instinct true
To start a pissing carnival
And see the stranger through.

They showed him every piddling post
They had in all the town,
And started in, with many a wink,
To pee the stranger down.
They sent for champion piddlers
Who were always on the go
And who sometimes did a pissing stunt
Or gave a piddling show.

They sprang these on him suddenly
When midway through the town.
Thomas only smiled, and piddled off
The ablest, white or brown.
For he was with them, every trick,
With vigor and with vim.
A thousand piddles, more or less,
Were all the same to him.

So he was wetting merrily
With hind leg kicking high
When most were hoisting legs in bluff
And piddling mighty dry.
On and on, Tom sought new grounds
By piles of scrap and rust
Till every Anoka dog ran dry
And only piddled dust.

Still on and on went noble Tom
As wet as any rill
When all the champion Anoka dogs
Had come to a standstill.
Then Tom did free-hand piddling
With fancy flirts and flips
Like the 'double dip' and the 'gimlet twist'
And all the latest hits.

And all the time the French Bulldog
Did never wink or grin
But blithely piddled out of town
As he had piddled in.
The Anoka dogs a convention held
To ask, "What did defeat us?"
But no one ever put them wise
That Tom had diabetes!

Author Unknown

Passing Bills

As you probably all know, I'm not a very private dog. I don't mind peeing in public, and I don't mind discussing my various bodily issues. One such issue that seems particularly troubling this evening is my stomach. I don't remember what I ate today, but it has returned to haunt me and those around me like the ghosts of Alcatraz. If I can pass bills as often as I pass gas, I'm sure to become the most prolific Anoka mayor in one hundred years.

Speaking of passing bills, what in the world is going on in Minnesota's State Capitol with the stadium bill? Those dirty dogs (no offense) of the Minnesota House and Senate are playing political games with taxpayers' money, and I don't think it's right. I have a hard time with the idea of handing nearly half a billion dollars over to a private company. I'll admit I have a bias, though. I'm not a huge football fan, except for maybe when my campaign manager spills his popcorn bowl. Baseball's good for a nap, but that's about it.

However, I know there are a lot of sports fans in Minnesota. Why don't we let them pay? Wait! I just had a brilliant idea (for a dog). Why don't we presell 5,000 lifetime passes to all of the Vikings and Twins home games for $100,000 each? To be patriotic, we could even toss in a few free passes for dome dogs.

Dew

As I've said before, the campaign trail can be tiring. When I need a boost, my usual means of rescucitation is a quick cat nap. Despite the ironic name, I find these naps help increase my energy levels greatly.

As the election date approaches and my time becomes more limited, however, I may need to pursue alternative methods. One such possibility, a popular one among you humans apparently, is caffeine. The problem is that I don't care for coffee, and tea makes me pee like a water hose. Maybe I should follow Bessie's lead and do the Dew. It couldn't hurt, could it?

Snore

When people first meet me, I often hear the same question: "Do you snore?" Besides being incredibly prying, I find this question to be very presumptive. Just because I'm brachycephalic doesn't automatically make me a snorer. To be polite and since I am running for public office, I just ignore the question.

I should really start lying and say that I snore so loudly that I shake the roof and wake the neighbors. That way, I can prevent the rude questioner from considering a move into my neighborhood. Or I could turn the table and ask if they snore. Or if they fart when they ride alone in elevators.

Fame

My fame grows. Or is it infamy?

Paparazzi

Photo by my Campaign Manager

I hate it when a photographer gets right in my face and won't leave me alone. I guess it's the price I pay for stardom.

Break It Down

I've been working so hard on my campaign lately that I think I'll take a break. A few days of long naps and short walks will do wonders for my constitution. Since it's so early in my campaign, I shouldn't feel guilty. Besides, even the president takes a vacation once in a while, right?

Speaking of which, I have to apologize for the potshot I took at Mr. President the other day. Apparently I offended him. He called me yesterday, nearly in tears. Maybe not exactly on the verge of tears. He at least sounded choked up, but it might have been the pretzels he was eating. Anyway, he didn't appreciate my innuendos, so I told him I was sorry and offered to buy him a hot dog the next time he's in town.

Negotiation

Dog Fight

Here I am, working on my negotiation skills with a friendly neighborhood dog.

Expensive Gas

My driver has of late been complaining about the exorbitant cost of gas. I don't understand the fuss. It's just a couple nickels more than it was last week, but the way my driver acts, you'd think Mr. T was hired as a spokesman for Victoria's Secret. My driver needs a gas buddy. It might be the fact that I have him drive me everywhere, though, including my daily walk.

As a side note: if you don't have a personal chauffeur yet, I'd highly recommend one! Mine is on loan from Mariah Carey. Thanks Mariah!

Whiners bug me. I get tired of hearing people complaining about gas prices like it's out of their control. Haven't they ever heard of hoarding? It works for me. Whenever I'm concerned about a dog toy shortage, I gather all of mine together in one place so that none of my campaign aides can play with them. If hoarding doesn't work, you can always ask our president to call for an investigation. Internal presidential investigations have seemed to work in the past.

Looks Aren't Everything

In this modern era, a political-minded individual such as myself needs to consider more than my philosophical position and party affiliation. I also need to worry about my appearance. The media-hungry public makes flash decisions based on a combination of appearance and sound bites.

I don't worry about the sound bites. I'm an excellent biter.

If I'm to be honest, I worry about my looks. I have no complaints about my bat ears, obviously; they are functional and attractive. My button nose is great, and my jowls are very handy. But I am, after all, a dog. Will people treat me differently because of my appearance? Perhaps I could wear platform shoes to make me appear taller. I can only hope that the television adds more than ten pounds to my wee thirty pound frame. Would it help if I try growing a beard like Abe Lincoln?

In the end, I trust the voters to make the right decision. Vote with your heart, fellow Anokans. Vote for the bat ears this fall.