Poo

I have never been so embarrassed in my life- and that is no small order given the recent removal of my testicles and the public gayfest that I suspect has my castration at least partly to blame.

My mother (if that is her real name) seems to have this obsession at the moment with talking about my excrement. Sometimes with complete strangers! I have come to learn that the reason for the introduction of organic rabbit and brown rice (aka really really boring) food is because I have a 'sensitive stomach.'

I do not have much chance of finding myself a nice bitch anyway now that I am effectively a woman, but if everybody at the park finds out that I have a 'sensitive' anything I'm done for.

People who walk dogs do that thing though where they do not really know what to say to each other, but they see each other every day, so they feel like they have to say something. So instead of embarrassing themselves with uncomfortable silences, they embarrass us by talking about our balls, how much we fart and the general consistency of our faeces. Is there any need for such potty talk?

I had been wondering why she has always had this thing about picking up my poo. So I started to play this game where I go to the longest grass that I could find to do my stuff- just to make it a bit more of a challenge for her.

I suppose that although having a dicky tummy has meant taking me off of Bakers and onto Healthy Paws organic food, it has also meant that she has started baking me organic treats too. Liver's my favourite, but she did these really nice peanutty honey things. One of those with a lick of water from my bowl in an afternoon is simply heavenly. Oh Lord, I think my hormones are starting to change. I intend to bark, howl and scent mark everything until I am physiologically unable to do so.

Life Without Balls

It has been exactly one week to the day since that fateful visit to the vet. Since then, I have not been allowed off of the lead, my mum has changed my food to some organic shit and the gravy bones that I loved so much have been swapped for (but will never be replaced by) oat and peanut biscuits!

I had almost come to terms with losing my most valuable and impressive assets, that stupid cone thing they put on my head that seemed to make every corner an automatic challenge went within a couple of days and I have even refrained from licking my stitches in an attempt to prevent my mum removing any more of my anatomy.

What I really just can not come to terms with is the lead. Granted, it is longer than the last one, but I am a whippet cross. Has she never heard the phrase 'like a whippet?' It means really really fast and gives a hint that we might like to run a bit. What is more is that whilst on this lead- that is supposed to protect me- I got humped today by a labrador called Spike. They have taken my balls, they can take my sexuality, but they will never take my freedom.

As William Wallace (or at least Mel Gibson in the film Braveheart) once said: 'It's all for nothing, if you don't have freedom.' What do we want? Freedom! When do we want it? Now!