Georgia, our English bulldog, would like to tell you a thing or two about being an English bulldog and how to be a better parent to an English bulldog.
The photo to the left is NOT our Georgia. She refused to pose for a photo like this.
Well, since my picture is all over Facebook, Twitter, and this website, I really don’t feel the need to introduce myself, but I will. My name is Georgia and I’m a 2-year-old English bulldog. Ok, ok… before you get mad at Windy, I’m not really 2. ALL females love to lie about their age.
There’s some perks about being a pet but mostly it just sucks. Yeah, we’re taken care of but we’re also treated like Rain Man- like we’re too stupid to know what’s going on. Our intelligence is insulted repeatedly and I get tired of it. My human sisters are applauded for their intelligence and they do stupid stuff all of the time. For example, my 8-year-old human sister makes all A’s on her report card and “they” brag on her like she’s freaking Einstein… I mean, COME ON, she’s EIGHT! Shouldn’t she make freaking A’s on her report card? They aren’t asking her to perform brain surgery at school, just count to 300 by 10′s. This kid, God bless her, doesn’t even know her own address. I, on the other hand, am smart enough to wear my address on a convenient little tag on my collar. It’s that simple. Get the kid a collar.
Something else that gripes my furry butt is the fact that they always ask me stupid questions. I sit by the door to let them know I need to go to the ladies room and then they say, “Does my sweet ‘wittle’ girl need to go potty?”. No Sherlock, I’m sitting here because I like how cold the tile feels on my rear. The same thing happens at mealtime. They are always asking if I’m hungry. Duh, my freaking bowl is empty and I stare at it and then look at you, stare at it and then look at you, but no, I’m not hungry- I have schizophrenia. (Not being able to talk really sucks. On second thought, if I were able to talk, the string of profanities that would come out of this beautiful mouth would probably get me two or ten doses of Dawn dish detergent. Maybe its better that I can’t talk.)
When my Daddy comes home, he talks like my drunk uncle to me AND ONLY ME. He slurs his words and acts the fool. He thinks he’s cute but it’s extremely annoying. No one likes their drunk uncle. No one likes someone who’s PRETENDING to be their drunk uncle. He’s also always calling me “that bulldog”. “That bulldog better not get her daddy’s toy”, “that bulldog better not bite her daddy’s leg”, “that ol’ bulldog better not hit her daddy in his privates with her big, humongous bulldog paw” (take that Drunk Uncle Daddy).
My dad always wants to get mad at me for staring at his food when he’s trying to eat. He says I can burn a hole in his plate with my eyes (I always knew my eyes were hypnotic, but not dangerous). When a show he likes comes on (God forbid he miss Swamp People or Gold Rush), he takes his plate of delicious food and sits in the living room. He then proceeds to put the delicious food on the coffee table- THE LOWEST TABLE IN THE WHOLE FREAKING HOUSE. It’s the ONLY table I can see over, mind you. Then he acts like I’m not supposed to look at it. See, me not looking at his food would be the equivalent of taking him to a strip club and telling him not to look at (or drool over) the strippers- not gonna happen. It’s in our genes. It’s like telling the sun not to rise or the moon not to shine. It’s NATURE. We like food- our food, your food, good food, bad food- we like it all.
Well, I’m tired of writing this blog. If you don’t learn anything else from reading this blog, know this:
1. Don’t talk like Drunk Uncle Daddy.
2. Your bulldog is smarter than your kids.
3. Get your kids a collar.
4. Bulldogs would curse if they could speak.
5. You’re a terrible person if you don’t share ALL of your food with your bulldog. Feed them with your fork.
6. Bulldogs are the only creature that can hit a man in his privates and the man think it was an accident.
Until next time,
(shameless plug for a “like” on FB- come on… just click “like”…. it’s painless)