For once in my relatively short life I’m glad that mom’s camera isn’t working.

Today I had to go to the vet because I have some sort of weird skin thing going on on my tummy. That and I’ve had a touch of the diarrhea lately. Mom and dad thought better safe than sorry, and before I could begin to disagree we were in the car and on our way.

I’m sure the vet is a really nice person…. really… but he just has so many requirements. Get up on the table Bogart, turn over Bogart, lets see how much you weigh in front of all of the hot bitches Bogart, now it’s time to gather a stool sample Bogart…

Wait, did he just say “gather a stool sample”? What could that mean? You’re going to stick what? – where? – when? – why?

YOWCH!

Mom and dad said they could hear me all the way out in the waiting room and knew that the anal probing had been administered. But as always the Airedale gets the last laugh. Mom and dad thought that they wouldn’t have to “collect” a sample because they allowed the evil vet to do the anal probing? Well guess what – I was totally clean. Nothing to collect. So they just have to wait until the next time I have to poop… then go back to the vet with it in a baggie.

I win AGAIN!!!

Love,

Bogart

UPDATE:  As of 6pm the “sample” has been produced, collected, and now resides on some lucky “fecal flotation” testers desk.

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Today I was planning to bring you artistic photos of myself in the bath. You know, bubbles posed strategically, me looking happy, wet fur pressed to my skin, avocado shampoo being applied…

But mom’s camera is ailing. She THINKS it’s just the digital card (and she has a NEW camera that she SHOULD use when documenting all of my golden moments) and that it SHOULD be fixed asap.

So no bathing beauty shots of me. Just as well I guess. I was fully funk-a-delic and had a lovely layer of crust (that I carefully cultivated at the dog park and other places around town) that needed serious removal via bubble-filled shower.

Love,

Bogart

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Mom and dad are such hipster-wannabees. They say they don’t, and that they aren’t, but they just are. They always drag me to these hangouts, mostly restaurants, where all the hipsters are.

Today we stopped at Fred 62 in Los Feliz so that dad could have a burger and mom could have a grilled cheese. Humans are soooo fascinating in their eating habits (not). I did get lots of smiling and people stopping to admire me, so it wasn’t a total loss, but it was awfully hot outside (it is always 80 degrees in March in LA?) and the sun was making me a little uncomfortable.

They were nice enough to bring me a bowl of water which was much appreciated, but once the admiring stopped I was ready to go.

So basically look for any hipster lunch hangout places around town, and you’ll see me!!!!

Love,

Bogart

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It has been brought to my attention that my hair is getting a bit… LONG.

I’m quite wiry, I have the kind of fur that can get quite scratchy when I get really good and dirty (which is as often as I canine-ly can). When I’m freshly washed, however, it’s really quite soft and furry. Wavy rather than curly. I do get brushed on regular occasions – regularly enough that the brush already bears the bruises of my chewing on it when dad isn’t looking. And a few bite marks from where I made contact during several brushing sessions.

I haven’t had a single haircut ever. I keep hearing about them, tho. It’s not something that I’m looking forward to, even though I see how cute other puppies look with a nice clipping. Mom and dad seem to be looking into such things much more lately than they did before – mom is determined that I go somewhere “nice”, which just leads me to believe that this clipping thing is something overwhelmingly unpleasant, so much so that mom feels the need to overcompensate with the treats and loving in advance…

I prefer to think of myself as a free spirit, going au naturel, letting the puppy pelt grow, letting my dale fro fly….

So we’ll see how long I can divert the humans’ attention from this grooming thing. Bathing is enough for a natural beauty such as myself…

You make me feel like a nat-u-ral airedale…. (airedale….)
Power to the Puppy!!!

Love,

Bogart

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This is my current stick collection.

I am quite the connoisseur – not just any old stick will do. That’s what mom and dad think, that I just pick up any stick and drag it back to the house. Daily. Sometimes twice a day. But noooooo…..

It’s all to support my scientific (by Airedale standards, anyway) theory and to give you all a valuable tip about where to invest your hard-earned money: STICKS!

Sticks are – by far – the most useful thing EVER. They are of course incredibly fun, and provide hours of amusement for any dog. The benefit to the teeth with careful chewing (watch out for splinters!) is there. The feeling of accomplishment when a large stick has been reduced to toothpicks cannot be understated.

And then there are those humans… I’ve noticed that even humans love sticks! They clean floors with them, eat with them, walk with them, even build houses out of them! I found these last week at the Pasadena Flea Market, just waiting for some human to come along and use them…

So, in closing, I must encourage you all to INVEST IN STICKS!!!

Love,

Bogart

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Dad heard somewhere recently about a new non-alcoholic beer for dogs.  Supposedly dogs absolutely l-o-v-e it…

So today he thought he’d try a little experiment – non-alcoholic Clausthaler beer for Bogart.  I was fascinated by it at first, I really wanted to get a lick in while he was pouring it – I’ve never smelled anything like that before.  But Dad wouldn’t let me, he wanted to pour it into my dish.  Ok Dad.

I gave it a good sniff…

And I think I can categorically say that I DON’T LIKE BEER.  Blasphemy for a puppy with a Dad from Austria, I know, but I just can’t see what all the fuss is about.

Love,

Bogart

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Today I’ve become a man.

Not just a pup, but a man. Tonight at about 10:30 mom was taking me for my last walk of the day… a very normal event, nothing exciting. Sometimes she doesn’t even put on regular clothes, just throws a sweatshirt over her counting sheep pajamas (mom, we’re really going to have to talk about that someday). It’s dark, there is usually no one else around, I just run out to my favorite peeing spot and do my business.

Well tonight I felt something… an urge, an itch, it was unexplainable – something just wasn’t right anymore.

And with mom watching in those damn counting sheep pajamas, I did it – I LIFTED MY LEG TO PEE. That’s right – peeing like the big boys. Apparently I’m right-pawed as I lifted my back right leg to pass my nightly water. Not on a tree, or against a fence, no sir-ee bob – but just letting it fly into the wind. Like a fuzzy tripod.

Of course with it being so dark out at night mom couldn’t take a proper picture. Not to mention there wasn’t anywhere convenient for her to carry her camera – not in those counting sheep pajamas! So there is no record of this great event, just the tale…

That’s right, I’ve passed over into manhood – no more peeing “bitch”…

Love,
Bogart

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Holidays are fun, there are so many people out – which means the opportunity for adventure is great!

Today started with some fun at the dog park – with a grapefruit, of all things. Remember I told you about when dad thought it would be funny to feed me a pickle and thought I’d make a really funny face – then I didn’t? Well, we had a similar encounter this morning with my buddies, the Airedales.

Dad was eating a grapefruit – something that shouldn’t appeal to dogs, right? – but we’re not just dogs, we’re AIREDALES. So dad thought he’d try to be funny again… here’s the result:

After a ride home and a quick nap, we went out to lunch at the Corner Bakery in Burbank. Nothing for me there, as mom was having her same old boring sandwich and dad had chili and wouldn’t let me try any. So I just waited for them to finish, and for 2 tables full of people to finish admiring me.

Then we walked by IKEA – mom’s favorite place. We were going to go inside to get a hot dog (dad keeps promising me one of these someday, haven’t gotten one yet) but I’ve been having some digestive issues lately so dad decided maybe another time. Just as they were discussing my intestines, I suddenly had the urge to poop. So I pooped on the IKEA lawn. And mom and dad laughed and were trying to joke about it with stupid Swedish accents (who cares, dad still has to pick up my poop – not the other way around – so they can tease all they want).

Love,
Bogart

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