Simon Says (Guest Blog)

Dat Big Dave and his pooch was dissin' me I hear, makin’ me sound uncivilized and all. Since BD’s recuperatin' after a family re-union up north, I'm gonna say a few things in my defense. By the way, this is Simon, Boston Terrier owned by Big Dave's son Greg and his fiance Lindsay.

True, I killed a rabbit. You heard about bein' in the wrong place at the wrong time? Dat was him. Now for those who don't know nuthin' 'bout Boston Terriers, let me quote from Wikipedia about the breed: "if properly socialized, (Boston Terriers) get along well with children, the elderly, other canines, and non-canine pets." Doesn't say nuthin' there about chumin' around with stray rabbits.

True, I dug up Big Dave’s plant that was sittin' on a window sill. They saws me diggin 'outside. Why wouldn't I dig inside if I gots the chance? Ya lives, ya learns. I can be a rascal, ya know. Quotin' again from Wikipedia on our breed history: "the Boston Terrier has lost most of its ruthless desire for mayhem." See? Most--not all.

But I don't want no bad rep. Greg's cousin Vic called before our family re-union, which I attended by the way. Vic saw dat blog about me and was worried I'd eat his little kids. Heck almighty, not me. I love kids to death. Let me re-phrase that. I loves them like they was my little brudder. And I did. Gave them lots of sloppy wet kisses when we was up north. Kids love dat.

There was lots of dogs up there and I behaved just as good as the rest. There was this bite-sized (oops) Yorkie named Franchesco that would run after his master, nipping at her ankles. Biting your master? Dat’s uncivilized. I wanted to wrassle around with him but he was quicker than a long-haired mouse in a horse parade.

Then there was dis big white retriever mutt named Barley, probly named after Marley from Marley and Me, since they resembled eachother. He belonged to Greg's cousin Gabe and his wife Kristen. That dog wouldn't stay put. Walkin' away, jumpin' in stranger's cars. Never catch me doing that. Dat's uncivillized.

The family played lots of volleyball--the geezers versus the youngsters--and Barley would mosey among the older players while they were trying to hit the ball. Kristen said he was just checkin' on folks to make sure they were okay but hang, the geezers won half the games even though a bunch of them was over 50. I'd say they was more than okay.

I'm not that sure about Gabe and Kristen. When it was late at night, they stripped down to their skivvies and jumped in the lake. I was in that lake. It was COLD! Even in the day. Then in the middle of the night I was sleepin' in the cabin and I sees Gabe come in to use the bathroom. After he's finished, he crawls into bed with his uncle Tim. I thought it was cozy curled up on the couch with Big Dave's son Scott. Tim's bed wasn't much bigger than da couch. Dat’s uncivilized.

So Kristen had to come in to RETRIEVE her husband and take him back out to their tent. Maybe he was sleepwalkin' or under the influence of somethin' . . . whatever, but where was Barley the retriever on THAT one? Da bum.

And I didn't see no Barley either when Big Dave got struck on the arm by a stray firework. It bled a little but he was okay. Next day one of the women wanted to take a picture of the wound. Big Dave said to hold on till he flexed his bicep so his arm would look more photogenic. When he was ready, Lindsay said, "That's flexed??!"

She shouldn't diss Big Dave like that since she's gonna be his daughter-in-law someday. Dat’s uncivilized. Maybe I should start nipping at her ankles like Franchesco to keep her in line. Big Dave’s all right, even if he is a little fussy about his plants.