Danny and the Three Monsters


Hello dog fans, it’s me Danny the Dog! I haven’t been writing much lately because I’ve been helping my human, whose name is Andrew, look after three Labrador retrievers. What a nightmare! There is Chloe, she is fourteen months old, and then there is Beau and Hank. They are both four months old and they are holy terrors. They live on a boat down at the end of the dock. Their human was going out of town and he asked my human to look after the dogs. And Andrew being the idiot that he is, said yes.

First of all, I want to say to my friend Suni that I hope you get well soon. Then I want to say to Jeff, the human that lives with the three monsters, don’t ever leave them in Andrew’s care again. I wouldn’t trust him to look after a taco, much less three dogs.

The trouble started right away. Jeff had two crates (humans call them crates, I call them cages) for Beau and Hank because as I’ve said they are holy terrors. Andrew went over to take them for their first walk after Jeff left, and of course, he has to take me along. More on that later. Anyway, Andrew gets them out of the crates and is getting them off the boat when clumsy Hank falls into the water.

You have to understand this, it was nighttime. It was dark, the water was dark and Hank is black. Andrew and I could see nothing of Hank; we could only hear his splashing around. The dock is about five feet above the water so Andrew couldn’t get him out by standing on the dock. Being the genius that he is (I’m just kidding), Andrew got on the swim platform, which (for you landlubbers) is attached to the back of the boat and is only a foot above the water.

Now this is where Andrew’s genius comes into play. He took off his glasses and placed them on the transom so they wouldn’t slip off when he was bending over to pull Hank out of the water. He called to Hank, and Hank swam over and Andrew got him onto the boat. Then Andrew went to get his glasses and they were not there or anywhere else on the boat. It looked as though Beau knocked them into the water because he had his paws up in that general vicinity while he was watching Andrew rescue his brother (they’re twins). All this in the first five minutes of Andrew looking after the monsters. And it only got better, and by better, I mean worse. I had a ball watching Andrew trying to cope for four days.

On to the next disaster, but first a side note. For some reason Beau is enthralled with me. The damn dog wouldn’t let me alone. He put his snoot in my face, ran around me, bounced around me, he was a royal pain in my rear end. Finally, I had to growl at him and give him a little nip on his snoot to get some peace.

Now back to Andrew’s genius. We got the dogs back on the boat without further mishaps. Andrew fed them and all was well. But then Andrew decided not to put Hank and Beau in their crates. He felt sorry for them being cooped up like that. Big mistake!

The next morning when we went to get them there was poop everywhere. The whole floor was cover in it. The babies got into the dog food bag, ripped it open and ate all the food. Then they pooped everywhere and walked in it. They got it on the couch, on the sliding glass doors, on everything. Needless to say, Andrew, after spending two hours cleaning it all up, changed his mind about the crates.

Last night we were sitting around, Andrew was reading and I was on the computer starting this story when Chloe came on the boat. She’s always coming on here and stealing my water! But she should have been locked in her own boat. Andrew got up, looked out, saw Jeff, and said, “Thank God! Thank God! I barked the same thing. Our days of taking care of the monsters were over. Thank God!

P.S. This morning Jeff came over with Andrew’s glasses. Beau had taken them and hid them in his stash place.



Danny Gets Rained On



I’m in a foul mood today, so this communiqué will be short. It’s been raining for three days and three nights, and one more day of this miserable weather and I’m going to have Andrew build us an ark. Well, maybe not, seeing as how we already live on a boat. “We” being myself, Danny the Dog and my human, Andrew.

The thing about rain I don’t like is that it’s wet. It soaks your fur; it keeps you inside when you could be out chasing cats or running down a tantalizing scent. And to top it off, it brings thunder with it. And I don’t like thunder! Another thing I don’t like about rain is that one has to go outside to do one’s “business.” Hey . . . I can hold it. I’ll wait until it’s dry outside, but Andrew insists that I go out at least twice a day, rain or shine.

When it’s raining, Andrew puts on some sort of yellow getup that keeps him dry, but does he have one of those things for me? Nope!

So for three days now he’s forced me, against my will, to go outside with him in the rain. If I knew how to use a phone, I’d report him to the Humane Society. But I show him. When we come back, I jump up on the bed and roll around until I’m dry. I don’t mind wet sheets, but for some reason Andrew does.

So here I sit at his computer. The big lummox is in the bedroom reading a book, and I know with a certainty that he’s going to come out here in the next few minutes and say, “Okay boy, let’s go for a walk.” And I’ll be thinking, “Okay human, how about I just bite you instead?”

Here he comes. I’ll let you know tomorrow if we went out in the rain or I bit him.


Danny and the Alligator

Picture 334

We slog through the antediluvian swamp, a diaphanous mist rises from the quagmire and a miasmal stench fills our nostrils. The authorities are pursuing us, though we have done nothing wrong. Well, Andrew (my human) has done nothing wrong. I, on the other hand, bit a man, a big fat, obnoxious slob of a man. He had it coming to him; he said I was the ugliest dog he had even seen. Me, Danny the Dog!

After I bit him, he pulled out his cell phone and called the cops, but Andrew and I didn’t stick around and wait for them to show up, we hightailed out of there. Now we are hunted fugitives, with the law closing in. Andrew always told me I’d go to Doggie Jail if I didn’t mend my sorry-ass ways.

They are close now; we can hear their voices, so we pick up the pace. But the going is slow. The water is up to Andrew’s knees and up to my chin. We maneuver around a large cypress tree, and there, before us, is the largest alligator I’ve ever seen. In fact, it’s the only alligator I’ve ever seen. It has to be eighteen feet long if it’s an inch! Its mouth is wide open, showing the enormous teeth of the monster. I stop short and Andrew, who was behind me, trips over me and falls into that gaping, cavernous mouth. The alligator makes short work of him; now all that is left of my human is his right arm and part of his left leg.


Just kidding folks, Andrew is always telling me I can’t write fiction. I thought I’d show him I could. However, we did meet up with an alligator the other day and I would like to tell you about it.

Actually, there was more than one encounter. The first was three days ago. We were walking in the park where we go every morning. Let me stop and back up for a minute. As most of you know, Andrew and I live in Florida, and the park we go to has a sign saying, “No Swimming because an alligator lives in the lagoon.”  Andrew and I never believed it; we had never seen hide nor hair of an alligator. Do alligators have hair? Anyway, back to my story.

It was before daylight and we were walking along the lagoon when we heard a croaking sound, a loud croaking sound. I was intrigued by it; Andrew was oblivious, as usual. I was pulling on the leash and Andrew was a million miles away, probably wishing he was getting laid more.

As we neared the sound, Andrew came out of his coma and said to me, “Where do you think you’re going? The croaking sound that you are rushing to is made by an alligator and you would make a very fine breakfast for him.” Then he yanked on the leash and started to pull me away. I, in turn, tried my passive resistance thing, but to no avail. I was unceremoniously dragged from the park. I started to walk of my own volition only after we were outside the gates.

That was day one. On day two, we heard the croaking again, and as Andrew has given up any hope of getting laid, he heard it at the same time I did. So we left the park tout de suite (that is French for right away, all at once . . . fast).

On day three (this morning), I finally had my encounter with the alligator. It took some maneuvering, but Andrew is easy to outfox. He was intent on picking up mangoes for our neighbor Peggy and he laid the leash down for a moment. That was all I needed. Before he could stop me, I was tearing along the shore of the lagoon, hell-bent on getting to the place I had last heard the croaking.

I rounded a curve at the far end of the lagoon and came face to face with the biggest alligator I’d ever seen, the only alligator I’d even seen. He was not as big as the one in my fictional account, but still, he was big enough for me. I started to bark furiously, knowing my barking would drive him back into the water. However, a funny thing happened. He stood his ground, and he even took a step or two toward me. That, I hadn’t counted on. My first impulse was to turn and run back to Andrew, but that wouldn’t do. Then I’d lose the upper hand that I enjoy in our relationship.

While still energetically barking, I was wondering what my next move should be when the matter was taken out of my paws. From behind, Andrew snatched me up and started running for the street. I squirmed (but not too hard) letting Andrew know I did not appreciate being taken away from my quarry.

On the way home, Andrew told me that I would not get my daily hotdog when we returned home. It was to be my punishment for running away and scaring him half to death. But when we got back to the boat, he gave me my hotdog anyway and scratched me behind the ear. What softy he is.


Danny, Cinnamon and the Kitten


Hi, it’s me again, Danny the Dog. Today, I want to go into more detail about my friend Cinnamon. She lives down the street and we visit most mornings. But she has this thing for cats. I don’t mean as a normal dog would have a thing for cats, like you and me. She likes them! I know, I didn’t believe it either until I beheld a mind-boggling incident with my own eyes.

I must admit there was a time, in my younger days, that I hung around with cats. Well, they were actually kittens. My human, whose name is Andrew, brought home a kitten one day and before you knew it, the damn thing was grown and had a litter of six, and shortly after they were weaned she disappeared. And guess who took over looking after the little monsters? I got no peace during the day because they would follow me around everywhere I went in the yard or inside the house. In those days, we lived in a house with a dog door, so I could come and go as I pleased. At night, the kittens would crowd me. One of them, Blackie, slept on my neck every night! But eventually they grew up and started doing whatever it is that cats do and I went back to being a dog, not a surrogate mother.

Now, what I am about to tell you is true, I swear it on Lassie’s grave. I was over at Cinnamon’s house and we were in the yard sniffing around, at least I was. Cinnamon had her nose in the air and it was twitching a mile a minute. I gave a sniff or two, but didn’t detect anything of interest, so I went back to a fascinating scent over by the corner of the house.

When I next looked up, Cinnamon was gone. The yard is fenced in, so I thought maybe she went into the house. But it was funny that I didn’t hear her human come and get her. I must have been engrossed more than I thought with the scent I was following. I think it was a raccoon. My human was in the house also, but I have him trained well enough by now that he lets me pursue my delights without too much interference from him.

So I’m scampering around the yard, running hither and yond. Sniffing this and that when who do I see outside the fence, but Cinnamon! She trotted over to the far corner, got down on her belly and squeeze under the fence. I didn’t even see that escape route. If I had, I’d be long gone. But then again, I wasn’t thinking of running away because Cinnamon came up to me, and she had a kitten in her mouth. At first, I thought the kitten was dead, but Cinnamon was holding her gingerly and the kitten didn’t seem to mind. Then Cinnamon did an extraordinary thing. She gently put the feline on the grass and put her big paw on it, to hold it in place.


I was thinking, “How nice, a present for me.” But she readily disabused me of that notion by licking the damn little thing. She was cleaning it! Just then, Andrew and Cinnamon’s human (her name is Maggie) came out of the house. They had been in there doing what humans do when there is one female and one male involved and they are alone. I don’t even like to think about it.

Maggie walked up to Cinnamon and said, “Oh no, not again!” Then she turned to Andrew and continued talking, “She did this a few months ago, she has this thing for kittens. She wants to adopt them. The cat you saw in the house, Roscoe, she brought home. I had to walk the neighborhood trying to find where he belonged, but I never did find out. So Cinnamon and I acquired a new member to our family.”

The upshot of the whole story is that Maggie never did find out where Cinnamon snatched the latest kitten from, whose name is now Fuzzy. Sometimes Andrew and I go over there and spend the night. These are the sleeping arrangements: Cinnamon sleeps curled up around Fuzzy and Roscoe, Andrew and Maggie sleep together, and me, the intrepid watchdog stays in the backyard and watches for marauding raccoons.

Danny’s Road Trip


Hey guys … it’s me Danny your favourite dog. I’m hangin’ out just listenin’ to Willie sing a little Kris. My human, Andrew, doesn’t get it, he doesn’t know that Kris and Willie are speaking for God. Have you ever listened to “Sunday Morning Comin’ Down?”

Andrew is off the boat … gettin’ in trouble no doubt. Me, I’m listenin’ to Willie.

I love to ride in cars, don’t you? Sticking my head out the window, barking at any dogs I see along the way … I can even put up with Andrew when I’m riding in a car.

So this is what I wanted to tell ya. Two days ago Andrew took me out to his car and opened the door and told me to get inside. Normally I wouldn’t do what he wanted. But a ride in the car … so I jumped in. I didn’t know where we were going, but as long as I could stick my head out the window I didn’t care.

It was a Sunday morning, the roads were empty, and it was a good thing because Andrew was a little worse for the wear. He had had a rough Saturday night and he was still a little tipsy. And just like in the song, he stopped by a church and we listened to the choir.  It was then that I knew what Kris meant when he wrote, “There’s something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone.” Because I saw it in Andrew’s eyes that Sunday morning. It was indeed a Sunday morning coming down.

He turned to me and said, “I need a beer.”

I thought, “You need more than a beer pal, you need help.”

We were still by the church and a lonely bell was ringing … and Andrew was wishing he was stoned. just like in the song. Friggin’ humans!

I knew that the only thing Andrew cared more about than getting high was me. So before he could start the car and go looking for booze on that Sunday morning, I jumped out the window and took off, knowing that he would chase after me. As long as he was focused on me he’d not dwell on … his Sunday Morning coming down.

I’m sorry to say he caught up with me right away and then we went and bought a six-pack.

It was indeed a Sunday Morning coming down, and it came smack down, right on the head of my human.