Now that she's out!

Alright, so now I'm back ... although I'm not the same old dinged-up person that I used to be. Actually, I'm not a person now at all. I'm a dog . . . a chihuahua to be precise. After my master left this site open, I managed to navigate my way around it and even downloaded useful content onto the micro-chip she cruelly allowed her vet to embed in my neck. So now whenever my master leaves me alone to guard the house, I read . . . and I write.Yes, dear reader, we dogs not only understand the spoken word, we understand the written one as well, and, if fortunate enough to live indoors, we learn to typr (whoops; my claws need trimming) ... we learn to type too. What! It's not exactly rocket science, just a few dozen buttons is all. Anyway, this here dialogue box is my way of communicating to the world what it's really like to be a dog. Warning: If you the reader have a weak constitution or abhor the thought of animal cruelty at any level, then I suggest you stop reading now, as this story gets, at times, pretty graphic. I begin: My name is Binx. I live in New Zealand, so I guess that makes me a Kiwi. (Like its not bad enough to be roughly the size of a gourd). Actually I read in an encyclopedia the other day that my breed was originally from China where we were carried around in the sleeves of men while they went about conquering. Sounded rather comfy, until I read on. If the travellers ran out of food, guess who got eaten.

Demons & Duties

I haven't got a recipe for meatballs, and I don't have the recipe for raising 2 teens and 2 young adults either, well, not a foolproof one. Like the meatballs dish, I'm just making things up as I go along. This parenting caper wasn't like going to the movies where you get a sneak preview of the up-and-coming blockbuster. Oh no...if that had been the case, I would have locked myself in my room and watched reruns of The Waltons or Peddicoat Junction for the rest of my life. I wouldn't have looked at boys, let alone had thoughts of kissing one in the back row of the picture theatre. I'm in my 40s now and still feel like I did when I was nineteen - minus the carefree aspects - until I accidently look into a mirror. WHO is that woman? Where did I go? I suppose I should look like a seventy yr' old (addiction tends to prematurerly put years on the odometer), but luckily I beat my demons, although I can hear them sometimes shuffling about under the stairs. I stapled my motherly duties to the corkboard in 1988 and have worked around the clock ever since. Having said that, I switched one addiction for another and became a courseaholic. More on that later. Nice to be here. Hopefully I'll remember how to get here tomorrow night too.