Rhymes with Blog

The Housemate, intent, as usual, on sullying my reputation, has posted the image above on her Flickr page, along with the caption: “Delphine yearns to be prehensile“.

Something tells me that the Housemate, sloppy grammarian that she is, meant in fact to say that I yearn for my paws to be prehensile, as, according to definition number 2 of the dictionary entry for the term pictured below, I could be the poster pup for prehensility, thank you very much.

Regardless of her meaning, I should like to state publicly, for the benefit of my Housemate and the other unfortunate people who read her blog, take her silly polls and view the poorly composed images on her Flickr page, that I harbour no desire, secret or otherwise, to have paws that function any way other than the way mine do at present.

It is indeed unfortunate that there are in fact members of my species (known in the community as “donkeys”*) who have such desires, and even some who refuse to seek treatment for the condition, claiming they enjoy a higher quality of life as a result (more efficient grooming and the ability to grasp chicken drumsticks more firmly are two of the more commonly cited examples). Nor am I one to dispute the usefulness of a a prehensile paw in the case of arthritic male dogs who are no longer able to raise their legs to urinate without physical assistance.

But to state that I am a member of this reviled minority is the biggest lie since the accountant at the Emperors Club assured Eliot Spitzer that paying by cash would make his activities untraceable.

*donkey=dog + monkey

Yesterday I wrote that, in spite of all the SUVs in my neighbourhood, I did not believe it to be a hotbed of criminal activity and wondered why the security blimp was flying over us so frequently of late. Turns out that while our neck of the woods proper isn’t exactly miscreants-ville, there are areas not far from here which do fit this description. The villages of Patna and Bagatelle, to be exact.

J. Paul Serengeti (my best friend), who is homeless and therefore gets to go whereever she wants, has been to these places and she says it’s no picnic. Folks are getting shot, J. Paul tells me. Gang activity is on the rise (gangs, J. Paul says, are the equivalent of what we in the dog world call “packs”). After discussing these matters through the fence today, the two of us got really depressed, though within five minutes we came back to our senses and remembered that we’re only animals. As J. Paul likes to say, “Give us the vote — then we’ll give a s**t.”

The government of my country has invested in two security blimps. They’re supposed to help catch criminals, I believe, though I heard the housemate saying the other day that only one of them is working at present. Every so often the red one flies over our neighbourhood, which, to my knowledge, is not a hotbed of criminal activity, though I do often wonder where these people find the money to buy so many SUVs and why they tint their car windows so dark. The blimp makes a whirring noise as it passes overhead, which makes me wonder how effective it actually is at catching criminals. The way I see it, the average human miscreant, even factoring in his/her sub-standard auditory faculties, is likely to hear the blimp coming in the distance and have more than enough time to take cover.

While the blimp may be a little noisy, however, the sound it makes is hardly deafening, which has me and J. Paul Serengeti (my best friend) and a few of the other neighbourhood dogs very concerned about a certain canine living down on the avenue. I heard the housemate saying the other day that every time the blimp passes over the neighbourhood, said individual runs and hides himself under the family SUV (a Mitsubishi Pajero, I believe). None of us has ever spoken to the animal, as he tends to keep to himself, which, we’re thinking, is further evidence that he might have something to hide.

J. Paul (who is homeless and therefore finds all sorts of things on the street) found a prepaid cell phone the other day which seems to have enough money on it for one phone call. We’ve been saving it to make a crank call to KFC, but we’re thinking it might be better used to call the police and turn our colleague on the avenue in. What do you think?