In lieu of our usual video, today’s Zoo Diaries is a guest post from Rascal himself.
furwbh7egirnidcvFOADskla hrs;t5bjijSGNBJGSMBL F;SDFGJFjrgvvjodfcdfbmj,mhnfgbdfvsdtbfvdfbjjd7igrg jnb gn rgbsdvbdfjyzdfgdtjg fdbndgfbf fbngkiullkr56y45t34rwf gy6u7i68k7ltouk.gj,hn g vrgt5y4h675jtgrtnhmjkou8;[lp bthr54ygbtdg bfmtj,kiy;l,jmkrgvfebtgavb ,gzbdfrtsnyg fbxcv
Editor’s note: It just sort of goes on like that for a while. Fortunately, I am fluent in Dog. Here is the translation.
What is best in life? Mud. And chasing the cats. And sticks. And those little banana yogurt things the humans give me after they watch me eliminate outside, like some sort of unwashed vagrant. Odd, I know, but they are fixated on my bowel movements. At least they do not harvest my leavings like they do the cats’.
But I digress. Mud is splendid. I tested this hypothesis with vigor yesterday, as the humans allowed me to roam the yard while they participated in their strange rituals involving balls and other round objects with which I am, against any shred of logic or fairness, not permitted to play. My research suffers as a result, but into every life, a little rain must fall. And rain begets mud. This is the deep poetry of the universe.
I thought it my civic duty to inform our neighbors about the many wonders of wet dirt. Alas, though I breached the perimeter twice, my attempts to spread the good news were thwarted by the humans. I think that they are the jealous type; my leaving the yard even for a moment appears to be a frightening prospect for them, and my constant displays of affection and loyalty seem not to assuage their fears.
Then again, perhaps they are simply opponents of mud. Evidence in favor of this theory was advanced after the excursion ended, when I was subjected to a bizarre ritual the humans call a “bath”. Rather than permit me to clean myself with my tongue, as nature intended, the bath entails being soaked in water and rubbed with oils which, despite their pleasant taste, I am scolded for attempting to eat. The humans, as ever, are an enigma.
I must conclude this entry with some haste – the cats are congregating underneath the couch, and I cannot allow them to do so with impunity, lest they discover sensitive documents pertaining to Operation: Litter Box Freedom.