The Blog of Pads

Let me tell you about a new thing I do. I go down the pub. My humans recently moved to a house in a place surrounded by fields and woods and I love fields, because I can run loads and get muddy and chase rabbits and squirrels; but the added benefit to being in this 'village' as they call it, is the local pub.  I'd never been to a pub before.  I think most pubs have strict rules like you have to be a certain age and you have to be human and they check your ID to make sure you are.  But this pub is 'dog-friendly' meaning that I can get in without ID. And pubs are a whole new world to me.  First time I walked in, I wasn't sure.  There were these two nasty looking bastard dogs sat just by the door, gave me dirty looks and growled at me, as if to say this was THEIR pub.  I thought to myself, this is like those East End pubs in the 60s that I've heard about, where someone would glass you as soon as look at you, take a pool cue to your head for spilling thei...

Humans are a constant source of bewilderment for me.  I'll sometimes hear the man say things like "PADS, STOP LICKING YOUR WILLY."  Why does he say that?  That's what dogs do.  Who else is going to do it?  He has a problem with the slurping noise.  In the night, when I wake up and have a few minutes licking my privates, he grabs some headphones and sticks them in his ears.  He doesn't have ear plugs, so he has to use headphones and not wireless ones either, so the wire ends up wrapped round his neck by the morning.  Dumbo. Anyway, when he complains about it, I give him a look as if to say, 'That's what dogs do', but he's rubbish at interpreting my facial expressions, because to him they all look 'DEADPAN' as he calls it.  Deadpan should work in that situation though. Then other times I'd bark and he'd say, "PADS, STOP BARKING! WHY ARE YOU BARKING?"  I'm looking at him, like, 'Why are you TALKING?'  I'm ...

I might have legs so short that you'd imagine I'd been dropped from a tall height, legs like Lego people, all joint and no limb, but I do LOVE a long walk and I can run fast enough to get within a sniff of the backside of any squirrel that I chase.  My human Mummy takes me on most of my walks, but about once a week she leaves the house with a big square bag and doesn't come back until the next day - she calls it WORK, as if she can't avoid it, but I do have a sulk - and that means that the man does my walks. I don't like the man as much as human Mummy.  His walks are shorter and he doesn't talk much to me on the way, he just shouts, 'COME PADS' if I lag behind and 'PADS, WAIT!' if I go too far ahead.  You can't win with him, really.  Anyway, I like to play the odd trick on him during our walks. Most of the tricks I play on him involve poo, because he acts as if a dog should always have one poo per walk, preferably firm enough to pick...

I've done it, I've worked it out, I am officially a clever bastard among dogs.  The benefit of having small paws is that I can not only open the man's electronic typing computer machine, but I can hit a single letter on the keyboard without simultaneously pressing 6 other letters at the same time.  This allows me to form proper words in English and present them before you in this blog.  Not something big dogs can do.  Big dogs are clumsy oafs.  If a big dog tried to write a blog, here is what it'd say: njcwegiubf ecnlhck nddwxn ckljdjwd wdhnjwqhnwdq wsjmdwxjkdwqdw wskjmwhnewqgbdec hfchfhbjcf lkfcmfcjk lkdkj cdkjdkjd. Yes.  Pointless. Big dogs need to stick to lolloping about, knocking things over and not trying to express themselves in a refined, articulate and sophisticated manner like yours truly. Yours truly, by the way, is 'Pads'.  Short for Paddington.  An inexplicably English name for a Greek dog.  That's right, I was born and rai...