Gilbert O’Sullivan’s old hit “What’s In a Kiss?” was on the radio the other day.
“I know what’s in a kiss”said eight-year-old Sally, “Spit”.
Hello, World, and welcome to the only dog-free zone in this magazine, except that it isn’t this time. There are dark mutterings about a forthcoming annual for which I am supposed to think of wise and witty wordplay, so for this issue I’ve decided to clear out some of the internet dog stuff from my computer.
Anyway, I’m feeling a little fragile. Firstly, I strode proudly from the shower this morning, high, wide and handsome and wall to wall, and also, of course, naked. ~Right outside the picture window of my Cliffside bedroom was the Coastguard helicopter. Bastard pilot even waved at me.
But far worse was a quarter-hour I spent at the dinner-table of our bass-player, a man of taste, refinement and dignity, in front of whose incredulous gaze Minnie, Ingrid’s Bernese Mountain Dog, once delivered a steaming mountain of ex-dog food. I remember telling you about it at the time.
Anyhow (and the following paragraphs contain scenes that some viewers may find offensive) on New Years Eve we all gathered in his house for a pre-gig dinner. The main course over, I had occasion to use the facilities, in, on this accasion the fullest possible sense.
Now, I am, actually, quite fastidious in these matters, and washed my hands thoroughly before returning to the table. Imagine my discomfiture, then when, sitting back at the table, I detected the most evil stench imaginable. No one else seemed to notice. The conversation flowing easily between Truth, Beauty and the advantages of Angeline Jolie. Conversing wittily the while, I dropped my napkin and stealthily examined my shoes. Nothing. A cheery laugh and a quiet wriggle. No strange sensations, in the posterior region.
“Have some cheese, Mog”, said the hostess, and I lunged blindly for the plate. And there was the source of the trouble.
It’s called Roquefort, and I had never seen it before and I don’t ever want to see it again. Because, having speared it with my knife I had to eat it.
There was a song in the Sixties (Nobody’s Got Any Money in the Summer” by, I think, Roy Harper) that referred to “A Chinese wrestler’s jockstrap soaked in chipfat on a greasy day”.
I didn’t know what that meant then. I think I do now.
Meanwhile back to the computer.
First, a riddle
How many dogs does it take to change a light bulb?
1. Golden Retriever: The sun is shining, the day is young, we've got our whole lives ahead of us, and you're inside worrying about a stupid burned out bulb?
2. Border Collie: Just one. And then I'll replace any wiring that's not up to code.
3. Dachshund: You know I can't reach that stupid lamp!
4. Rottweiler: Make me.
5. Boxer: Who cares? I can still play with my squeaky toys in the dark.
6. Lab: Oh, me, me!!!!! Pleeeeeeeeeze let me change the light bulb! Can I? Can I? Huh? Huh? Huh? Can I? Pleeeeeeeeeze, please, please, please!
7. German Shepherd: I'll change it as soon as I've led these people from the dark, check to make sure I haven't missed any, and make just one more perimeter patrol to see that no one has tried to take advantage of the situation.
8. Jack Russell Terrier: I'll just pop it in while I'm bouncing off the walls and furniture.
9. Old English Sheep Dog: Light bulb? I'm sorry, but I don't see a light bulb!
10. Cocker Spaniel: Why change it? I can still pee on the carpet in the dark.
11. Chihuahua: Yo no quiero Taco Bulb. Or "We don't need no stinking light bulb."
12. Greyhound: It isn't moving. Who cares?
13. Australian Shepherd: First, I'll put all the light bulbs in a little circle.
14. Poodle: I'll just blow in the Border Collie's ear and he'll do it. By the time he finishes rewiring the house, my nails will be dry.
How many cats does it take to change a light bulb?
Cats do not change light bulbs. People change light bulbs. So, the real question is:
"How long will it be before I can expect some light, some dinner, and a massage?"
To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door - nose height.
Dear Dogs and Cats,
1.The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.
2. The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
3. I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.
4.For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years --canine or feline attendance is not required.
5. The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!
So that’s it for now. I am away to ponder