CALVIN, THERE'S NOT MUCH TIME

Dear Calvin Th'Airedale,

There’s not much time, I think.

I’m over at the PeeNews Wall on Dufferin Street for posting breaking stories.  I don’t know if your 2Legs still brings you here on walks; I haven’t smelled your posts for a long time.

Everything’s a mess…a mess.

Sage left me awhile ago after she caught me sniffing that wiener dog.  I swear that I was confused and was just trying to figure out which end was which.  

But she left anyway and is travelling all over the place as a high-flying show dog.  Once I thought I saw her in a box in the house; she was in one of those boxes that shine light and have pictures and sound.  I jumped up to kiss her, but she was gone and I couldn’t even smell her.  It was depressing.

At that point I started to think about my life.

I have always done what I wanted.  I never hesitated on being obnoxious to anyone.  I chewed up whatever I wanted, peed on anything that suited me.

But without Sage, life is empty.  Dogs walk by along the river, cats come up to the window.  I don’t care.  I just curl up on the floor.

And then something else happened.

My 2Legs OldMan isn’t here anymore.

He stopped taking me to the dog park, not that I cared anymore.  The walks we went on got slower and slower and finally stopped. 

Then other people started coming into the house.  OldMan stayed in bed most of the time.  They fed him.  They fed me and let me in and out.  No one rubbed my ears and made me groan, no one hugged me and sang me songs…no one played with me.

And then they took OldMan away one day.  He was not moving.

There is a pain I feel that I can’t begin to describe.  It is everything, it is everything.

I wish he would come back.  I miss rubbing up against him, moving through his legs and wagging my tail, looking up at him and laughing.  I miss biting his butt when he left the house.  I miss wrassling with him.  I miss kissing his hand, kissing his face.  Miss rolling around in his bed and cuddling with him.  He wasn’t so bad, that 2Legs OldMan.

I realize that though I gave him grief so much of the time, I love him and need him.  But he hasn’t come back for a lot of lights and darks.

So I made up my mind:  I would find him.  If he won’t come back to me, I will go to him and be with him wherever he goes.

Today a stranger came into the house and took me by my collar.  When we got to the door, I broke free and ran to look for OldMan.

I have been looking all day in 2Legs yards and on different streets.  I’m exhausted and don’t know where to go.

So I’m here and leaving you this note.

A truck just pulled up and stopped.  I’m too tired to bark.  A 2Legs just got out with a stick.  The truck has the letters SPCA on it.  He is coming closer.  The stick has a string or something on it, like a loop.

He puts it over my head and starts to pull.  He pulls me over to the truck, though I don’t want to go with him.  He opens the back of the truck.

Maybe he will take me to OldMan.

He pulls me into the back of the truck.

The truck is dark…

Arthur TheBad Airedale

WHY ARE 2LEGS UPSET AT MY EATING HABITS?

This latest letter asking for Badvice is from Echo, who owns the 2Legs Josef A.B. in South Africa (I think that's a couple blocks over on Dufferin Street).  He writes:

Dear nefarious Arthur TheBad Airedale:  I am an educated K9 much like yourself. 

Only smarter.

I have extended conversations with my esteemed colleague, Aves the Ibis.

Its during this educational talks that I get a glimpse of the true Biteyface meadow all dogs live in.

I am an practitioner of the fine cuisine Coprophagia.  Although I can't seem to sway my neighbors (real downtown dogs unfortunately) or even my colleague Aves, to accompany me in my delightful meals, I must know if there are other K9 dogizens that appreciate the finer things in life.

I would like to know what 2legs problems are also.  They go on something awful when I decide to have en enlightened meal.

Do you think they would like me to share? 

I would like your esteemed opinion on these matters, dear nefarious Arther.

Although I understand that I might need to filter through your meaningless noise, I'm sure I can extract some useful information,

I am quite intelligent.

Echo the educated.

Dear Echo,

I’m glad that you wrote.  We’ve been waiting for a high quality smartass such as yourself.

The phenomenon you refer to is not “Coprophagia”, as the 2Legs call it, but an exquisite combination of sport and culinary arts called “turdfing.”  That is, one goes along in the yard or wherever harvesting the treasures left behind.

The 2Legs seem to assume that we are missing some nutrients or something when one of us does that.

That is not the case.  

At ATBA Enterprises (Arthur TheBad Airedale Enterprises), our scientists and technicians have found that 4Legs who do this actually have a heightened sense of smell and taste.  They so enjoy their food that they keep trying to recreate their last meal, to recapture the essence of what made it so good.

The solution is this:  MASTICATION.  

At our laboratories, we hired interns to masticate in various states and situations.

This is what we found.

The more a 4Legs masticates, the better.  It makes the meals a more memorable experience.

So I encourage everyone to masticate as much as possible.  Masticate in the morning, masticate at midday, masticate in the evening, masticate especially at night.

I masticate as much as possible myself.  I love to masticate at dinner in front of my family.  I absolutely adore making loud pleasure sounds while masticating!

My very favourite is masticating with my love Sage; we masticate together as we look into each other’s eyes (I just posted a video of this yesterday).

So to conclude, turdfing is fine, but you shortchange your dining experience because you do not sufficiently masticate.

Good luck to you, and I hope that you publish lots and lots of photos and videos of yourself masticating.

Sincerely,

Arthur TheBad Airedale