Hell Hound Changes History!

(This one is for Mr. Putz.)

Hell Hound Changes History!

Senators, run for your lives...

Hello odorless, television device that mesmerizes humans. It's me, Hell Hound, stealing a few minutes to write about my latest adventure. It all started last weekend, while I was romping in my world. I spotted my mother, Trixie, and her gang of rabid, abandoned Beagles approaching me. At first I was very excited to see her again; (our first meeting occurred a few months ago when Norman Whiskers was banking on the idea that her friends would send me to doggie heaven.)

"Mother, is it you, come again to visit me?" I asked as she hopped the fence. Standing beside her was Biggy Smalls, the rapper pigeon who has a beef with me. (Long story short, I ate his brother.)

"Hell Hound. There is something I have not shared with you," said my birth mother, hesitating.

Then Biggy put his feathered arm around my Trixie-Mom.

"Ima be brief, dawg. Your mama and me is married now," the pigeon interrupted. As his words stung my mite-free ears, I noticed a bunch of matching gold chains around my mom's neck. She smiled weakly, revealing a gold fang.

"Nooooooooooo!" I exclaimed, running amok in the yard. "This can not be happening to me!"

Inside the house again, I decided to watch some Fox News to take my mind off of my dysfunctional family. However, my conscience was driving me mad.

"I'm losing my mind!" I whined. "My mother married a pigeon! According to that sign on television, I have to Stop Obamacare or Grandma Will Die! What is this world coming to?"

(Then, Hell Hound's proud heritage, sans pigeons, rose up before her eyes.)

"Am I not descended from Billy Goat, a member of the livestock of General Grant? Am I not the great-grand-dog of President Richard Nixon's best friend?"

(Suddenly, the image of Checkers, Richard Nixon's beloved furry Statesman popped into her mind's eye.)

"Hell Hound, my great, grand-dog, go to the White House! Confront President Obama. Save Hyde, Save the world," the ghost of Checkers chanted.

I shook my snoot in disbelief, because I had never seen an actual specter before, (not counting Scutch the Butcher- a crazy dead stray cat who lives in our attic). Checkers was instantly gone, and I was inspired! I started running to Washington D.C. (After all, politicians look yummy on television.) Ima get me some doggy snacks. I thought.


At Walmart I found the perfect disguise. The checkout girl confirmed that the hunting hat and weird glasses did not make me look too Communist.

Finally, I got to the Senate floor, and stopped to relieve myself. The humans were snarling and bug-eyed. I knew I was in the right place.


"Show me your leader," I demanded bravely, but they did not comply. Soon women in pants suits and men with toupees were pelting me and trying to pin me down. I started ripping up that place and biting heels.

In the meantime, I got some good inside gossip for my job as a contributor to the website OMG! Senator Mitch McConnell is really tough on the teeth. I cracked my fang trying to rip his socks off. (My Lady says he needs to chill; no wonder- it turns out that guy wears his pajamas under his clothes.) Nancy Pelosi's ring tone is "Iron Man." Her phone was tasty. When she caught me under the table she started beating me. She was wearing a big ring with her image engraved that left an impression on the top of my head. (Write that down, PETA. I can forward pics.)

The last politician I chewed was Senator Robert Byrd. He was playing Sudoku under the table. He tasted just like chicken. That's when the Secret Service dragged me out of there and handed me over to the Homeland Security Department. They locked me in a dog pen in the coat closet.

Are they kidding me? These people better get on the ball before something bad happens to our country again. Every terrorist knows that dog pens are no match for trained Hell Hounds. I just ate my way through the plastic floor. That's when I realized how hungry I felt and I noticed a stack of papers placed on a low shelf. The cover sheet read:

HEALTHCARE Reform Bill

A tragedy in multiple acts

rough draft #456,660

Starring: Barack Obama and Friends

It was yummy. Then I licked a hole through the transparent door and wandered down the hall looking for dessert.

That's when I heard:

"Come on, boy, it's lunch time!"

I knew it was the voice of President Obama calling his pathetic pure bred Snickerdoodle dog.

I adjusted my disguise and pranced into the room. Lucky for me, the new door to the Oval Office is transparent now too.

President Obama hit the intercom button.

"This isn't my dog," he said, alarmed.

Then I ate the phone wire.

"That's right, Mr. President. I'm Hell Hound, the mutt you rejected in the reality show competition to be the next First Dog. I'm back and I have demands."

"Okay." said the president, calmly. "What do you want?"

"I want you to save your Hyde and compromise," I threatened him. "Make me First Dog!"

President Obama sighed, and shrugged.

"You say that you want to be First Dog. But that's a compromise that the American people cannot, and will not accept. We may not see eye to eye, but I think I can do something that will make you go away, Hell Hound. I will write an Executive Order to preserve and extend the Hyde Amendment. So, go home, Hell Hound. You accomplished great things today, and tell your human mother that I got her 500 pro-life emails. I still don't agree, but obviously I have to hear her!"

So I trotted home, thinking quietly about the day's strange occurrences. Overall, I was proud of myself, and my Lady. On my way home, I returned my disguise at Walmart since I never cut off the tags.

A Christie Pet Christmas Carol

Dude Where Am I? Presents:

A Christie Pet Christmas Carol

(based on A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, who is rolling in his grave right now at this adaptation.)

Part I.

Scutch the Butcher Cat was dead, to begin with, for seven years since the birth of the first Christie child. Hell Hound knew he was dead, although every so often a cat tail would hover past the threshold of a room and retreat up the stairs to the second floor, or a sharp-toothed grin would appear in a dark corner. Was it a figment of Hell Hound's imagination? Perhaps it was a clump of undigested grass, or the dirty diaper she snatched from the garbage affecting her stomach.

"Rrr HumRug!" She growled.

"I'll believe in ghosts when dogs can whistle," she barked, smugly.

Besides, what would old Scutch want with me now? She wondered.

In life Hell Hound did not fear the great stray cat that the Christie family saved when they moved in. In fact, he had been her first furry adopted mother, teaching her the ropes of domesticated pet life, Yoda cat style.

"Young Hell Hound," he'd hiss, "The number one goal of your life should always be: GET MEATZ!"

Hell Hound learned this lesson well, becoming a master thief. She took a stuffed toy from a Christie child at least once a week in hopes that MEATZ might be discovered inside it. She helped herself to what was in the garbage pail when she thought no one was watching. She stole the roast beasts for several Christie feasts. This is how she became a Hell Hound, cursed by all Christies, but loved, nonetheless.

Loved so well was this Hell Hound, that the prayer of the littlest Christie of all, Baby Bigfoot, at dinner one evening, sparked angels in pet heaven to take action.

After the family had said prayers full circle, Baby Bigfoot folded his hands and added,

"and no take mine cookies, bad puppy! Amen"

A gust of brisk air ruffled Hell Hound's coat at the sound of the little voice, and she looked up, thinking a steak may have dropped from the table.

Outside, Hell Hound double checked the contents of her secret stash. Two kidnapped stuffed toys, a chewed wallet, an old cell phone and a police badge she found on the lawn were still intact behind a drain pipe near the side of the house.

Scutch appeared suddenly, in full form, and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hell Hound!" He wailed.

The dog spun around as fast as her chubby body could turn and barked. Upon discovering it was her old mentor, Scutch the Butcher cat, in ghost form, she rolled on her back in submission, whimpering,

"What do you want with me, flea bitten spirit?"

"Meow!" Scutch howled. "In life I was your mentor, Scutch the Butcher cat. I became the toughest stray in the neighborhood, stealing meatz from barbecues in all of these yards. When your lady domesticated me, I did not learn my lesson. I taught you my bad habits when you were an impressionable puppy and now you're a Hell Hound dog! Oh, MEOW!" the specter cat whined.

Hell Hound shivered.

"But, Mr. Butcher, you took me under your wing. You were always good at the business of securing meatz."

Scutch screeched even louder.

"MEATZ! MEATZ? Gratitude is a pet's business! I should not have taught you to steal food and toys from the children. Once I was adopted by your lady I had no need to continue my stray cat ways, and I should have never have passed them to you. There is no rest for me now. I roam this property wishing I could return and change my reputation." the cat cried.

A long chain of missing objects and meat bones appeared and encircled the cat. It wrapped him tightly and lifted him up into the atmosphere, where a multitude of wailing specter cats appeared. Then Scutch spun off into the evening sky, hovering near the Christie windows with a look of longing and regret.

"You will be visited by some pet ghosts. Expect the first tonight. The time has come for puppies to whistle, Hell Hound! Heed my words. If you do not stop stealing food, you will die of obesity," warned the cat, and then he was gone.

"Rrrr Rumbug!" growled Hell Hound. Then she sneezed.

Hell Hound trotted back into the house at the sound of her lady's call. In the den, a frightful sight on the television made her stop in her tracks.

Photo Credits: Not many pics exist of Scutch, so the first cat image is a close look-alike taken from Yahoo Flickr, and the second is from lolcats. There is a real picture of Scutch in my photobucket pictures at the bottom of this blog.
Whistling Puppy @ Yahoo! Video

A Christie Pet Christmas Carol continued...

Part II. The Ghost of Christmas Past

When the clock struck midnight that evening, Hell Hound was lying on the floor next to her Lady’s bed, her tummy rumbling incessantly. So she got up to go search for a snack. On her way toward the staircase she saw the door to the upstairs bathroom slightly ajar. A white sparkling light was fanning out from the crack.

Score! She thought. Old Princess Leah’s food will be at my access.

So Hell Hound pushed the door wide open with her snoot. The room was certainly bright, but something was odd. The window was open, for starters, and the room was freezing. Large, heavy snowflakes were falling outside.

Hell Hound sniffed the closet. The old cat’s food was gone. Then she looked for the hidden litter box, where the cat stashes the dog delicacy snack, but the box was gone too.

This is very strange. Hell Hound thought, opening a dresser drawer.

Although she could faintly smell the old cat, the drawer was empty.

Hell Hound walked back into the hall and let out a low, crisp bark.

“Leah!”

Where could she be? The old girl was blind, crazy and very sick. She could not have gone far, but why were her things missing?

The dog was sitting in the middle of the bathroom sniffing the air in order to find clues to this mystery, when the door shut briskly. Then a ball of light whizzed past her nose and tickled it a bit.

Hell Hound fell into a sneezing fit, but out of the corner of her eye she could make out a cat’s tail and feet, literally pushing off of walls and bouncing in a kind of game. The dog cowered in fear. Surely, this ball of energy could not be old Princess Leah! The creature finally hit the bathroom mirror and fell into the sink. Hell Hound peered into the sink to check it out and gasped.

“Hello, Hell Hound,” whispered the voice of a little girl. A young Princess Leah cat was curled up there, her coat soft and smooth again, her eyes glowing and sharp.

“Leah, HOW did you change? Are you a spirit?” Hell Hound asked, shaking slightly.

“Yes, I think so, and I am forever YOUNG!” Princess Leah seemed to levitate over the sink, and in an instant she was flying around the room again bouncing off of walls, leaving small footprints that slowly dissipated like pixie dust. She stopped at the window and stared out longingly.

Hell Hound inched closer. “HOW did this happen to you and why haven’t you left yet on that ship that you always talk about?”

Princess Leah sighed. “I am waiting for it to pick me up and take me into the sky, but I’m afraid the snowstorm has delayed it. A messenger came to tell me that a great Lion, (my Father), is awaiting my arrival, but first he has given me an important task.”

“What is it and does it involve locating meatz, because then I can help you,” stammered Hell Hound.

“My assignment is YOU, Hell Hound. I’m to help change you into a good pet. Behold! I am made NEW again! This is the great gift of Christmas for all creation. Our souls live forever because we are all loved, and so all must be JOYOUS!”

“Oh no! Because I am naughty, I will anger the great Lion, and I will not be made new?” Hell Hound shuddered at the thought.

“No, Hell Hound. The great Lion’s compassion is beyond the understanding of all creatures in this world. He loves you no matter what you do, but sometimes your actions make Him sad. He wishes you had an attitude of gratitude, and He’s concerned about what type of impact your very important life is making here.”

“Cool, then I’ll just do what I want and get loved anyway. Did you just say that I am very important?”

The cat ignored Hell Hound’s question.

“If your conscious allows you to continue to be naughty, then you are not the puppy I remember. Let’s take a look at Christmases that have passed.”

A glittering ball of yarn encircled Hell Hound, and she was lifted up into the atmosphere and through the open window with Princess Leah the Cat, who shot through the blizzard like a furry rocket.

Hell Hound howled at the moon as they passed it. The experience was invigorating, like a car trip with one’s head completely out the window.

They landed in a pile of ribbons and bows in an apartment that Hell Hound did not recognize. Princess Leah was trilling with glee and romping in the bows.

“Where are we, Leah?” asked the dog.

“At my Lady’s first apartment on the occasion of her wedding to Milk Man. The bows were strewn all over the living room carpet when she moved in and Oh! It was cat heaven.”

The princess became so entangled in her play that she forgot Hell Hound was sitting beside her.

“Um, excuse me, but what does this have to do with me?” asked the dog.

“This is but a shadow of Christmas Past. My Past. My Past! WEE!” said the cat, rolling in the ribbons.

“But, Leah, “said the dog, gently, “I thought this story was supposed to be about me.”

The cat stopped mid flip so that a giant bow twice the size of her head balanced between her ears.

“Oh, my. That’s right. Oops! Let’s go then.”

With that Hell Hound was lifted up again and catapulted through the snow storm.

They landed back at the house that Hell Hound knew and loved, but the living room looked different. On the couch was a little puppy sleeping on his Lady’s lap.

“Why, it’s me as a pup again when my Lady and I first became friends. Oh, how sad I was to leave my brother Cupcake in the shelter, but my Lady treated me just like her baby, since she had not given birth to the human litter of Christies yet.”

Princess Leah nodded. “You needed a bath every morning because you wet your cage at night, and our Lady got up early to clean you before she had to go to work. She certainly loved you. Do you remember the couch she is sitting on, Hell Hound?” asked the cat.

“Oh yes. It is gone now.”

“What happened to it?” questioned the wise spirit.

“Um, well, I peed on the cushions, and then my Lady washed the covers and aired out the foam,” the dog remembered.

“Yes, and you ate the foam while it was drying. That made our Lady cry.”

Hell Hound dropped her head low. “Yes, and that’s when I got the nickname Hell Hound.”

“Your original name was Muffin,” the cat remembered. Hell Hound didn’t answer. A small tear appeared in the dog’s eye.

“Let’s look at another Christmas," said the cat, and they whirled off into night air once again.

This time they landed outside in the snow where Big Brother, just a toddler, was eating an apple slice.

A younger, skinnier Hell Hound shot past the child, who was bundled in layers. She swiped the apple from the little boy’s hand and left him crying on his back in the snow.

“Who is that dog?" the cat demanded. "Is she starving so much that she must steal from a baby?"

Hell Hound was silent, but her tail receded between her legs because she felt bad.
She cleared her throat and tried to explain.

“When the human puppies came along, I felt less special than I had once been in the eyes of the humans. So I started behaving spitefully.”

The cat nodded. Suddenly the scene around them melted away and they were back at the window in the upstairs bathroom.

“LOOK!” shouted the cat. “MY ship has FINALLY come! Oh, look at all the RIBBONS! Goodbye Hell Hound. I will see you again.”

The cat stepped out the window onto a rainbow that formed a bridge leading to a giant ark loaded with animals. The light in the room was sucked out with the cat, until Hell Hound was left sitting in darkness sniffing the blast of cold air left in its wake.

“Hell Hound! What are you doing in here? There is not cat food to steal anymore so go back to bed,” scolded the Lady who was standing in the bathroom doorway.

She shut the window and led the dog out of the room. Hell Hound felt a rain drop hit her head. Was there a leak in the roof? She looked up at her Lady, who was wiping her eyes and leaning down to pet her.

In Memory of Princess Leah the Cat 1995-December 19, 2009 :(

A Christie Pet Christmas Carol continued...

Part III. The Ghost of Christmas Present

Instead of listening to her Lady, Hell Hound booked down the staircase and hid under the old coffee table in the parlor. She needed some time to think about what just happened to Princess Leah, and what it could all mean. The room was not dark. On the contrary, it was bathed in light. The Christmas tree was lit in full splendor.

"MEOW HOW HOW!"

What was that strange sound, wondered the dog. Had Sant-e-dog come and caught her near the tree?

"RrrRumbug!" shouted the dog. She realized the voice could only be that of Norman Whiskers, the impostor PETA sergeant who has been plotting to kill Hell Hound since the moment of his arrival just after the new year 2009, on her Lady's birthday. Why her Lady would bring home such a present for herself was beyond the dog's understanding.


"I guess having a Hell Hound was not good enough for my Lady. She needed a Norman Whiskers too," the dog grumbled.

"Come in, Shirley Dog!" shouted the voice.


Rolling her eyes, Hell Hound stepped into the light in front of the great tree.

"My name is not ..." started the dog.

"I know who you are, Hell Hound. I just like to pull your chain. Meow How How How!"

"It's HO HO, cat. HO HO!" said the dog.

"I know, I know, my lips can't make that noise. Anyway, dog, I have to do something for you tonight, or else my tail is cooked by the great Lion. Besides, you are starting to grow on me a little. SO, I am the Magnificent Ghost of Christmas Present, come to save you from exploding."

"Exploding?" Hell Hound was confused.

Just then a pile of MEATZ appeared beneath the great cat, who was pushed up almost six feet in the air, until his crown touched the ceiling. The cat's ears pointed into the shape of horns and a mischievous grin twisted his lips.



"Eat, Hell Hound! You shall surely eat until you explode!" laughed the cat.





Hell Hound did try to eat the meatz. Indeed, it was the most fantastic pile of beef she had ever seen, and then it was gone.




















A roaring voice shook the room.




"NORMAN WHISKERS!"

"OK, OK, sorry Lion. Where was I? Oh, yes," stammered the cat.

"Grab my tail, BRUTE!" Mr. Whiskers commanded.


Hell Hound did as she was told, and closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them, Hell Hound discovered that Norman Whiskers had led her into the laundry room.

The dog sighed.

"What do you plan to do, stuff me in the dryer? I 'm too fat. Give it up, cat. I'm not going anywhere. Maybe this story should be about you and your various attempts to murder me throughout the past year."

"SHHHHHH!" scolded the cat. Then, composing himself once again, Mr. Norman Whiskers, the GREAT Ghost of Christmas Present opened his furry robe. A small black thing with a head rolled out of it and rested at the front paws of Hell Hound, who leaped back in horror.

"What the %!#*$ is that thing, cat!" yelped the dog.

Mr. Whiskers, clearing his throat, replied, "Silly dog, get thee to a pound! This is the child of all naughty dogs. His name is SOCK WANT. He exists because you steal socks."


Hell Hound recoiled in horror. The little sock cat hissed and revealed pointy teeth.

"65,433,000 socks have perished because of you, You, YOU!" hissed the little sock head.

Hell Hound covered her eyes in torment. "I'm so sorry!" she wailed.

Norman Whiskers smiled.

"Come, let us see this Christmas!" shouted the cat. With that, he snapped Hell Hound in the face with his furry robe.

When Hell Hound came to her senses, it was Christmas morning. The Christie children were opening their presents in a 4 a.m. frenzy. As little Baby Bigfoot paused at his stocking, a tear rolled down his cheek and his pink lips began to quiver.


"Spirit," tell me, "muttered the dog, "will Baby Bigfoot get his Christmas candy this year?"

The cat looked solemn. "I see an empty teddy bear stocking with his name on it," the cat said.

"NO! BAD PUPPY! EAT MINE CANDY FROM HO HO. AHHHHH!" screamed the baby.


When Hell Hound awoke, she was lying on her dog bed, crying softly. She could hear the clock striking 3 a.m. in the dining room.

With visions of her naughtiness spinning around in her brain, Hell Hound found it hard to sleep. When she closed her eyes, all she could picture were the meatballs she stole off Milk Man's dinner plate last night. Hell Hound smacked her forehead with her paw. She knew in her furry heart that the time had come for her to mellow out, and stop swiping food, but OH those meatballs were so good!

After tossing and turning for an hour, the dog decided to go outside and get some air.








The little cat playing "sock want" comes from the site icanhasacheeseburger?

A Christie Pet Christmas Carol... finale

Part IV. The Ghost of Christmas Future/Epilogue




When Hell Hound trotted out the door, she was met by the last creature on Earth she wished to see: Biggy Smalls the pigeon rap artist.


Back in 2003 Hell Hound ate Biggy's brother, and now this bird had a score to settle. Although the dog tried to step gingerly in the snow, the pigeon heard him and looked up from his book.

"HELL HOUND! What up DAWG?! Here we are...ALONE on Christmas Eve. Looks like the Great Pigeon answered my prayers tonight!"

Then, rolling up his invisible sleeves and pushing aside his gold chains, rap artist/pigeon Biggy Smalls advanced toward the dog, who gulped and started inching back in the snow.

"I'm a bout to open up a MEGA can a POLITIKAL IN KORRECTNESS on YOU, Dawg, for eatin' my brotha Clarence in 2003!"

"Hold up pigeon! Now think this through," stammered Hell Hound. "WAIT a minute...Your part in this story is SILENT! Remember? That's the rules..." The dog smiled weakly.

The pigeon stopped in his tracks and threw up his wings.

"Aight," he agreed. Then he made a gesture as if to zip his beak shut.

Next that pigeon pounced on Hell Hound, who yelped in fear. Down they tumbled into a snowy pit. Biggy Smalls flew to the top and pointed downward, indicating that Hell Hound should keep digging.

"Biggy, sir, I didn't know Clarence was your brother. I was not thinking. Forgive me! I will never eat a live animal again. I promise! Don't leave me here in this snowy pit to die! I did not read Call of the Wild like my Lady asked, so I don't have a clue on how to survive out here!"

Biggy Smalls grinned and his face morphed into something hideous: a reflection of all the creatures that Hell Hound had murdered and eaten.

Hell Hound screamed like a woman dog.
"NOOOOOOO!"











Just then, a blurry super hero appeared. It was the Christie Princess, Supergirl, in the flesh.

"Come on Hell Hound. I will save you!"

Hell Hound awoke to pets from the little Christie who saved him from his nightmare.

"Wake up Hell Hound! It's Christmas Day! Santa Claus came for you and he brought you a bone!"




Certainly, this was the most glorious day of Hell Hound's life.
Hell Hound, looking up to heaven to silently thank the great Lion, promised to keep Christmas in her heart and actions for the rest of her...week.

THE END ;)

Merry Christmas to the readers of this blog. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Love,

Loren

Forgive me for the curse in the first picture, but I thought it was hilarious. It comes from here:
http://www.bestweekever.tv/
The second pigeon picture comes from here: mymedia-forum.com. As you might know, NY got a lot of snow this past weekend, and Hell Hound was tunneling through it merrily on Saturday.

Weekend Update With Hell Hound: Annual Spooky Picture

Hello non-edible device that mesmerizes humans. This is my frightening face, the one I make on the scariest night of the year: Halloween! I know I haven't written in a while, but I got an email a few months ago that offered on opportunity to earn my Doctoral degree online, so I signed up! Then I found a card in a wallet I was chewing and used the numbers to pay the laptop. Now I've put aside my duties for PETA, and I am earning a degree in Homeland Security Policy and Coordination. I think this degree will help me fulfill my dream of becoming top dog in the White House.

Tonight I took a break from my studies to whine and bark near the back door, reminding Alpha Dog, my mother, to take me for our annual Halloween walk near the grave yard fence. Every year she takes her camera and snaps a picture at midnight. I'm not sure why a human would take a picture of no one in complete darkness; I just chalk it up to her being odd. I try to ask her why we go this direction on this particular night, but she and I suffer from a language barrier. She is not smart enough to understand bark.

Tonight is no different than previous Halloweens. We trek out ever so quietly, while I employ some stealthy tactics that I learned in my course work, (and do my business). As she climbs the fence I bark, suddenly, in my Homeland Security Dog voice,

"Careful Mommy, I smell squirrels plotting terror!"

And the next thing I know she is screaming and flipping backwards. Good thing she does not fall into the cemetery this time. Wow, she is really clumsy. Anyway, here is your spooky picture for Halloween 2oo9. It is the most interesting one yet, even though we took it early (at 8 p.m.) because the Yankees are playing in the World Serious and my human mother is getting on in dog years.

Happy Halloween!

-Hell Hound

Hell Hound's Weekday Update: Outrage!

Hello odorless, non-edible television device that mesmerizes humans. I'm watching the five o'clock news this afternoon and can not believe my mite-free ears. Someone is sending the Obama family a puppy. My fellow Americans, I have to ask myself:

"What does that dog got that I ain't got?!"

I am an interesting mutt too! I'm no Snouzerdoodle, (or whatever), but I am proud of my Beagle-Collie-Wolf-Goat heritage. At least I'm potty trained! This is why I switched parties. McCain would have adopted me. You can view this outrageous news clip called "Puppy Love" by clicking on the link below.

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/?cl=11645409

Hell Hound's Weekday Update: Hypocrisy!

Hello odorless, non-edible television device that mesmerizes humans. It is with a heavy heart that I write to you tonight. The things I witnessed these past two weeks: the betrayals, the hypocrisy, ... it's enough to drive a dog mad.

First Alpha Dog loses her mind on her birthday and brings home a cat from the prison. This creature, "Norman," is extremely annoying. He doesn't like to play freeze tag, nor will he share his cat food with me. He's got this stuffy English accent and I keep telling him,

"You're from Long Island, New York you twit, you're not fooling anyone."

Oh, but Alpha Dog, his LLLLLADY, is smitten alright! She bought him a jeweled collar and you know what she got me?! She threw out my Kibbles and bought freakin' IAMS dog food for fat dogs. That's right. She put me on a diet. Can you believe this $%*#?!

Anyway, I'm running away, (as soon as it gets warmer and I can collect enough money). If I call this number on the back of the Watchtower literature that was stuck in the screen door, I'm guessing they'll send a car to pick me up. I just have to disguise myself as a human and agree to some Bible study classes. No biggie.

- Hell Hound

My Life as Norman Whiskers: A Careless Blunder

The dog is a horrid creature. From my sunny seat atop a chair that seems just my size, I glare at it with disgust.

"Why are you so angry, cat?" The dog asks, tilting its head like someone utterly clueless. "What have I, Hell Hound, ever done to you?"

I swish my tail and utter a low growl. "You simply exist, Charles." I say as I hop off the chair and dart past it to a more secure location under the dining room table. Then that creature takes my place on the chair.

The Hell Hound looks offended. It whines and droops its shaggy head. "Actually I am a girl, and my name is not Charles."

"A girl! Ha! That's a funny one, Clyde. Go, run along and chase your tail in that street over there." I motion toward the window with my tail.

The dog runs away, obviously insulted, and my pink lips twist into a smile. I'm thinking I might be able to drive it so batty that it runs away from home. Poor thing. I believe this scheme will work. We shall see.

In the laundry room my Lady is typing away on her blog. She seems to do this for about 30 minutes each day. I watch her with great interest, attempting to give her my paw and bonk heads until she shoos me off her lap.

"I can't type and pet you." She says.

"How quickly the bright colors of new love fade!" I think. Perhaps the computer has replaced me in her heart. I suddenly feel sad. She leans down and pats my head. "I'm sorry Norman. Just give me ten more minutes to finish this and I'll fill your dish." I purr in acceptance of this compromise.

I sit and watch her, swishing my tail like Indiana Jones does with his whip. (I learned my Lady is quite enamored by that old geezer). I do think it makes me look sexy. Then she turns and says:

"Norman, I'm so proud of you, accepting Hell Hound like you have! It was so nice to see you let her give you a kiss on the nose last night. I was touched."

"WHAT! I must have been drunk! In fact, I believe I was sniffing an open bottle of Merlot on the counter while you were tending to the children. How disgusting! Quick, get the bottle of Scope, my Lady. I feel quite sick....Never speak of this again to anyone. I'm sure the negative effects of alcohol have led you to being kissed by dogs as well."

Her eyes grow very wide, and her mouth is agape with horror. "Norman!" She gasps. "You speak...English?!" I run before I can answer, through the kitchen, past the dumb-bell dog and up the stairs. I have to see Princess Leah, and get her advice on my folly. The line all cats MUST not cross is to let humans know we can speak their language. In my shock over the shameful incident with Hell Hound, I forget this ancient rule.

Princess Leah is again wrapped up in the final chorus of her favorite song, "Memories." She is sitting on a puppy training pad on top of her cat bed. "Princess Leah! Oh, my. I've just made a dreadful mistake!" I say, skidding up to her. She is sitting in her own pee. She immediately sees the look of repulsion on my face at her lack of litter box observance, and says:

"Why do you stare! It wasn't me. I have not the slightest idea how this pad got wet. It must have been that dog! My Lady understands. She will change it when she sees it. What do you want?" The old cat seems embarrassed, and speaks quickly.

"I spoke to my Lady in English! It was an accident. I was upset over getting drunk and kissing the....Well, never mind," I say, blushing.

Princess Leah is staring out the window again. She turns her furry head toward me. "Oh, hello. How are you, Norman?" Obviously, she is a bit senile. I explain my problem again and ask her advice.

"Oh, my. No, my Lady has never heard me speak English. Why, that would be crazy. She would have put me in the circus, or worse, made me perform in front of relatives at holiday gatherings. What you've done is shameful, Norman, just dreadful. You've broken Cat Code of Conduct. What you've done cannot be undone. The solution to this problem lies within your heart. May the force be with you."

After she says this, Princess Leah yawns, stretches her paws out from underneath her torso, and begins to snore.

Hell Hound's Weekday Update: Mugged by a Prisoner from Al-CAT-traz!

---Here's a picture of me getting mugged by the criminal, caught on home security tapes. Write this down, PETA.

Hello odorless, non-edible television device that mesmerizes humans. The unspeakable has happened. Alpha Dog is allowing a criminal to live in our home. It is another CAT, as if the poltergeist feline that lives in the upstairs bathroom was not enough. It gets worse, cyborgs. This weekend I was mugged in my own home by this monster. I encountered him as I was roaming the house. He was hiding in the closet. "Oh, hello there," I said in a friendly manner, wagging my tail. The beast growled curses that can only be dreamed up in cat-ptivity. Then he slapped me across my snoot. I jumped back, horrified.

"I don't have a wallet," I barked nervously, "but my food dish is in the kitchen on the right. Help yourself...Then go on your way. We don't want any trouble...There are small children here."

The creature's eyes glowed in the darkness of the closet and he snickered. "On the contrary, stinky fellow," he said. "Your mother, MY Lady, has taken me in. I live here now and you will abide by MY rules. If you continue your happy-go-lucky, bull-in-a-china-shop habits you will have to deal with ME." The cat seemed to speak in a barely audible growl, and as he formed his cruel words his pink lips hardly moved.

I shuddered and ran. This is probably the worst day of my life, not counting the time I swallowed a visitor's cell phone. Bear Midnight, if you love me, come and fight this cat beast. SAVE ME!

--Here is a mug shot I pulled up on the Internet when I did a background check on this animal. Alpha dog is not aware of his shady past! His real name is unknown, but his credit report shows that he has used the name "Comet." Currently he is calling himself "Mr. Norman Whiskers." My human mother can be easy to fool, I know! There is no telling what this creature is capable of doing to my pack of Christies...

Hell Hound's Weekend Update: She Tried to Kill Me, PETA

Hello, odorless, non-edible television device that mesmerizes humans. It finally happened, just like I predicted. Alpha Dog, my human mother, tried to kill me on New Year's Eve. Here's the story. (Write this down, PETA.)

I was sitting in my usual spot near the window waiting to startle Jim the mail carrier as he stepped on an icy spot on the stoop, when I noticed my mother pouring some sort of yummy liquid into a hole in the snow. It was the same pot that she used earlier to cook the birds called Pizzas. The first chance I got I ran out the door into my world and dug up this edible treasure. It smelled like peanuts and the Pizza birds. I licked and licked the snowy mush with abandonment. From the corner of my eye I saw Alpha Dog peering at me from the window, waving and jumping in excitement. I would soon guess why.

When I entered the house again I started to feel strange. Alpha Dog reprimanded me. "Did you drink that peanut oil, dumb ass?"

I stumbled away from her not caring that she mistook me for another dog, (I know my name is Hell Hound). I was feeling as if I'd been taken deep under the depths of the ocean in a yellow submarine. I had a giant attack of the snoot, and my tail started spinning because of air bursts expelled from my rear. The blasts from under my tail had a helicopter effect on my round body, and I was suddenly elevated by an invisible force smelling like peanuts. The Christie pack started to yell and scream, holding their noses, but Alpha Dog just stood among the chaos with the strangest look of smite on her face.

When my body hit the floor I knew I would succumb to motion sickness, losing my entire dinner. Trying to be discrete, I funneled the splatter into a crack between the moulding and the wall.

The look of smite on my human mother's face soon turned to horror, and she catapulted me out of the dining room with the flat end of her broom, all the while twitching and cursing randomly. While she was busy prying up the moulding with a hammer, I asked Jeeves about her behavior online. He explained that she may be showing symptoms of a condition called Tourette Syndrome. I say, it serves her right for trying to kill me like that.

Hell Hound's Weekend Update: Feasting is Naughty?

MMMM. Christmas MUST mean: Yummy Festival of Eating.

Hello orderless, non-edible device that mesmerizes humans. It's that time of year that I love again, when Alpha dog is running around like a chicken whose head I bit off and she finds a bit of kindness in her cold heart for me. A feigned snoot attack got me into a room full of food smells, and many legs and shoes. When the Christie pack human friend called Mike went outside to grab a beer, I saw my opportunity to gain some sympathy. I made sure my head was lodged in the sliding glass door as he closed it, and I yelled for my life.

That's when another human that the Christie's mingle with, called Sandy, advocated for permission to let me roam about the house during festivities. I knew I could rely on this Sandy human because Alpha dog listens to her, and email records show that she is a defender in PETA'S army. I will have to look in Alpha Dog's telephone book for her number.

Anyway, I swore to Sandy that I would be a good dog and not steal food scraps from the squealing human pups. (There were suddenly lots of them.) I'm thinking Alpha dog might have had a litter while I was out romping in the snow earlier. I tried to be good for Sandy, St. Francis of Assisi and my Christie pack, but the SMELLS, oH, how they DROVE me INSANE!

For example, there was this masterpiece chocolate house, made by a human named Elizabeth. She is the mother of my knight in shining armor, Midnight Bear Dog. Well, let me tell you, that woman can bake! I was stuck in a trance every time I passed that house on the table, unattended, but I controlled my demons, and forced myself to eat a mouthful of grass outside instead. Alpha dog said she could not give me even one bite of Elizabeth's Chocolate House because that would be assisted suicide, which is against our religion. "Come, on, I don't know what that means, but just give me a piece, it's Christmas!" I barked. Then she pushed me out into the snow.

When I came in the human pups had sweet smelling treats of all kinds in their paws. The green Merry Christmas treat was divided and distributed equally to all humans present. That's when I blacked out. I can't remember anything, but I woke up in the cage. I overheard human pups yelping about snatched yummies, but I maintained that it wasn't me.

Happy Holidays cyborgs! I hope your table is filled with yummy kills you can reach.

-Hell Hound

Hell Hound's Mid-Week Update: SAVED!...Almost

Hello odorless, non-edible television device that mesmerizes humans. Today presented a once in a lifetime opportunity for a hell hound of the Beagle sort. Milk Man left the gate open in the backyard. It all started when a stranger pulled up in a big truck that smelled awful. He opened up this hole in the ground where the Christies dump all of their "excrement." (Do ya like that word, I just took it from an SAT prep book on the shelf here.) Then he sucked up all of the excrement into a big hose. Milk Man and the stranger were talking when I made a mad dash for the gate. I got out, and no one noticed, so I ran until I had a snoot attack at the corner. I was gasping for air when two nice humans dressed for a funeral approached. "Oh, SH$%!" I barked. Not the ghosts of my Christmas Future again!" One of the humans bent down to give me a pet, and I jumped back. (I watch America's Most Wanted. I know about strangers.) The man had a cookie in his pocket, and I sniffed it out and snatched it. He forgave me, and that's when I judged him to be a safe character. Then the woman he was with asked me if I'd like to go home to my Eternal Father, like other good dogs. I stood my ground. "No," I barked, "Get the @^#%$ out of my way." That's when they handed me some literature and taught me about my soul. On the pamphlet was written the title:

Should I fear HELL?

"Obviously, not," I snorted, "My mother named me Hell Hound. Sounds like a place where I might meet my eight brothers and sisters." Then I wondered, ...."but what if 'HELL'...is a synonym for THE POUND? I hate that place. I DO want to be saved from there!" I barked.

The humans glanced at each other, and grinned. "Read the pamphlet," they said, "and if you'd like to learn more, please give us a call."

"Whatever," I barked. Then I tried to run past them. The tall male human grabbed me and put me in a snoot hold. "He must be one of PETA's soldiers, to know a move like that." I figured.

"Alright, Alright!" I barked. "I'll read the Should I Fear Hell book." As I turned through the pages, the humans smiled and nodded. A few paragraphs into it I shook my head. "Oh, see, no way," I barked. "I can't do this." (No repetitive barking prayers, no celebration of birthdays, no stealing or biting...) I pushed the book back to them with my paw. "Thank you, but I'm already being raised by a Catholic, and that's hard enough." I barked.

So then I did something I never thought I'd ever do in a million years. I, Hell Hound the dog, trotted home. The Christies never even knew I had left. I figure, they already saved me once from the pound, so my bet is that this is just about the only home in the world where I can raise Hell myself without getting executed. Now I'm writing my own pamphlet with the help of Microsoft Publisher. It's called: WHY THE DEVIL SHOULD FEAR ME... By Hell Hound. Look for it on the NY Times Best Seller list this Spring.

Hell Hound's Holiday Week Update: Pardoned!

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home! I AM a Republican.

Thank you for picking me up at the zoo, Alpha Dog. Tomorrow we will roast a giant BIRD to celebrate my homecoming. Just leave it near the edge of the kitchen counter for me, and my wonderful old life will be back to normal again.

-Hell Hound

-Note from Washington D.C.

Hell Hound's Holiday Week Update: Why I Didn't Get a Rose This Week From Obama

Hello, odorless, non-edible device that mesmerizes humans. Sadly, I was voted off as America's Next First Pet this week after an incident that was totally NOT my fault.

First of all, how was I supposed to know that the flag an agent waved in front of my snoot was actually Mrs. Michelle Obama's favorite dress? You see, they were testing me, but the test was unclear and therefore, invalid. What I saw was the red and black diagonally striped Flag of Anarchism, and I immediately thought: "This is a test of your patriotism, Hell Hound. Act like a bull in the Red Room." So I charged, and ripped that Communist symbol to shreds.

The next morning I'm standing with all the other puppy candidates and President Elect Obama starts handing out roses to the puppies who made it past round one. He comes up to me and says:

"I'm sorry, Hell Hound. You are not in the running to be the next First Pet."

Then I had to pack my things and leave immediately for the D.C. Zoo. The Secret Service gave me a very informative book written by Kira Freed to pass on to the Christies. It's called White House Pets. The section on Pets That Couldn't Stay is highlighted.

I really think that overall, this experience was a complete violation of my civil rights, being that, on page 9 of White House Pets it states that President Theodore Roosevelt had a pet Flying Squirrel that he let climb on him. Everybody knows that squirrels belong to Al Kaida, so what's wrong with a cute, little Hell Hound?!

Looks like the Secret Service is making me a scape-dog, nevertheless. Such is life. You just can't trust the government anymore. Sorry Alpha Dog. I will never register as a Democrat and vote illegally again. Will you and the Christie Pack take me back into your loving and endlessly forgiving home? Pick me up at the D.C. Zoo. Thank you.
-Hell Hound
Look at these pictures, Readers, and tell this color-blind dog she's wrong. I think NOT!

Hell Hound's Weekend Update: Wish Me Luck

Hello odorless, non-edible television device that mesmerizes humans. The good news is that the First Family Elect is interested in me, HELL HOUND, as a possible new puppy candidate. The bad news is that first I have to go through some vigorous background checks with the CIA in D.C. (Good thing I'm a registered Democrat.) I kissed Alpha Dog goodbye this morning, and although I often dream about shredding the contents of her underwear drawer, and chewing her left hand off, I think I'll miss that crazy biatch.
However, I'm on to bigger and better things, as I set out to build my legacy as first dog. I plan to redefine the position of White House Pet. I'll be like the Hillary Clinton of first dogs. Stay tuned...

Hopeful Wednesday

Will Hell Hound be the new First Dog?

Hell Hound's Weekend Update: Betrayed by PETA

Hello, orderless, non-edible television device that mesmerizes humans. I'm having a bad weekend already. PETA found out I was accepting live chicken snacks from blogger fans, and he cut his ties with me forever. This means I will never be able to join the war against the mistreatment of CERTAIN animals like myself. I wrote a letter of protest that I'd like to share with you.

Dear PETA,

I do not understand why you are angry at me for eating live chickens. EVERYBODY knows that chickens are not dogs or humans; they are food. Even the smiley clown on television turns them into nuggets and feeds them to children who play sports. (I'd like to bite his big nose off.) How was I supposed to know that you've declared him to be an infidel along with the old white guy who runs an anti-animal food organization called the KFC? If you think those guys are bad, you should see what the humans in my house eat. They keep your precious chickens' body parts all hacked up in the freezer. Some human named Perdue sends the parts. I think he's related to that guy Jeffrey Dahmer. I think we should expose this HUMAN conspiracy, if you plan to point fingers at dogs.

As far as I'm concerned, I promise to try not to eat chickens anymore when I see one close by, although I wholeheartedly stand by my belief that they are snacks. Thank you for considering my membership in the PETA army.

Sincerely,

Hell Hound

Well, what do you think? I was laughing my arf off at first when I got the formal letter from PETA attacking my actions against chickens, but then I thought about it and realized I really need him on my side to save me from Alpha Dog. Every day she's inflicting the muzzle torture on me when I help myself to yummy kills on her counter. This morning there was a rack of ribs from a pig, MY FAVORITE! Oops, sorry PETA. I mean I hate that! I had to eat it, though, just to maintain my reputation as a Hell Hound. I don't want Alpha Dog to get suspicious if I'm too good. I'm planning my next escape soon, and then I will find PETA and my crusade for CERTAIN animal's rights will begin!

I adopted this cyberduck, (above), to prove to you PETA that I have changed. -Hell Hound

Hell Hound's Weekend Update: Midnight Tinkle Near the Garden of Good and Evil

I DID IT! After my lady went to bed last night I read her post, and saw that she was too tired to take the picture of the cemetery at midnight. So I concocted a plan to get her up out of bed. At ten minutes to midnight I started howling at her bedside, and was smacked in the head by several shoes that seemed to fall from the sky. Then I started pacing and clicking my claws on the wood floor, until I heard her start to grumble. Next I let some stink bombs rip through the bedroom, and she and the one she calls Milk Man turned on the light and started cursing me. I took that verbal abuse so that you readers and PETA could see a picture of the cemetery at midnight this year.

As soon as my lady took me downstairs, I snatched her camera and started galloping like a horse. I pushed the screen door open and crossed to the back of the yard, stopping only briefly to tinkle. I did not make eye contact with the statue of St. Francis of Assisi, (I do not want any trouble). My lady was sprinting after me in her pajamas, yelling something about her camera. She finally caught up with me and I took a smack in the rear for my valiant efforts. (PETA, if you're reading this, write that down.)

Then I went to the back of the fence and started howling like my ancestors, the GREAT hell hounds of the past. My lady tried to muffle my midnight dog song with her bare hands, then her peanut brain finally realized my motive to inspire her to take the picture, and not let the Halloween tradition end.

"Okay, ALRIGHT, Lassie on Crack," she said. (I consider that a compliment.)

Then she climbed up the fence and took a picture for you. Here it is. Do you see any ghosts?

As a reward for my Lassie-like efforts, I'm accepting treats in all forms, cooked or raw, (live chickens welcome), at my Post Office Box. Email me at hellhounddog@gmail.com for my full address.