DOGGY THOUGHTS FROM BO, THE PRESIDENTIAL POOCH.
Yeah, I know it’s been a long time (even in people years) since I’ve updated my diary, but life hasn’t been easy here at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. In fact, I’m writing this from an undisclosed location somewhere in the residence.
I’m hiding out after having scrambled away from a barrage of Bigfoot’s shoes. One of those size -12 units caught me on the side of the head, but I think I’ll be OK. She was pissed when she saw that I had found her stash of Twinkies and helped myself to a few. Still, it wasn’t as bad as the time I ate one of her hidden triple-decker bacon sandwiches. That day she came after me with a baseball bat. Good thing for me that the Secret Service Guys thought she was going after Himself with the Louisville Slugger and tackled her.
Speaking of Himself, he’s as every bit as rotten as she is. When he’s in the house (on the rare non-golf days), all he wants to do is sit around in his shorts and watch basketball games on television. The hard and fast rule around here is that no one is to bother Himself while he is watching a basketball game. One time I really had to take a crap. It had gotten to the point of either bothering Himself while he stared into the TV, or shitting on the carpet (The last time I shit on the carpet, the Secret Service guys saved me from certain death at the hands of the two First Lunatics). So, I walked into the room and did some serious barking. Hinself went positively nuts. He flung one of his flip-flops at my head and screeched, “Goddammit! Someone get in here and get this f**king mutt out of my sight!”
I swear, if the Secret Service guys and the people in the press didn’t call me “Bo,” I would think my name was “This F**king Mutt.”
It ain’t easy being the First Dog.
Damn! Bigfoot found me! She’s swinging the baseball bat again. Gotta run.