14 August 13792

Well, another week another less bone in the world.

The week has been mildly amusing. Ellie says she caught a bird. Certainly, there was a dead bird in the backyard, but it looked quite old to me. Ellie said that she caught it by climbing one of the trees and sneaking up on it. Later she said that she just jumped into the air and caught it - there is something definitely fishy (to mix species) about her stories.

Anyway, the bird was good eating (and playing) and there was certainly nothing wrong with that.

If any of you have access to music shows, keep an eye out for the new Stone Temple Pilots clip called "Trippin' on a Hole in a Paper Heart" (don't ask me what it's supposed to mean) - but look out for the short of me just near the start of it - I'm a famous movie star!

Back to matters more mundane, many of you would remember that Mistress Liz is soon to have a baby. Well, it's due any minute now and I'm not sure whether Ellie and I are ready. We've both come from broken homes and need all the lovin' we can get. We're not sure that we want to share that love with an unhaired one. We're currently petitioning Mistress Liz as to whether we can leave it with someone nearby (so we can visit) but not have the thing here all the time. Mistress Liz seems unmoved - a bit like our problems in getting an outdoor internet connection.

There is an alternative, though. I suggested that we call it Bombo the Dog Boy (or Bombo the Dog Girl - "Bombo" is quite a good name in that regard since it may be used equally by a male or a female) and Ellie and I could bring it up in our ways with all the skills that appertain to doggy status. I understand that the Americas were settled by the English etc. using Native American tribes to support themselves until they were properly set up. Of course, Ellie and I would be seeking a little more sympathy from little Bombo than that given to the Native Americans after the English had established themselves - however, Ellie and I would be more than happy to cede a little ground to serve as a reservation for Bombo. I suspect with one of her own living in the backyard, Mistress Liz might be a little more persuaded to grant our internet requests.

Hey, I just had a look at some work Master Craig is doing for a talk on the internet. He actually summarises the net as:

"The internet is commonly referred to as the "information superhighway". It is clear that people who use this term havenít tried to drive for any length of time on this particular highway.

If highways were like the net...

A highway would be thousands of lanes wide.

There would be potholes everywhere.

There would be privately operated bridges.

There would be no police highway patrol, although there would be a couple of security guards on bicycles with broken whistles.

There would be 500 member vigilante posses with nuclear weapons.

There would be 237 entries at each intersection.

There would be no signs.

If you want to get somewhere, you scream out the window at passing trucks to ask directions.

The road traffic laws would be constantly changing.

Participants in AOL would generally be in a giant diesel-smoking bus with hundreds of ebola victims on board throwing dead wombats and rotten cabbage at the other cars, most of which have been assembled at home from kits.

Some cars are built around 2.5 horsepower lawnmower engines with a top speed of 12 kilometres an hour. Others burn nitroglycerin and idle at 160 kilometres.

There would be no licence plates. Many cars would be painted with World War II bomber nose-art.

Little kids on tri-cycles with water pistols filled with hydrochloric acid switch lanes without warning.

Corporates drive semi-trailers led and followed by utes with yellow lights and "Wide Load" signs - the trailers take up almost all of the highway. The trailers have large billboards along their sides with no useable material printed on them.

There are no exits."

I think that Master Craig got his views because he doesn't properly understand the net - anyway, if more dogs were on the net it would be much more like a large green park with dog brownies scattered everywhere. There would be cats to chase around every corner. Vacant fire hydrants would be everywhere and no dog would be denied an internet connection.

I can dream, can't I?

The Olympics also continued - still no dogs. However, Australia is picking up its medal count (we were a little disappointed with Australia's efforts against the Dream Team in basketball - I actually call them the "Snoozy Team" - it would agree with my keen sense of canine humour for the Yugoslavs to beat them for the gold - Ellie and I have been champing at the bit to get invited to cause a bit of trouble for that team (Australian dogs don't like sports teams that take themselves too seriously)). It's funny that the "American language" is creeping into the Queen's English in Australia. I've always called the Olympics "The Eelimpicks". However, it seems that every commentator is calling it the Ohhlimpicks.

Over to the mail. Samatha writes:

"This is Samantha I agree that dogs are slighted in the olympics. How about a test of our powers of scent. The other day I spent about one hour digging around under the couch finding a lovely day old bite of ham. Even those anoying cats could not find the ham. One gold medal for dogs and a big zero for the cat's. I just wanted to bark and say that we now have our own phone line in for "My computer". I just don't understand why they put the line into the den and not into my room. I think I shall do some checking around as to the phone line location.

I'll bark back soon.

Samantha."

That gets me thinking. I wonder if the Snoozy Team would be any good at sniffing? I suspect that after the Yugoslavians play them they'll be good at sniffling.

We also had mail from Bandit:

Roge & Ellie: I read with interest your diary entry of 77 July 13972. Actually, I have my own skunk machine. We dance together on these warm, moonlit evenings around my master's patio. The perfumisation is exquisite. For some reason, however, my master won't let me in the house the next morning for my daily sniffs of the kitchen table and garbage can. I'm not sure, but, perhaps, he is jealous of my mysterious friend? After my skunk machine's last appearance, my master even took me in the back of the truck (oh, joy! Yip! Yip!) to the river and rubbed this green, smelly stuff all over me! Some day, perhaps, he'll grow past this jealousy. Bandit

Bandit, your adventures remind me of a great day I had at a place called Kurnell in Sydney. The area is reasonably famous for its production of oil. Well, I found the best oil slick a dog could dream of - pungent and sticky. Master Craig and Mistress Liz were so pleased they actually decided to take me to the water and have a bath with me.

And lastly to Bear:

Hi everyone Bear here in sunny Ohio. Just writing to say that I am one year old today. My master just gave me a big bone and treats. Everyone sang happy birthday Bear. It was so much fun. Say when are your birthdays. See you soon.

Bark bark Bear woof woof

Sadly, as adopted dogs, Master Craig never received our full birth certificates - Ellie and I don't have birthdays. However, living with Master Craig is like a birthday everyday!


My signature



Ellie Take me to the next diary entry!

a very nice picture of me I'd be very happy if you'd sign Master Craig's visitors' book before you leave (he won't create one for me).

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