Bobby's First Post

This is an indifferent picture of me, Bobby. I don't photograph well, being black and all. You can see that I am quite a large and intimidating dog. I started out fairly small, but grew up to be nearly six pounds, more than that if I weigh in wet or just after dinner. You don't need to be scared, though--I don't bite, at least not what you would really call bite. A couple of times I have nipped at dim-witted human puppies who kept chasing me after I'd clearly told them to back off. A great fuss was made over this, but if you ask me I did them a big favor if the experience prevents them from trying the same thing on some pit bull with a short fuse.

I live with Mrs. D., and you can bet she would be D. for Dead by now, if it weren't for me. I keep us safe from passing dogs outside, and the raccoons and other urban wildlife that raid the garbage cans under the bedroom window at three in the morning. I chase away the vacuum cleaners and skateboards. I even keep a sharp eye on boys who look like the type to ride skateboards, even if they aren't doing it at the moment. All this keeps me busy a lot of the time, and when I get a break I like to play fetch or tug, or hide things and pretend I can't find them so Mrs. D. has to come get them for me.

People sometimes ask her if I am her familiar, which apparently means am I somehow involved with what she does in the back room sometimes, or what they get up to when people come over and they start moving furniture around and putting different stuff on the coffee table. I give no attention to any of this, however. It simply diverts her attention from its right and proper object, me. They like to stick me away in the crate or the bedroom for these events, but I've figured out that if I lie low and hide while things are getting started, they are likely to forget about me and leave me alone. I generally do come out when they start on the food, but they don't seem to have anything very tasty on these occasions. If she wants me for a familiar, she should lay in some chicken or something.

Mrs. D. is not the smartest chipmunk in the tree. She can't hear well, for one thing, and she can hardly smell a thing. She also has a lot of very dumb ideas about leashes, and that crate, and little outings to vet. But she's the one who dishes out the food around here, as well as most of the other comforts and diversions, so as a general rule I just go with her program. She does most of the talking, but I may be checking in now and then if I think any of her remarks require back story or clarification.